by Tara Lain
Ru sat back. “So that’s it? It’s over?”
The words hurt like a stab in the eye. “Yes, yes, it’s over.” Tears tried to press from his eyes and he viciously wiped at them, making Mist start.
“Merle, what the hell?”
“I’ve got to go. I’m too tired. I promise, I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you everything. I just can’t do it now. You know the basics anyway. Me and Tom. Not happening.” He hugged Ru fiercely. “Thank you for taking care of Mist and for—everything. If I work my whole life, I’ll never pay you back.”
Ru held him at arm’s length and stared at him worriedly. “You want to leave her another night so you can sleep in? We love her and it’s no trouble.”
Merle tried to smile. “Dognapper.”
“Caught me.”
“I want to take you down to the shelter. There are so many great dogs. Gray would love Rowdy.”
“Okay. We’ll do that as soon as you’re rested.”
He nodded and walked to the front door. Ru handed him Mist’s leash; he hooked her up, hugged Ru again, and got her in the car.
Ru said, “By the way, we got her a dog seat. It’s in Gray’s car, though, and he’s at the studio.”
“Just tell me what I need and I’ll get her one like it. You keep yours for your dog.” He waved, got in beside Mist, and drove toward home. Every yard away from Ru’s got lonelier. Mist wiggled and yipped a little as they turned toward Victoria. “He won’t be there when we get there, girl.” The water welled in his eyes again. “He won’t be there anymore.”
His foot hit the brake, lurching them both forward. “Okay, that was about as much sentimental crap as I can handle. Remind me of that later, okay?”
He pulled into the garage, opened the door for Mist, and plowed into the house. “Come on, I’ll get you some food.” Mist followed him up the stairs to the kitchen. He poured dry food into her dish, and she munched a little but kept looking at him with those pale eyes. “Sorry, can’t help it.” He wasn’t sure what.
After tossing the food bag back in the Mist cabinet, he stomped into the bedroom and threw open his suitcase. All the clothes he’d worn in New York mocked him—slim suits and fashionable skintight jeans. Who is that guy? Is he me?
Too much work. He stood and wandered back into the great room, then down the stairs to his hangout space. Mist followed. The remote lay waiting, and he flipped on the flat-screen. News. Shit, fuck that. Just what I need. Something more screwed up than my life….
He flipped off the TV and went behind the bar for a beer. Several bottles of whiskey glistened there. No, he didn’t drink the stuff often. This wasn’t often. He grabbed a glass, pressed the icemaker lever for some cubes, poured in some kind of whiskey, and took a drink. She-it! How do people do that? He looked in the refrigerator and found ginger ale. Promising. He drowned the whiskey in the soda and tried it. Better. Endurable. He splashed another topper of whiskey in the glass, got a beer for good measure, and plopped on the sectional.
Mist jumped up beside him.
“Okay, let’s talk this through.” He sipped from the glass, shook his head, and took a bigger swallow. “I’ve got you.” He hugged her, then took another swallow. “How do I have the fucking nerve, the pure ego to feel sorry for myself?” He slugged back a mouthful of his drink, then washed it down with some beer.
Mist licked his hand.
“Good point.” He got up and splashed more whiskey and ginger into the glass, then came back to Mist. “Look at you. Got left by somebody and had to live a bunch of your life in a cage not knowing if you were going to die. Hell, that’s screwed up.”
Whiskey. Beer.
“I got to do what I wanted. I mean, I’m not trying to be some scientist or something. I’m an actor. I love that.” Mist stared in his eyes. “Yeah. What I don’t love is being a movie star.” He sighed and rested his head back. “Always living somebody else’s idea of you. Such crap.” Shit, world’s spinning. He swallowed another mouthful. Sweet and cool. Yeah, he needed sweet and cool.
His hand patted Mist all by itself, but his brain kept leaking and he couldn’t hold on to his ideas. “Left. I got left too, Mist. Maybe we’re in a cage together now. Do you think someone will come and adopt us?”
His hand tipped the beer bottle into his mouth all by itself. Glug. He swallowed most of the contents and spilled some down his chin. “Shit. Don’ wanna wreck my cage. My pretty cage. Nobody’ll come get us then.”
