I'm Not Your Enemy (Enemies 2)

I did need Soph now, though. She had a calming aura about her.

My knee bounced restlessly as I fidgeted with my phone and glanced toward David’s exam rooms. He had two of them and one area for surgery.

By now, Benjamin had taken his spot behind the desk and was eating yogurt for breakfast.

I released a nervous breath and scrolled down my messages until I found Soph. Last I’d heard from her were a few angry texts after I’d left Washington.

I didn’t wanna call her, considering the hour. It was too early in Camassia. Plus, they had Isabella. She was what, two months old now? Something like that. After David and Melissa’s fifth child, I’d stopped keeping track of ages and birthdays.

I opted to text Soph instead.

Except, I didn’t know what to type. My thumb hovered over the keyboard as I racked my brain for the right words. Did I start with an apology? I couldn’t do that. Judging by the number of times I’d messed up in my day, one might think I was used to handing out apologies, but I wasn’t. When I asked for forgiveness, it was a big deal to me, and it sure as heck didn’t happen over the phone or in a text.

I’d never apologized for ignoring a curfew or coming home wasted as a kid. I’d never apologized for being late to work—or for not showing up at all and then getting canned. Nor had I apologized for bailing in the past. My family knew that about me, and it wasn’t where they counted on me. I drew a line in the sand for each case, and I picked my battles based on what hurt others. And how much I cared. I didn’t fucking care about the employer who ignored safety measures in order to get the job done faster. Fuck him. I also hadn’t cared about stumbling home at the crack of dawn to find my father waiting on the porch with a glare in place.

That was part of growing up.

When I apologized, it was because I knew I’d crossed a line that genuinely hurt others. An apology from me was also a guarantee that whatever I’d done would never happen again.

To David, that line was drawn at baptisms. It was the one occasion that meant the world to him. So after I’d missed his eldest daughter’s baptism and seen how it had affected him, I’d asked for forgiveness and never missed another one.

My mother had never been able to handle shit-talk about her religion. She took that incredibly personally, so I’d apologized the time I, uh, I hung a pentagram on the mantle. She hadn’t appreciated that joke one bit.

Soph… I owed her a big apology for lying to her. I knew how much she valued her friendship with Sebastian, and I had promised I was going to tell him about the program for Teddy that Mom had found in Atlanta. And I never did. I’d chickened out because I’d known that Sebastian was gonna flip.

Lying was the one thing you didn’t do to my sister. It was why she’d been the first one I’d come out to over ten years ago. She’d overheard me on the phone with some guy.

I guessed talking to her was gonna have to wait until I got to Washington.

I pocketed my phone again and bit at a cuticle.

“I’m sure your dog will be fine, Blake,” Benjamin said.

I hated sugarcoating and empty words, so I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge him. If Rosie turned out to be sick, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do. She was almost eleven years old. At best, she had another three years. Which was enough to throw money at if it was something that could be cured. But I’d been around dogs my whole life, and… Fuck. I wasn’t ready to lose her.

I stayed at my brother’s place for a week while we waited for the results to come back, and he’d prepared me for the worst. He’d been honest with his suspicions, and I loathed that he turned out to be right.

I knew that before he even told me, because he came home in the middle of the day when the kids were in school or day care, and he sat down with me on the porch steps.

“It’s cancer, innit?”

He nodded once. “She has an aggressive type of lymphoma.”

“Fuck.” My throat closed up, and I brought Rosie close to me. I hugged her to me, pressing my face against her neck, and couldn’t stop the emotions from spilling over. Fuck this motherfucking fuck! Rage tore through me, every bit as powerful as the grief that welled up, and I didn’t wanna believe it. She was fine. She was wonderful. She was the best dang dog a guy could ask for.