Walking on egg shells isn’t my strong suit. “That if he’d been trained to halt,” I emphasize the command enough that Jax lifts his head to look at me. “Today would have gone totally different.”
But Victoria’s eyes narrow like she’s battling fury. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
Does she feel at fault? I study her, my food forgotten. She’s an enigma. One second, she’s grateful and thanking me for helping. The next, she’s at my throat. “I’m saying things could have gone differently.”
To my surprise, her eyes fill with tears and she blinks them back, looking mortified. “I’m training him,” she says, her voice barely more than a miserable whisper as she stares at her plate and pushes more food around with her fork.
She’d made it through more of the food than I expected her to. The plate is nearly clean with only a few scraps of cabbage and watercress left. She’d demolished the mushrooms first, and I can’t help but be glad about that. A girl that likes mushrooms can’t be all bad.
“He’s your service dog, why not have him professionally trained?” I ask, curious.
Her voice is a little stronger when she answers. “I don’t know. He was coming to me because…” she trails off as if deciding not to tell me whatever she was thinking. I decide not to push her. If she wants to talk about it, she will. I’m not really invested either way.
“Well, my offer stands,” I tell her. But I sense her anger returning.
“I can train my own damn dog, okay?” She drops her fork with a clatter and I look at her in surprise. There’s something else going on. I know it. “This wasn’t my fault.” As she says it, her shoulders shake.
“I didn’t say it was,” I tell her. But I know she feels responsible. That’s obvious in how adamantly she’s denying guilt. She feels guilty and she’s trying to convince herself that it’s not her fault, that she couldn’t have stopped it.
But I don’t buy it. A well trained service dog can sit and stay. Hell, a partially trained house dog can sit and stay. It’s an integral command because you never know when something could happen that requires a still, calm dog.
“So what service are you training him for?” I ask and she glares at me.
“None of your business,” she snaps and I shrug.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” I tell her, sensing that honesty is the best way to go with her. “I’m merely trying to make conversation. I apologize for making you angry.”
It’s like I hit a button. She slumps in her chair and there’s a resignation in her tone as she talks to me. “No, I’m sorry. Most people are so quick to judge or call me a liar about him even being a service dog.”
“Some people take advantage of the system,” I say, knowing all too well that some people suck and buy fake service dog vests and fucking try their best to ruin it for people who actually need service animals.
“He warns me of panic attacks,” She says, her voice small. “He warns me it’s time to sit so I don’t pass out. I have PTSD and anxiety.”
“Invisible illnesses,” I say, knowing all too well what she means. “People can’t see them and you look healthy, so they assume you are and that you’re lying.”
Her head snaps up and she looks me in the eyes. “How do you know that?” she asks, her eyes slashing back and forth between mine. And for the first time, I feel a real, non-physical link to this woman.
“I train service dogs for vets. There’s an organization I work with right here in the city.” I place my elbows on the table and link my fingers before resting my chin on them. And I just watch her as her face goes dreamy.
“That’s what I want to do,” She says in a shiny voice that’s more full of life and hope than I’ve heard from her so far.
“Train service dogs for vets?” I ask, more than a little bit startled. I have to say, I’ve never heard anyone say it with such reverence in their voice.
She nods, her eyes glossing over like she’s off in her own world. And I feel a flash of respect for her. It takes someone who has suffered to recognize others who have suffered. I get a rare glimpse into that world through the people I’ve worked with.
But she’s there, on the front lines, battling her demons and looking to give back.
It’s a hell of a peek into her psyche.
“But I suck at it,” She says, her expression crashing and burning as her whole dream goes down in flames behind her eyes.
It’s soul crushing to watch.
Chapter 11
Victoria
I’m feeling worked up and exhausted; a dangerous combination. And I bet that Kyle is hating me right now. Hating that I’m the kind of woman who’s clearly out of control, emotional, and the type of annoying that most guys hate.
But I’m just too emotionally drained to actually care.
