Pinkreflectedoffthelake in one of those breathtaking sunrises that made waking up early worthwhile.
Except Mac hadn’t woken up for it; he was still awake. Hanging on to Fred like the dog was a lifeline. Hell, he’dbeena lifeline.
There’d been flames and screaming, the smell of seared flesh and singed fur. The smell of gasoline, burning oil, and rubber. Of hot sand.
Of cologne. To this day, if he smelled a particular brand, he’d throw up.
The sounds of screams, yelping, cursing, and tearing metal.
Seeing fire, the mirage it created, the rivers of blood, the haze, the death.
And then his own murderous hands having nothing to do with that day.
Fuck.
He’d woken on the floor, face down, heart jackhammering, brain exploding, sobs tearing from him, drenched in sweat.
Done. He was so fuckingdonewith this shit and feeling this way. Seeing, smelling, reliving.
They calledthat dayhis Alive Day.
The day he lived, walked away.
But how the fuck was this living?
Forehead to the planks, he knew there was more than one way to be done with it. At moments like these, he was so tired of the fucking pain; the nightmares, of remembering who he was and what he’d done.
A fucking waste was what he was; sobbing, pathetic jackass on the floor of a rotting cabin on a remote lake in the middle of fuck nowhere. Everyone who’d meant anything to him… Well, he’d taken a match and blown those bridges to kingdom-fucking-come. Why Jason and Grady hung in, he’d never know. Jason had no reason to, for fuck sure.
And then the bark.
A single, sincere,get-the-fuck-upbark.
Fred.
Mac had pushed himself up and looked to the window where Fred was staring back, alert. No goofy grin, serious expression, ears forward like he was about to rip through the screen. It’d been enough to motivate Mac from the floor.
To the porch. To the steps, where he’d sat, holding on to the dog, the fur muffling the sounds of his tears.
Fred occasionally licked his face but was otherwise unmoved by a naked, grown man sobbing like a child. He just was. He provided comfort without judgment.
“Best fucking friend, mutt,” Mac praised.
Fred swiped him with his tongue, turned his face toward the woods with his ears perked up, and then relaxed, returning his gaze toward the lake in a casual pant.
That’s when Mac realized Fred hadn’t simply shown up on his doorstep.Shehad sent him. As he’d pointed out himself, Fred wasn’t one to wander off, not when she was home. He told himself he wasn’t sure what he thought about that, her knowing he’d needed Fred, so she sent him—but he knew it felt fucking good; he just wasn’t going to admit it.
So when the sky lightened to a glorious pink, and he’d marshaled his emotions after his near-breakdown, he slid into a pair of blue jeans and decided it was time to return her dog to her. He walked barefoot through the woods along his path, Fred sauntering beside him, neither in any particular hurry.
They cleared the woods, the sky lightening with more brilliant colors.
Fred saw her first, launching into a run toward the porch and leaping up, sniffing at her, satisfied all was well.
Mac followed more leisurely, a squeezing sensation in his chest cavity as he stared at her, curled up in the Adirondack chair, dressed in sleep shorts and a camisole, arms draped around her legs, head against the back and angled downward, her hair half-obscuring her face. Her lips were parted as she drew in air, her straight nose and dark lashes were visible to him.
Stepping up onto the porch, he looked down at her.
Fuck, she was beautiful.