“We could try calling him every known name in the universe and see if he responds to any. Shouldn’t take too long.” Rhys winked at me.
“Ha ha.” I shoved him with the hand not holding the dog’s leash.
He slung his arm over my shoulders. “Don’t you think we should give him a name so he knows he’s part of our family now?” Rhys’s voice was warm and family sent a shiver of longing and fear and hope up my spine. I nodded.
Rhys started with names of dogs from old country songs, and I vetoed them all. “I’m not yelling racist shit at the park to call the dog. And he’s not blue. Or red.”
“Sleepy? Hollow? Oh, SH? You could try to yell it all you wanted and it’d still come out a whisper.”
I snorted. “Ichabod Crane? Never mind, I’m not setting our dog up to be murdered by a ghost.”
“It’ll come to us,” Rhys said, unconcerned.
When we got home, we let the dog play in the backyard for a while. Rhys threw sticks, and the dog watched them but didn’t care. Then a leaf fell from the tree, and he went bananas trying to snatch it out of the air, then stood under the tree waiting for more prey.
When we went inside, he curled up in the dog bed we’d put in the corner of the living room. I crouched beside it while Rhys got dinner together.
“How are you doing?” I asked, stroking his ears. “Not too scary here, right? I thought it was for a little while but it’s probably fine. Stuff’s okay? I know Rhys is really tall, but you get used to it. Hey, what’s up with your walk, man?”
He snored in answer, right hind leg stretching out of the bed.
After dinner, we took another walk, and I headed us toward the cemetery. We walked along the paths, and the dog pawed at fallen leaves and nosed acorns. When we got to the crypt at the northwest edge, I sat on the side of it and Rhys sat next to me.
“Hey, I had this idea,” I said. “Or, I dunno.”
“Tell me.”
The dog sniffed at the ground, then collapsed on my feet.
“It was so sad at the shelter. All those dogs just sitting there. And I was thinking how cool it would’ve been to get to hang out with some dogs at St. Jerome’s. It was so lonely there. People everywhere, but no one . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t know. No one touched. Except in bad ways. But I bet we would have hugged a dog. Cuz it wouldn’t have seemed weak like hugging each other.”
Rhys pulled me closer to his side and stroked my hair, ran his hand up and down my back.
“So, what if I could organize a thing where shelter dogs get brought to places like St. Jerome’s? I know they have them for prisons, so I could look up those programs. Maybe . . . maybe the kids could even take them for walks and stuff, so it’s a win-win for the shelter too. And the dogs. And maybe we could get cats? I don’t know. Maybe I could do it for my next project.”
“Fuck, I love you so much,” Rhys said and pulled me into a hug. “That’s a great idea.” Satisfaction settled in my belly.
After we locked up and got the dog settled in his dog bed, we went upstairs. Rhys grabbed my wrist and spun me so my back was against the wall, then he loomed over me, pushing into my space. His eyes were blazing as he looked at me.
“Do you feel it? Do you feel how much we’re a family?” he asked. “We are, Matty. You and me and the dog. You belong here, with me, with us. Can you feel it?”
His voice was so intense, so passionate, that I couldn’t tell if he was about to cry or fuck me into the wall. I caught his face in my hands.
“I do. A lot. It’s just sometimes it . . . wears off. I don’t know how to explain it. I just think something, and then I spiral out into thinking that maybe it’ll all go away. Sorry,” I added. “It’s not anything you do. It’s just . . . me.”
Rhys nodded. “You just need to be reminded,” he murmured.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I can do that.” Rhys’s voice went dark and possessive. “You’re mine, Matty. There’s nothing that will ever keep me from you. You belong with me.”
I whimpered and sagged against the wall, trusting Rhys would hold me up.
“If you run away from me again, I’ll find you. I’ll always find you and bring you home. This is your home.”
He kept talking, and it fucking got to me. I’d thought I was over being embarrassed at how much it turned me on when he talked this way, but it just felt raw and scary. And the fact that I felt like I could trust him with raw and scary . . . turned me the fuck on.