He hightailed it down the walk, the oppressive midday heat hitting him hard as he stepped into the sunshine and rattled off a text to Meyers that he was on his way.
He dropped onto his seat, cranked down the ’80s windows to let the boiling air inside release some pressure, flipped his baseball cap forward over his eyes, slipped on his shades, and was about to discard his cell in the ashtray when he paused. Aside from Toby and occasionally Tyler, he didn’t text anyone unless he needed to know something. And with Sky, the words were already brimming on his fingertips. He tapped his first-ever text to Skylar Rivers.
Travis:Let’s name the stray Courage.
A dog that can bring us back together is worthy of that same name.
It was sentimental, but she brought out that side of him. A moment later, a message zinged back.
Sky:Courage Version 2.0… You remembered.
He grinned at the heart and at her joke.
Travis:Hell yeah. How could I ever forget how I met you? And ha about 2.0. You make it sound like a software update.
A laughing emoji followed. So she loved to use those little symbols. It was kind of adorable. If they’d had texting in high school, she definitely would have been one to put strings of emojis after every other word.
Pushing his luck, he added, And put those photos back up.
Nerves chewed through his stomach. He watched for a speech bubble to form, but none came. Shit, was he being insensitive? Or too wrapped up in nostalgia? Or arrogant without realizing it? His heart had pinched hard when he’d seen her legacy fund. It had hit him, in that moment, like a ton of bricks: He could never stop loving her, but love wasn’t enough without trust.
The blinds shifted over the clinic window. Yoda jumped up against the glass with his ear perked, watching him. Then Skylar leaned down beside him and lifted his paw, waving it, mouthing, “Bye, Daddy!”
Baby feet and puppy paws all over the place.
Travis’s heart damn near squeezed out of his chest.