You Give Love a Bad Name

by Marilyn Brant

  The whole damn thing was irritating as hell, actually. Here I was, staying on my best behavior for a woman who didn’t even know I wanted to please her. A woman I wasn’t even dating. Fucking insane.

  Trev, who liked to have an occasional smoke when we’d go out, said, “I need a cigarette. Wanna stand outside with me for five minutes?”

  “Why don’t you ask your lady friend to keep you company?” I glanced around. “Where’d Ms. Red go anyway?”

  He inclined his head just slightly in the direction of a corner table. The redhead was chatting it up with another guy. “I think she’s playing hard to get. I wanna see if she notices that I’m not where she last saw me. If she looks around for me.”

  So I shrugged and followed my buddy out into the mid-September night.

  As he lit up, I gazed through the windows of the bar next door and saw Vicky at a table with her friends. She glanced outside right at that moment, and I was irrationally glad that Trevor had dragged me out here.

  I was tempted to smile at her, but I didn’t. She looked away, pretending she hadn’t seen me. But I knew she had. The owners of the wine bar kept those windows good and clean.

  “She noticed,” Trev said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied. But, though he was talking about Ms. Red, who was looking frantically around Max’s for him, I was thinking about Vicky.

  Only difference was that Trev would get laid tonight, and I wouldn’t.

  Which was one of the reasons why I was in an edgier mood than usual the next morning. Sunday. 11:30ish. Time to take Winston on a walk to the park.

  And Vicky was a beautiful creature of habit. I’d seen her exercise walking here last week at this time...and, oh, yeah. There she was now. Like clockwork. Striding around the sidewalks by Eastman Field. In her skintight Lycra workout clothes.

  I loved Lycra.

  She was on the straightaway closest to the lake, heading north and focused entirely on her audiobook.

  I grinned. I’d had enough of being ignored by her. And Winston, upon spotting her, gave a friendly bark.

  He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored either. I let him off of his leash and said, “You wanna go say hi to the pretty lady?” I pointed toward Vicky then gave Winston a reassuring pat. “You go say hello!”

  My dog barked again and took off, bounding with enthusiasm toward his target. I laughed and jogged after him. Then watched as Winston intercepted Vicky, wagging his tail hard and licking her hand the second she stopped, bent down, and reached out to pet him.

  Her gaze connected with mine and, this time, she didn’t pretend not to see me. Ah, progress.

  “Hey, there, Mademoiselle. Have fun at The Lounge last night?”

  She looked momentarily flustered by the question but disguised it by burying her head in Winston’s fur. My dog rubbed against her like a lover. Lucky bastard.

  “It, um, was a nice evening,” she said finally. “How about for you?”

  “Well, I was with Trevor at Max’s, as you well know.” I shot her a knowing look. “He brought a new friend back to his place, so I was left to my own devices for most of the night.”

  “What? You didn’t bring home a new friend?”

  “I did not,” I told her, giving her the information straight. Let her judge me if she dared.

  “So, no one caught your eye last night?”

  I crossed my arms and grinned at her. “I wouldn’t say that, Vicky.”

  She glanced up at me, startled but, clearly, not knowing how to respond. I’d been vague enough to keep her guessing. Score one point for me.

  Winston fought to keep her attention on him. He jumped up on his hind legs and did a five-second jig, the little show off. But he got what he wanted. Vicky laughed and clapped and focused entirely on him. And when Winston returned to all fours again, she scratched behind his ears and said, “What a clever boy you are. Such a sweetheart, too!”

  Shit. I was feeling jealous of my dog again. He was plainly smarter than me in winning over the French teacher’s affection. That much was obvious. But, although Winston was cuter and a better dancer, I could do a few things he couldn’t.

  I pulled Winston’s favorite chew toy—a stuffed white bunny—out of my pocket and threw it toward the center of the park. “Go fetch!” I said. “Go get the bunny!”

  Winston took off like a shot, and I stepped closer to Vicky.

  We both watched as he came bouncing back with the toy. I threw it again, farther this time. Off he went and, as expected, got distracted by a couple of squirrels. Eastman Field was usually full of them.

  “He’s absolutely adorable, Blake.”

  “Thanks, I know.” I paused. “So, do I need to do a jig to get you to look at me like that?”

  She chuckled, one of those slightly embarrassed laughs that happen when someone doesn’t have a clue how to answer. I decided it was time to arm wrestle a response from her.

  “I’m not the world’s greatest dancer,” I admitted, “but I know a few clubs in the city that have good music. Couples have been known to hit the dance floor there, too. Or just sit and listen to the tunes over drinks and appetizers.”

  “Hmm,” she said noncommittally, her eyes still on my dog, who was prancing around the middle of the mostly empty park, having the time of his furry life.

  I tapped her shoulder to get those dark eyes of hers back on my face. “Okay, subtlety is not working for me here. Let me try this again.” I took a deep breath. “Mademoiselle, I don’t believe we got off on the right foot. So, I’d really like to take you out for an evening. On a proper date. With food and drinks and conversation and stuff like that.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean—why? Because. Because...I like you. And you like my dog, which is almost like liking me. And I want to talk with you outside of your classroom or random meetings around town.”

