Unleashing Hound

by Harley Stone

  It wasn’t just the possibility of romance I avoided, though. Even after Levi had found me on social media, I kept him at an arm’s length, only telling him the most basic details of my life. And although Carly and her friends seemed perfectly nice, I’d avoided them throughout breakfast.

  But I looked for Hound.

  As soon as Levi motored off, I could have marched right past Hound and gone up to my room in peace. He hadn’t even seen me. Yet, I stopped and initiated a conversation. Then I massaged his leg and made sure he was okay.

  And now I was in a pantry discussing cookies with him.

  What the hell is wrong with me? There’s no transaction. I shouldn’t be here.

  He stood only inches from me. I could feel his breath on my forehead and the heat of his body through my clothes. He was too close, and not just physically. I took a step back, putting some distance between us.

  Hound seemed to pick up on the distance instantly. “You okay?” he asked.

  No, I was not okay. I was enjoying spending time with him, and that scared the shit out of me. “Actually, I…” I had no lies. No excuses. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. “I should… probably go.” Taking another backwards step, I pushed open the door.

  Lines formed across Hound’s forehead. “But… the tour.” He looked hurt and confused.

  I wanted to assure him my sudden departure wasn’t personal, but that would only make shit more awkward. Especially since it wasn’t true. I needed to get away from him.

  “Maybe some other time,” I said. It was a pathetic attempt to soften the blow, and even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. Being around Hound was dangerous, and I had every intention of avoiding him while I was in Seattle.

  “Right. Some other time.” His eyes were heavy with disappointment.

  I felt bad, which was a problem, because I shouldn’t feel anything. Needing to get the hell out of there more than I needed my next breath, I fled. Once in the safety of my temporary room, I locked the door and grabbed the nearest suitcase, zipping it open. Digging through clothes, I searched, but couldn’t find what I was looking for. I opened the next bag and found the framed picture of me and Polly sitting right on top, staring up at me. Scooping it up, I sat on the floor and studied the smiling face of my friend.

  Polly had died a month before the end of the school year. At the time, I was eyeballs deep in curriculum, trying to make sure my class learned everything they needed to know. Her small celebration of life had been held on a Sunday, which fit neatly into my busy schedule. I allowed myself a couple of hours to grieve my friend, and then got right back to work grading papers. I hadn’t allowed myself to really even think about the fact she was gone.

  But now, I needed a friend, and I felt her absence with every atom in my body.

  A lump formed in my throat and tears stung the backs of my eyes as I remembered the last conversation we’d ever have.

  Polly was sitting at the bar, reading something on her phone when I walked in.

  I sneaked up on her before leaning into her space like I was some arrogant asshole trying to pick her up. “Hey hotstuff. If I break every chair in this place will you sit on my face?”

  She belted out a laugh. Comparing corny pickup lines was our thing, a competition of sorts. Not to be outdone, she composed herself and held out a hand for me to shake. “Hey. My name’s Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?”

  Dissolving into laughter, I sat on the stool beside her. “Buy you a drink?”

  “Hells yeah. It’s my birthday, bitch. You’re picking up the entire tab.” Planting a kiss on my cheek, she added, “I hope you’re loaded because this ass isn’t cheap.”

  “That’s my favorite thing about you.” I ordered a martini and a refill of whatever pink concoction she was sipping.

  “Speaking of expensive bitches…” She set her phone on the bar between us and scrolled the screen up to the beginning of the story she’d been reading. “Is this Billy the Bastard?”

  The article headline read, “Soybean Fortune Heir on Trial for Embezzlement.” Beside the headline was a picture of William Dean Ortel III. Or, as I nicknamed him after finding him balls deep in one of my supposed friends, Billy the Bastard. Polly must have recognized his name because of the million or so times I’d used it as a curse word since meeting her. The past seven years had aged William, but he still looked every bit like the entitled, demanding douchebag he’d revealed himself to be.