As he watches me, that intent blue stare seems to be boring right into my very soul. But it’s not as intrusive as I’d expect such a look. No, he seems… curious. Intrigued. Not judgmental. There’s something so… freeing about his attitude.
I don’t feel like a freak before him.
And it occurs to me that I’ve told him way more than I ever intended. He’s got so much information on me I begin to squirm in my seat. Why did I tell him all that private stuff? Why did I share medical information? Why did I think he needed details?
My pulse begins to thump in my ears and I stand up suddenly. He watches me, no reaction in his gaze. “I’m going to go,” I say, feeling like I’m going to vibrate apart as the trembling begins.
Behind me, I hear a half-sigh, half whine as Sentinel wakes and tries to alert me.
I glance over my shoulder at him, noticing how his ears are alert even though he’s too weak to lift his head. “I’m okay,” I tell him gently, but he whines in response. He’s going to hurt himself trying to help me. I’m hurting him.
With tears blurring my vision, I rush toward the back door. The cold outside wraps me up in tingling, white-hot pain as I step onto the concrete porch. Down the steps, I wrap my arms around myself as if I can hold in the emotions and heat and keep out the world.
Only when I’m in the safety of the mother in law suite do I plop down on the bed, beside the glass door. Bringing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my knees and lower my forehead onto them.
Scalding hot tears flow and drip onto my pants.
Where did I leave my purse?
I vaguely recall dropping it on the bed in the other room, but that distance suddenly seems like an unsurmountable trek across a desert of death. Normally, I’d have Sentinel bring it to me so I could take my meds to slow my heart beat and ease the strain of the attack on my body.
But he’s only inches from death in another house with another person keeping him safe from me.
How the hell did my life go to pieces in the space of a few hours?
A sudden knock at the door startles me. I glance over as it slides open and Kyle’s kneeling at my side. “Do I need to call someone?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes studying me.
“I’m okay,” I gasp out, realizing how tight my chest is, how much pain is lapping at every nerve ending in my body, how my lungs feel like I’m sipping breaths of liquid fire. “I need my purse,” I whisper, mortified that he’s here, witnessing this breakdown. Nobody watches me have panic attacks. Well, not knowingly. They’re shameful, I hide out of sight for them. I refuse to let people know this is a thing I deal with.
But Kyle is on his feet and gone before my cheeks light on fire with shame. He’s back as quickly, my purse in hand. Without hesitation, he digs in while placing it beside me on the floor.
“Which one?” he asks, then before I can answer, he pulls out the blue bottle and reads the label. “This one?” he asks, and I nod, realizing that he’s a vet and has a passing knowledge of medications.
He pops it open and offer me two – as the label says – and is gone again, this time getting me a glass of water from the kitchen. I swallow the pills dry and he off
ers me the glass of water to chase them with.
I drink the entire glass, then tilt my head back to rest on the wall as I watch him. “How did you know?” I ask, hoping to divert my attention from the breakneck speed of my heartbeat, the faintness turning my every limb to jelly, or the trembling of my hands and legs.
“Symptoms,” he says simply, jerking his chin toward my hands.
“Do your dogs and cats act like this when they’re having panic attacks?” I ask dryly. It’s meant to be a joke, but I just sound like a bitch.
To my surprise, his lips curve slightly upward. “Training service dogs, remember?”
I nod. It makes sense. He’s around people who have PTSD and panic attacks, flashbacks, and likely a whole spectrum of reactions. Maybe I don’t look like a total freak to him. Maybe I’m just like the other broken-minded people he helps.
“My dad-” I whisper, the unwanted words just escaping my lips like a captured bird taking flight for freedom. “He hated me. He’d drink too much, he’d hurt me.” As the humiliating whispers fill the space between us, a strange change takes over Kyle. His spine snaps straight, his brows become dark slashes over his blue eyes, and his whole face becomes impassible granite.
And I know.