  She eyed me with suspicion. “They’re not entirely random. You’ve been following me.”

  “I haven’t been ‘following’ you like some crazy stalker. What kind of a man do you think I am?”

  She raised her brows, but there was a hint of a smile fighting to emerge at the corners of her mouth.

  She was smart, so I had to play this candidly.

  “All right, no. Don’t answer that,” I said. “I wasn’t trailing you around Mirabelle Harbor, exactly, but I was kind of hoping we’d run into each other. Playing the odds on where I might see you, okay?”

  The twitching of her lips finally turned into a bona fide smile. Yes. This wasn’t a total win yet, but I was inching closer. I was wearing her down.

  “You already asked me out, Blake, remember? Drinks and then going back to your place and getting naked? I clearly recall saying no to your offer.”

  I gave her my most charming grin. “We won’t go back to my place—” Not this first time, anyway... “We’ll just have the drinks and, maybe, order some dessert. Would you agree to that?”

  There was a pause that lasted about three centuries.

  “I—I’ll think about it,” she said, turning to gaze briefly at Winston, who was enthusiastically doing another goofy prancy dance, spinning in circles and trying either to regain our attention or impress the squirrels. I wasn’t sure which.

  I just knew that Vicky was finally—if marginally—warming up toward me. And Winston was definitely helping. For the briefest moment, I was filled with a sense of rightness and contentedness.

  Pleased as I was with this situation, I began making mental plans for whatever might come next. We’d flirt some more. I’d flatter her a little. She’d see through my game, but I’d disarm her with my sense of humor. I’d make her laugh and, eventually, get her to nail down a date. I was good at this, and I knew Vicky and I would have some fun for however long it lasted.

  So I was biding my time. Happy to stand where I was, feeling the sun warming my face. Vicky beside me. My dog playing nearby.

  Then a group of runners jogged by us.

  I laugh
ed at first. They were like a flash mob, coming together from every corner of Eastman Field, as if they’d agreed to meet here at noon sharp and had invited everyone in their path to join in.

  Winston, just a few yards away in his own doggy world, was startled by the sudden rush of people. I could hear his bark of panic as the runners flowed around us. I called out his name, but he was already spooked. Strangers, especially large crowds of them, always freaked him out.

  But then one runner’s foot connected with the toy bunny and sent it sailing toward the edge of the park. Winston’s eyes followed it, barking in alarm and searching for anything familiar among the chaos.

  Scared and unleashed, he bolted away from the pack of runners as soon as they cleared—dashing toward the toy, which had been kicked again, and straight into the parkway’s traffic.

  “NO!” I yelled, when I saw where he was running. Mirabelle Parkway was one of the busiest streets in the northern suburbs. “Winston come back!”

  It happened in a split second. A devastating fracture of time.

  I heard a honking car horn.

  A shout.

  A sickening thud.

  I watched in horror as Winston’s fluffy body flew through the air and landed in a heap against the curb.

  I didn’t have the breath to utter a word. My heart, my lungs, and my brain function stopped cold. I just sprinted toward him, praying for the first time since my mom’s stroke that a living creature might miraculously live longer than expected.

  My prayers counted for shit last time, but I was willing to try anything as I knelt beside my dog, gently cradling his head and checking for blood, broken bones, signs of life.

  He was so small. Such a little body underneath all of that cream-colored fur. And he was knocked out cold. Paws so limp that he looked dead, although I could still feel warmth when I touched him.

  In my head, I was screaming, but my mouth didn’t work. And I couldn’t think.

  My pulse had frozen, too. Didn’t know what to do to revive him. The devastation of losing Zeus those years ago flooded me all over again.

  I was vaguely aware of cars whizzing by. A few had slowed down. One blue van screeched to a halt near us.

  The driver, an older woman, shouted to us, asking if my dog was okay. She’d seen him get sideswiped by that fucking SUV. Wanted to know if we needed help.

  I couldn’t answer. Hell, I couldn’t even move.

  But Vicky, breathing hard beside me, spoke for us both. “We need to get him to the animal hospital. Now.” She was smoothing Winston’s brow. Concentrating hard on something. “He’s alive, Blake,” she said in an urgent voice. “Lift him up carefully, okay? Hold him against you, and try to keep his spine straight.” As I did that, she pointed toward the vehicle belonging to the concerned woman who’d stopped for us. “Get in the van,” Vicky commanded, “and let’s go.”

  ~Vicky~

  It had been a long time since I’d seen anyone in a state of shock, but a person never forgot what it looked like.

  No matter how much of a tough-guy façade Blake might put on, his silence in this situation wasn’t a sign of strength. He was trembling and probably didn’t even realize it. Completely disoriented, like a victim in the aftermath of a bombing.

  The woman who’d stopped and picked us up had a pink-clad toddler in the backseat, strapped into a booster chair and staring at Blake and me with large blue eyes.

  “Sleeping doggy?” the little girl asked Blake as he climbed into the backseat clutching Winston and muttering inarticulately under his breath.

  “Yes,” I told the child. Then I whispered to the girl’s mother, “The emergency vet on Spring Street, please.” She nodded and sped us there like a race car driver on the last lap.

