Page 84 of Love in Training
“Would you—um,” I try and fail to speak in an even tone. “There’s a trash chute down the hall. Would you throw them away? Please?”
His gaze is searing through his glasses, green eyes bright and alert. He opens his mouth, then pauses, pressing it closed. Then he nods.
I take my phone out as soon as he turns away, pulling up the peephole camera app, waiting for the stupid thing to load. I have charged it diligently since the time my brother caught me slacking, and now there’s no fucking way I’m entering my apartment without checking the footage first.
My pulse pounds—watching myself rushing to the stairwell with the dog—nottripping over anything or pausing to lock my fucking door. Then, only about a minute later, a hooded figure exits the elevator and comes down the hall. My veins turn to ice. They only pause long enough to deposit the delivery, and I let out a stilted breath when they don’t try the knob. But they never once look into the camera, disappearing down the stairs a moment later.
“I peeked in there. Didn’t see anyone,” Drew says at my shoulder, making me jump. And everything inside me is so onedge, I actually step closer to him. “Do you... It’s none of my business, but do you want to call someone?”
Rufus nudges my other hand, and I stroke his head gently, unsure if I’m reassuring him or he’s reassuring me. But then I register a low rumble of thunder, and the last thirty minutes come spinning back to me as he trembles under my touch.
“We need to get Rufus safe,” I say, pushing into my unlocked apartment.
Drew follows me inside without another word, taking note of the lights and music playing as I flip the deadbolt and secure the chain lock. My makeshift barstools and shoe rack obstacle course still litter my living space. I take a moment to right one of the chairs before realizing I’m literally dripping water all over the floor, and head for my closet instead. Rufus follows, walking at my heels like glue, which is okay with me. I stroke his head with one hand while shuffling through hangers with my other until I find a comfortable hoodie and shorts to change into. I glance over my shoulder, relieved to see Drew has shifted back into dog guru mode, opening his backpack and taking out a dry dog shirt and socks for Rufus. His own K9 Academy polo shirt clings soaking wet to his chest.
I hesitate a moment, then turn back to my closet and rummage deeper, only letting my eyes trace over the garment bag in the back because what I’m looking for is probably also in that stratosphere. And I’m right—I pull Kyle’s soft black and gold CU Buffs sweatshirt off the hanger and hold it up. It was worn and frayed way before he gave it to me, and it’s a little worse for wear considering I lived in it most of the time he was deployed. But it’s the only thing I have that might remotely fit Drew.
“Here,” I say, handing it to him and taking my own clothes to the bathroom. “I’m just going to... I’ll be right out.”
The steady, upbeat rhythm of “In The Mood” by Glenn Miller and his Orchestra pulses through the door as I peel off my saturated clothes, trying not to think about Drew out there doing the same. If more thunder happens to be pounding outside, the trombones and bass do an excellent job of drowning it out. By the time I’ve dried off, changed, and pulled my damp hair into a braid, Drew has also outfitted himself and Rufus.
“Huh. That fits you better than it ever did Kyle,” I observe, noting how well he fills out the sweatshirt.
“It... actually used to be mine,” he says. “I think he stole it from me when I came home once freshman year.”
My brows shoot up. “So, I’ve actually been wearingyoursweatshirt all these years?”
His cheeks go a little pink. “Technically.”
A clap of thunder rumbles under the music, and my gaze snaps to Rufus, who is decked out in a new, dry dog coat and leggings like the ones Drew left here last time. But unlike last time, he’s sitting upright, panting. Not buried under the couch, and not drooling. I drop to my knees so I can rub the velvety fur on his nose.
“You’re a good boy. You’re being so brave.” The dog lets out a light, pitiful whine, but then he sinks down, settling on the floor with his muzzle in my lap. I glance at Drew. “He’s... he seems a little better?”
“He’s still having a trauma response,” Drew quips. “He might always with storms and similar things.”
I bite my lip, worried I don’t actually read him as well as I thought I did. What if I’m not doing enough and I can’t even tell?
“I didn’t want to take him outside. It was an emergency. But I did everything else I could think of—the lights and music like you did last time, I tried to talk to him?—”
“Heisdoing better.” Drew meets my gaze, and his eyes are a warm, earthy green. “You’re doing a good job with him, Caprice.”
“Oh.” I hesitate, fidgeting with the dog’s collar. “Thanks?”
“Look, I came here tonight because of the storm, and because I wanted to check on Rufus. But also...” He lets out a low breath. “I owe you an apology.”
My stomach tightens at the question in his eyes. The softness of his voice. And suddenly I wish he’d just glare at me or make some criticism instead. “I don’t need?—”
“Yes, you do.”
He lowers himself to the floor on the other side of the dog, much like we were in the last storm. And now I definitely don’t want to hear whatever he’s about to say. I wasn’t expecting the wordapologyand I don’t need it. I heard everything I needed to last week, and now I just want him to leave. But when he settles in front of me, gently stroking Rufus’s ears, I press my lips together and force myself to listen.
“I was wrong for assuming anything that happened between you and Kyle. I’m sorry,” he says. “The truth is, he hardly spoke to me before he died. You were always more of a family to him.”
I twine my fingers together, a weight sinking in my chest.
“We’d always been close as kids. But things changed when I left for school,” Drew says, laying a hand on Rufus’s head in my lap. “He must’ve told you we raised assistance dogs growing up? We did basic training with puppies, took them places to get them used to different environments and people. It was our parents’ idea at first. They said it would look good on college applications. But we loved it—it was life-changing, especially for Kyle.”
I swallow down the growing lump in my throat. I know all these details, but somehow it feels new, hearing them from Drew’s perspective.