Like a PTSD sufferer sees themselves in the eyes of a similarly suffering stranger, I know he’s got his own trauma. Perhaps it’s not exactly the same as my own – obviously his outcome is nothing like mine – but he’s got something simmering behind his eyes that feels like I’m looking in a mirror.
I was wrong about him. I was all wrong. Totally wrong. He’s not a silver-spoon sucking, daddy funded, affluenza sufferer.
No, he’s got his own damn demons, and they’re eating him up as much as my own do. And with a blink, he shuts down and closes me out.
Chapter 12
Kyle
Morning comes painfully. But Sentinel is showing promise. He’s lifting his head, perking his ears at me when I talk, and he’s sniffing in Jax’s direction while still doing his best to ignore him. After I take Jax for a walk, I come back to a standing – though trembling – Sentinel whining at the back door.
So I let him out. The back is enclosed. He can’t escape. I’ll just make sure to keep a close eye on him so I can be sure he’s not running or getting rough. But he’s not into all that jazz. Nope, he quickly relieves himself then sits right outside the mother in law apartment.
Inside, I see nothing.
But I can see him from the kitchen window, so I go inside to make some breakfast. I’m not feeling the ritual of eating, so I decide on smoothies. I got some beautiful strawberries yesterday, some bananas, and I’ve got chia seeds for protein and omegas. Plus a few other odds and ends, I’ve got a good thing going.
I make an extra, certain my housemate will be hungry this morning too. Out the window, I see Sentinel just sitting, waiting for his owner to notice him. It’s sad, really, but I know she’ll either see him or I’ll wrangle him back in to bed soon.
And, as if hearing my thoughts, she slides open the door and falls to her knees before her stoic dog. Then he licks her face and I know she’s crying. She throws her arms around his shoulders and her pretty brown eyes meet mine. I lift my drink in a silent toast to her and she gives me a little nod before squeezing her eyes closed and clutching her dog like he’s the only thing in the world she cares about.
I hear Jax saunter in and look down at him. He’s staring up at me, ears perked. “Don’t even think about it,” I tell him and he tilts his head at me. “I’m not cuddling you like that.”
I look again at Victoria. Her hair is wet and she’s dressed again in her tight black leggings and the pretty maroon sweater she’d been wearing the day before. Fuck. I should have offered to go get her truck last night. It totally slipped my mind that she might need some of the stuff in it.
As she rises to her feet, I feel an odd stutter in my chest. She lifts her chin and the sun paints her face in golden beauty and lights her hair up like liquid gold. Her gaze meets mine again, and I’m struck at how Sentinel circles behind her legs and walks beside her, his gate totally normal as he keeps her pace without touching her, but close enough she could grip him if she needed.
And it dawns on me that whatever happened yesterday that made him run, he had a reason. He’s not an unruly animal. He’s obviously well behaved. Something else must have been happening. She slides the door open and I hear the command in her voice as she talks to him.
“Bed, now.”
She walks around the counter and I offer her the smoothie. I watch her face as she sips it through the thick straw I’d found for her. She seems unsure at first, until the drink hits her tongue.
“This is really good,” she says, seemingly shocked as she peers into the cup like I’d done some clever bait and switch on her. “Not too sweet, not to sour. Yum.” She smiles and the whole world lights up with the expression.
“Want to go get your truck?” I ask, and she seems shocked.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She continues drinking her smoothie.
I pick up my keys. “Whenever you’re ready. I’d like to keep Sentinel for a while longer if that’s okay with you,” I pause, but she doesn’t seem upset by my words. “He seems like he’s doing really good, but I’d hate for him to over extend and pop his stitches. Plus, I’ve got antibiotics to keep him on so he doesn’t get an infection from that gash.”
She nods, studying me even as she continues plowing through her breakfast.
I almost feel bad. She’s obviously hungry. And there’s nothing in the mother in law. “I have a bit of work to do today. I got a call first thing about a horse, I need to go shopping, you know the drill.”