  “We can’t thank you enough,” I told her as Blake and I slid out of the van.

  She thrust a business card at me. “Leave me a message and let me know how he is, okay?”

  I nodded.

  She lowered her voice. “Both the dog and your friend,” she added with a worried look in Blake’s direction.

  “I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Blake was already running through the doors of the animal hospital with Winston clutched to his chest. I ran after them just in time to hear Blake finally speak. “Please. Please help him,” he said to the receptionist, sounding terrified. “He was hit by a car.” Then to Winston in a hoarse whisper, “Hang in there, Buddy. I—I need you.”

  For the next hour and a half, Blake mostly paced around the waiting room, stopping only when there was news of some kind.

  The two vets on call both examined Winston immediately and thoroughly, and they concluded he had a bad forelimb injury—a “brachial plexus avulsion,” they called it—and most likely a serious concussion.

  “It’s the leg that must have hit the pavement first,” said Jill, one of the vets.

  I heard Blake swear under his breath.

  “The good news,” said Aidan, the other vet, “is that his leg is unbroken. It’s a manageable injury. We’re binding it, and we’ll give him anti-inflammatory meds to reduce the swelling. Hopefully, with some care, it should heal in a couple of months.”

  Blake looked marginally relieved. “What about the concussion, though?”

  Jill reached out and squeezed his arm, compassion softening her gaze. “We also took a CT scan of his brain to make sure there was no build up of blood or any other fluid in his head. Thankfully, we didn’t see any severe damage, but head injuries are always tricky. We need to wait for Winston to wake up, and then we can run a few other tests.”

  Blake nodded, pacing miserably again the moment the vets were out of sight.

  Periodically, one of them would emerge from the back and fill us in on something.

  “When can I see him?” Blake asked a while later.

  “Give us another half hour or so,” the vet replied before heading back in.

  I’d already asked Blake twice if he wanted some coffee or a sandwich. He refused. But as the minutes wore on, I wondered if there was anything at all I could do for him that would help. He looked so helpless, so lost, so afraid. And, at the same time, he seemed almost resigned to the sadness. Like he’d been in this situation before and expected complications and an unhappy ending.

  I knew how scary it could be when a beloved pet was sick or hurt. I’d been here once when Napoleon had eaten some tainted tuna. The manufacturers had recalled the batch, but not before hundreds of cats had fallen ill.

  It was infuriating that some careless, speeding driver had caused Winston’s injuries and hadn’t even stopped to help. But we were here, now, getting him excellent treatment. He was alive. He’d be okay.

  “They’re taking good care of him,” I whispered to Blake. “Winston’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”

  He shook his head. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have taken him off his leash. I should have kept my eyes on him at all times. It’s my fault,” he repeated.

  “It was an accident. If that crowd of runners hadn’t spooked him or if his toy hadn’t been bunted toward the street or if that driver had been going slower or paying more attention, Winston would have been fine.”

  “But I knew he could be skittish—”

  “Blake, listen to me. I’m not saying what happened today was a good thing, but it could have been a lot worse. You know that. A dog can recover from an injured leg and even a bad concussion. And Winston will. He’s strong enough to fight this and heal. He adores you. He wants to stay with you.”

  He was standing very still. If it hadn’t been so quiet in the waiting room, I wouldn’t have heard his shuddering intake of breath. If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I would have missed the wetness in his eyes that he blinked away.

  He turned abruptly toward the coffee station, his back to me, and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Vicky. Um, I’m gonna have some coffee now and just hang out here until they let me take him home. You’ve been great. Really, really great
. But there’s nothing either of us can do for Winston right now, and I’m sure you have other things to do with your day.” He finally turned around, holding a cup of coffee that I doubted he had any intention of drinking. “You should get out of here. Do whatever you—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I’m staying.”

  Blake tried to talk me into going, but he was too shaken up to form a convincing argument, and I just flat out refused to leave.

  “If anything like this ever happens to my cat, God forbid, you can spend the day at the vet with me, okay?” I said. “Napoleon and I have been together for six years. He’s a member of my family. Just as Winston is a member of yours.”

  Blake set his unwanted coffee on the counter and smiled briefly for the first time in two hours. “Why am I not surprised that you named your pet after a French dictator?”

  I smiled back just as the lady vet came out into the room. “Winston is conscious but very groggy. If you’d like to see him for a few minutes, you may. But it’s best if we keep him here overnight for observation.”

  Blake’s eyes widened. “I can’t take him home?”

  “Hopefully tomorrow,” Jill said. She motioned him to follow her. “Why don’t you both come back?”

  I hung a few steps behind as we entered a small room with Winston atop a table, his head resting on a cushion. Blake rushed over to him and leaned in close.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his hands hovering above the dog’s furry body, as if afraid to touch him and do any more damage. Blake finally stroked him around the bandaging, as gently as if he were caressing an infant.

  Winston’s eyes were heavy, but they opened when he sensed his owner’s presence, and he licked Blake’s nose with his tiny pink tongue.

  “Hey, little buddy.” Blake bowed his head. I couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders were shaking.