  “Yep. That’s him, but the charge doesn’t make sense.” Billy was a lot of things. Opportunistic, yes. Manipulative, absolutely. Controlling, you bet your ass. Stupid… not so much. He knew he was living high on daddy’s dime and embezzling from the company would be like biting the hand that fed him. “Billy’s dad gives him everything he wants. Why would he steal from the company?”

  I scanned the short article for a reason, but nothing like that had been released. Billy was pleading innocent, despite the money that had been transferred into his account. An anonymous whistle-blower had apparently alerted stockholders and pointed a finger at Billy.

  I handed Polly back her phone. “Weird.”

  Dropping it on the counter, she shrugged. “That old soybean money makes people do crazy shit.”

  Since soybeans didn’t become popular until the 1950’s, it was obvious she was being a smartass. Billy’s family’s money stretched well beyond their crops, but I had no idea what had originally made their millions. They definitely had the privileged mentality of old money, though. “Don’t worry, I’m sure his daddy will find a way to sweep it under the rug, like he does everything else.”

  “Well, after everything that rich little bastard put you through, I hope he drops the soap and takes it in the ass.”

  Even though I doubted William would ever allow his son to spend even a day in jail, I appreciated the way Polly stood firmly in my corner. “Now that would be some glorious karma,” I replied.

  The bartender set my drink in front of me, so I picked it up and toasted Polly. “To the best, smartest, sexiest bitch I know on her birthday. May your tits forever be perky and your ass forever be poppin’.”

  “God, I love you.” She clinked her glass to mine.

  “Same, babe, same. Now let’s get smashed and make bad decisions so we have something to regret tomorrow.”

  Beaming me a smile, she replied, “Challenge accepted.”

  She was gone now, and her absence hit me like a blow to the chest. I hadn’t allowed myself to mourn her death—or to even think about it—but now it hijacked my mind and heart. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and sobs erupted from my chest, as I rubbed my thumb over the photo, wishing I could go back to that moment in the bar.

  I’d warn Polly her life was in danger and force her to reveal the name of her next client.

  I’d save her, the way she saved me after Billy the Bastard almost destroyed me.

  But my friend was dead, and for the first time in my life, I felt hopelessly alone.

  10

  Hound

  I NEVER CLAIMED to be some goddamn Casanova, but women usually didn’t run away from me. That was new. Staring after Mila, I wondered—for the second time that day—what the hell I’d said to upset her. I’d barely gotten the fire station tour started and was enjoying her musical laugh and the intelligence behind her eyes. I wanted to know her story. Not just why she was in danger, but also who she was and what sort of shit she was into.

  I wanted to know everything about her.

  But then she snapped. Again. She went from warm and inviting to cold and indifferent, closing down faster than the cell doors during a prison lockdown. Frustrated, I considered texting her, but thought better of it. Nothing good ever came from bugging a woman who obviously wanted to be alone.

  With no clue what else to do, I headed up to my room and worked through the stretches and exercises my physical therapist had shown me. Once my hamstrings and glutes were loosened up, my back felt a little better, so I stretched out across my bed.
Thoughts of Mila ran through my mind as I once again replayed our conversation, wondering what I’d said to make her run away from me like her ass was on fire.

  I was still staring at the ceiling like it held the answers that kept eluding me when my little sister called.

  Accepting the call, I answered, “Hi Annie.”

  “Hey Cars.” When she was little, Annie had struggled with my full name, Carson, and her abbreviated version stuck. Now she was almost sixteen, practically grown, and only used my full name when she was mad at me, which, thankfully, didn’t happen too often. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. You?”

  “I’m great. Thanks for the shoes. They’re perfect.”

  Annie had let it slip that her old volleyball shoes were falling apart. Since her dad had basically been AWOL since he and Mom split, leaving Mom struggling to keep the lights on, I handled it. Just like I handled Annie’s other financial needs Mom couldn’t meet. I refused to do anything for Mom, but Annie… she was innocent, and I refused to let her get caught up in the aftermath of our family war.

