Tied (All Torn Up 2)

When Feather pulls over by the dirt road that leads to the path in the woods, she tells me she’ll wait in the car if I promise to be careful, but she also asks me to try not to be too long since Steve is waiting for her. The sparkle in her eye when she mentions his name makes me wish there were someone, somewhere waiting and wanting to see me, but there’s no one.

“You’re my favorite toy. I count the days until I can get away and come play with you.”

Shivering, I kneel down and clasp the new blue collar and leash on Poppy, before we start up the trail, so he can walk with me like a real dog with a real girl in a real life that we never had.

“You look so handsome.” I smile down at him, prancing next to me, and he wags his tail happily at me as we walk quickly through the woods.

Luckily, I find the small house again without getting lost, but he’s no longer sitting outside so I have no choice but to go up to the house, lightly knock on the front door, and wait for him to answer. When he does, he looks startled and nervous, shaking his head so his long blond hair falls over half his face. Continuing with his silence, he takes the leash from my outstretched hand, not inviting me in.

“I’m sorry.” My voice wavers with a mix of restrained tears and anxiety. “The place I live…we can’t have dogs. I didn’t know.” I hand him the bag of dog supplies, and he takes it from me, our fingers lightly brushing against each other during the exchange, sending a shiver up my arm, through my chest, and right into my heart. He inhales quickly with a faint hiss, making me wonder if he felt it too. “I bought Poppy some things. Toys and dishes and food and a bed. You probably already have those things, but maybe you could still let him have them? From me?”

He nods and sets the bag on the floor just inside the doorway.

Taking a deep breath, I gaze up into his bluest of all blue eyes. “Can you take care of him for just a little while longer? I’m moving with my brother in a few months. If he says it’s okay, can I come back and get him then?”

The words come out of me without conscious thought, and I wonder if that’s how life decisions are usually made. Just like that. All of a sudden, it just felt like starting over, somewhere new, with my brother and Anna would be best, and my choice was made.

He glances down at Poppy then back to me and winks at me. The small gesture is unexpectedly affectionate and, in that fleeting moment, I see the ghost of who I am sure was young Tyler Grace. Playful. Incredibly handsome. Confident. Free.

A euphoric dizziness spreads through me, my knees weaken, and my empty stomach ripples with an odd, jittering sensation that has nothing to do with hunger for food. Wow. So being near the man of your dreams feels like a panic attack…only you never want it to end.

“Is that a yes?” I ask softly, still caught up in the dazed feeling.

He nods again then holds up his hand, the one with the brightly colored tattoos all over it, with one finger pointed up. Confused, I wait as he disappears inside. He comes back, a moment later, and hands me a small piece of ripped cream-colored paper.

This is his home as long as needed, says the note in blocky writing similar to what I’ve seen in comic books.

I look up to meet his eyes, hoping I don’t faint right here on his doorstep from this overload of strange feelings. “Thank you.”

He motions for me to turn the note over.

I remember you.

Written or typed words on paper have such an intense impact on me. Maybe because I lost myself in books for so long. Or maybe because we can keep them, read them again and again, and see the words whenever we need them. They can become new again, or be an old, familiar, faded memory. While I long to hear Tyler’s voice, this little three-word written note is something I’ll cherish forever and probably read a thousand times.

This time, I’m the one who nods, and an unspoken acceptance of sorts passes between us as his gaze stays on mine. He doesn’t breathe for a few moments, and then slowly lets out a steady breath.

I realize he expects me to look away with discomfort, and when I don’t—when I stare right back with what I can only guess is a mirror of his own expression of hesitance and pleading—a flicker of relief flashes in his eyes. His tongue slowly moves across his bottom lip, and I wonder if he’s going to say something, but he remains quiet. His eyes, however, continue to burn into mine with a myriad of emotions that I can feel but am unable to begin to describe.