She nods, her expression shifting. And she finally takes a break from her smoothie. “Can I come with?” she asks.
Surprise fills my being. “For what?” I ask, wondering what I missed.
She arches an eyebrow at me as if she’s thinking I’m playing stupid with her. “To the horse.”
Oh. Oh! Of course. She’s a woman. Women like horses, right? “Sure,” I say, not seeing any harm coming of it. It’s a routine thing; I stop over and check in on the animals for several farms on the outskirts of the city.
But the Parkers haven’t scheduled, so I need to go drop in and see how things are going.
She finishes her drink and sets the glass on the counter with a look of triumph. “Done. Ready to go.” Then she halts, her eyes focused on something I can’t quite see. Her whole attitude changes and I see it happen in real time. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice halting and haunted. “I’ll wash it,” She says, taking her cup to the sink.
Thinking quickly, I grab her shoulders, whisk the cup out of her hands and focus on her eyes. “Come back to me, Victoria,” I say gently, holding her with care and trying to keep a kind, positive note to my voice.
Suddenly, her attentions snaps back and it’s like someone flicked on a light switch. I know she’s seeing me. But there are tears gathering quickly and I pull her into a hug, my heart aching for this damaged, sweet girl.
Chapter 13
Victoria
On the other side of the counter I hear Sentinel whimper, but I tell him again to go to bed. It feels… good to be wrapped up in Kyle’s arms like this.
It’s over much too quickly.
He pulls back and I try to keep the sting of shame from paining my cheeks red with a few deep breaths. How did he know? I mean, the flashback was real, like I was back home, watching dad point to the cup with his belt in his other hand, his breath reeking of booze and the knowledge of how much pain I’d suffer in the face of such a minute thing, as not washing a glass.
Because when dad was drunk and got started, he didn’t stop.
How many broken bones had I written off as being a clumsy person? How many times had doctors or nurses asked me if someone was hurting me at home even as I turned a falsely bright smile their direction, knowing that telling anyone would make it a millio
n times worse?
But now, with Kyle close and not passing any judgment or looking at me like I’m a victim or some poor, broken girl, I feel safe.
“I’m ready,” I say as I walk over and grab my purse off the table. “Can we take Jax and Sentinel?” I ask and he looks at the dogs, then at me.
“To get your truck or out to the horses?” He asks.
“Out to the horses,” I say, not wanting to bother Sentinel for the quick trip to my truck.
He’s stoic as he answers. “Sure.” There’s something off about him, some guarded look in his eyes that’s bothering me. But I decide to give him his space and let it go. He’s got his own shit to deal with and I’ve got mine. Who am I to get pushy?
We head out to his car with Jax hot on our heels. “He heard his name,” Kyle says as if that explains everything. And it does. Jax is well mannered, keeping pace with his owner again without a leash. Even when a car goes down the main road with a yappy little dog barking its heart out, he merely watches his owner for the next cue.
“He’s so well behaved,” I marvel as we stop at the car. Jax stops and waits at the door behind mine and I open it for him. He hesitates, like a good service dog.
Kyle’s order is sharp, his voice harsh as he says, “In.” Jax’s reaction is instantaneous; he is in the back seat before I can even see the movement. I close the door behind him and get in the passenger side.
We’re quiet on the drive, not because there’s nothing to say, but because we don’t feel pressured to fill the silence with small talk. It’s an amazing sensation to simply share space and companionable silence with someone.
We pull into the parking lot and my heart stops in my chest. My truck is nowhere to be seen.
“Did they tow it?” I ask, unable to believe my bad luck.
But Kyle doesn’t answer. He pulls his phone out and dials. “Hey,” he says, his voice cold, “Did you guys tow a truck?” he asks. I stare in shock at the empty spot as he rattles off details. Remarkably accurate details. Right down to my license plate number, make, model and year.
Billionaire Bash: The Complete Steele Series Page 44