  “They fit okay?” I asked.

  “Yep. And thanks again for paying the club fees so I can keep practicing. I would have had to quit.”

  Her gratitude hit me right in the feelings. My body might be basically useless now, but at least my government checks could still do some good. “You’re too good to quit. I’m glad to help. You keep working on that serve and colleges will be beating down your door.”

  She laughed. “Sure.” My little sister had always had confidence issues, but they’d only gotten worse with her parents’ separation.

  “I’m serious. You have real skills. Don’t you dare let that go to waste.” What she lacked was faith in herself and a mother who prioritized supporting her daughter. “If I was half as good at basketball as you are at volleyball, I’d be in the NBA by now.”

  “Sure you would.”

  Knowing I wouldn’t win this battle, I changed the subject. “How’s everything else? You glad school’s out?”

  “So glad. Dina and I are going to apply for a job at the coffee shop down the street.”

  Dina was Annie’s best friend, and the two had been pretty much joined at the hip since third grade. I didn’t like the idea of Annie working, but respected her drive and desire to earn her own money. Besides, I couldn’t say shit since I’d been younger than her when I got my first job. “Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with practice. I need you to go pro someday so you can support me.”

  “Deal. You still…” The hesitation in her voice filled me with guilt. There were some things a kid should never have to deal with, and I’d put my little sister through the ringer.

  I stared at the custom Budweiser glasses on my dresser, the best and worst gift she’d ever given me. They served as a constant reminder of the promise I’d made. “Yeah. I’m still clean, Annie. You’d know if I wasn’t.”

  Annie had been all sorts of worried about me while I was in rehab. Detox was a bitch, and I could only hide so much from her, even over the phone. Intending to make her feel better, I’d made the mistake of telling her about accountability partners. She latched right on to the concept, deciding I would be accountable to her. Knowing how much I hated lies, she made me promise not to take anything harder than CBD oil without calling her first.

  There was no way in hell I’d make that call, no matter how bad shit got. I’d eat a bullet before admitting to Annie I was using again.

  “Thanks, Cars. I love and miss you, but I’m glad you’re up there. You sound a lot better.”

  “I love and miss you, too. I am better. I’m right where I need to be. You stay out of trouble, kid.”

  “Funny. I was just about to tell you the same thing.” I heard a voice in the background, and all humor had drained from Annie’s voice when she added, “Mom said to tell you she loves you, too.”

  Mom could declare that shit until she was blue in the face, but until she learned how to back up her words with actions, we had nothing to talk about. “What does she need?” I asked, wondering what her ulterior motives were this time.

  Annie let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know. Probably forgiveness. I wish you’d talk to her.”

  And I wished Mom would stop using my little sister to railroad me. “Let’s not do this today.”

  “Okay. I should get going. Dina and I are going swimming.”

  “Have fun. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Cars.”

  She hung up. I tossed the phone on the bed beside me and went back to staring at my ceiling. Lying flat on my back like this, I could still feel the damage done to my spine, but the pain was bearable. Between Mila’s massage and my stretches, I was as close to comfortable as I’d been in a while.

  I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next time I checked my phone it was just past five. I peeled myself off the bed and headed downstairs to see who was scheduled to make dinner.

  Shari was in the kitchen already rolling out dough on the countertop. “Hey Hound,” she said, giving me a bright smile.

  Shari was a few years older than me, probably around her mid-thirties. Blonde, with big, fake tits she liked to showcase by wearing tight, low-cut tank tops, she was the only person I knew who cooked in high heels. Then again, I was pretty sure Shari had been born in heels since I’d never seen her in anything else. I’d bet she fucked in them, but wasn’t curious enough to find out. Growing up in Vegas, I’d seen more than my fair share of fake body parts and wasn’t all that interested in seeing more. Despite my lack of attraction to her—or maybe because of it—Shari and I had developed a genuine friendship since I’d moved into the fire station.

  “Hey. Can I help you?” I asked, eyeing her workspace to see if I could get a hint as to what she had planned for the night’s meal.

  I didn’t have to be a super-sleuth, because she came right out and told me. “Wanna learn how to make homemade ravioli?” she asked, setting the rolling pin aside.

  Before my injury, cooking had never interested me. But now I saw it as a valuable skill, something I could do despite my fucked-up body. I had no plans of becoming a chef, or anything fancy like that, but at least I could learn how to feed the club that had taken me in. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely. I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

  “They should, for sure. Wash your hands.”

  Once I washed up, she had me lay one sheet of dough over something that looked like an ice tray formed to create ice half-circles instead of cubes.

  “Loosely, so it doesn’t thin out the dough when you press it into the holes.” Checking my work, she handed me a bowl of some sort of cheese and sausage mixture. “Good. Now fill the holes with this.”

  I added mixture until Shari gave me a nod. Then we added another layer of dough and used a metal sheet press to cut out the ravioli.

  “Harder and give it a little shake,” Shari said.

  “That’s what she said,” I deadpanned, unable to resist.

  Shari laughed. “I see you’ve been hanging around Trent.”

  Wasp and Carly’s six-year-old son had no idea how perfect his inappropriate comedic timing was, but the rest of the club sure did. “Yeah, that kid’s a horrible influence.”

  “On all of us,” she agreed. “He has me wrapped around his little finger. Seriously, I’d hide a body for that little hellion. Wouldn’t even think twice about it.”

  “You ever think about having kids of your own?” I asked.

  She side-eyed me. “I just admitted to you that I’d cover up a murder for a child and you think it’s a good idea for me to have one?”

  I laughed. “You might have a point.”

  “Of course I do. I’m more suited for the role of crazy, sexy aunt who will bail you out of jail and fuck your probation officer to get you off the hook.”

  “Wow. That’s really specific.”

  “Yeah,” she conceded. “Might be a fantasy of mine.”

  “Be careful, or you’ll end up in jai
l beside the niece or nephew you’re trying to help.”

  She laughed. “Oh, honey, I would never get caught.”

  For some reason, I believed her.

  While I worked on another set of raviolis, Shari put a large pot of water on to boil. Then she melted butter in a saucepan before adding white wine, tomatoes, parmesan, and seasonings. By the time the water broke into a boil, her sauce was simmering, and I had the ravioli ready for the pot. As the ravioli finished, I threw together a Caesar salad and Shari put the finishing touches on her sauce.

  “I do believe we’ve outdone ourselves this time, Hound,” Shari said, handing me a tasting spoon.

  She was right. It was the best dish I’d ever tasted. I cleaned the tasting spoon before tossing it into the dishwasher. “You’re a fuckin’ wizard in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m a wizard in every room,” she corrected with a sly smile. “Let’s put this in warmers and get it out on the table.”

  As anticipated, dinner was a huge success. Everyone raved, and Shari made sure to give me my undeserved props, since all I’d done was stuff ravioli and make the salad. Still, it felt good to contribute, and as I ate with my brothers, I basked in their compliments.

  The only thing that would have made the meal better was sharing it with Mila. Unfortunately, she didn’t show.

  After dinner was over, I helped the other prospects clean up. Still bothered by Mila’s absence, I made her a plate, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed upstairs to check on her. Pausing in front of her door, I considered calling first. I didn’t know where we stood, though, and it was a lot easier to ignore a ringing phone than someone physically at your door. Gathering up all the courage I could muster, I knocked.

  When Mila answered, her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks were splotchy.

  “You okay?” I asked, concerned.

  “Yeah.” She sniffed, eyeing the plate in my hand. “What’s this?”

  “You didn’t come down for dinner, and I thought you might be hungry.”