“Woof.”
“Wha? Gotta go, girl?” He picked up his head. Oh, mistake. Spinning. Respon—si—bilities. He pushed himself sideways off the couch, staggered toward the laundry room, and opened the back door. “Go pee. Le’ me know how it turns out.”
He fell backward a step, hit the washer, slammed his head into the cabinet, and crumpled to the floor. Seems like a good place to sleep.
SHIT! HIS eyes opened. Where—oh God! He slapped a hand over his mouth, lurched to his feet, which tilted the room like an amusement park ride, and folded his body over the laundry sink while he tossed whatever he still had in his stomach—not a helluva lot that wasn’t liquid—down the drain. Cold night air poured in the open door, and that managed to restore some minimum consciousness.
Oh shit, Justice. You are such a loser!
“Mist?” Damn, poor dog. She probably ran from his disgusting state. He raised his voice. “Mist? Here girl.”
No woofs or doggy claws.
He pushed away from the sink and stared down the short hall to the room of his demise. “Mist?” He ran down the hall and looked in the family room, behind the bar, then ran to his bedroom and stared at her empty bed. Shit! No dog. “Mist!” He whirled and hurried down the stairs to the open back door. “Mist!” He ran outside, looked toward the backyard. “Mist. Here, girl.” Waking the neighbors. Who gives a shit? He spun toward the gate where the trash cans got taken out. The gate that led to the street. The gate that stood open. “Miiiist!”
He ran for the street and looked up and down. Nothing. “Mist!” Shit! Shit! Shit!
He started toward the car. Wait. Cell phone. He lurched through the gate again, grabbed his wallet and cell from the cabinet near the door, got his car keys, and slid on a light jacket, then raced to the Audi. No please. Don’t let anything happen to her because I’m such a mess. Please. Please.
He pulled into the street and started to drive very slowly, looking for that pale gray form. Nothing. Oh God. Oh God. Only a couple of blocks and he butted into the highway. No. No.
His fingers fumbled at the phone. Answer. Answer.
“Merle?”
“Tom, I lost Mist. Please, please find her. Please.”
“Where are you?”
“In my car in the neighborhood. I’ve driven all the streets, but she’s not anywhere. If she dies, I don’t want—”
“Stop! Go home. I’ll meet you there.”
“Please, Tom.”
“We’ll find her.”
He hung up and drove home, his heart beating one tattoo. Tom. Tom. Tom.
WHEN TOM pulled up in front ten minutes later, Merle sat on his front porch with his arms around his knees, rocking.
Tom ran out of the car carrying a big flashlight, raced across the lawn, and picked Merle up, holding him like a baby in his arms. Boy, did he smell bad, but he sure felt good. “It’s okay. Where did she get out?”
Merle pointed toward the side where the gate stood open. His body shook like a small dog who’d been left alone.
“Come on.” Tom set Merle on his feet but kept holding him tight under his arm. He listened and heard the crash of the waves. Slowly he walked toward the path that led to the ocean. Leading Merle, he flipped on the light and started down the rocky steps. “Mist,” he called quietly, then listened. Merle stumbled, and Tom held him closer. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
“D-do you?”
He tightened his arm. Even with the light, the path was really scary, but he kept moving. “Mist.”
The surf was so loud now he couldn’t even hear himself breathing. They turned the corner and the ocean spread out in front of them, the moonlight flickering off the tips of the waves.
Tom stopped at the bottom of the stairs where they hit the sand. “Mist!” A wave crested, rumbled, then slithered back out, leaving quiet behind. “Mist!”
“Woof!”
Merle slapped a hand over his mouth. Tom nodded and smiled. He ventured out onto the beach.
“Woof, woof.”
He shone the big flashlight all around the edge of the sand and—there!
Mist struggled in some wire that formed a part of a temporary fence. Her leg looked caught and twisted. He ran toward her and she jumped, then whimpered.
“Hold still, girl.” He sank down on his knees beside her. Merle landed next to him.
Mist yipped.
Merle wrapped his arms around her neck while Tom unwrapped the wire. Blood dripped down her flank. “Easy. Don’t let her struggle. It makes the wire tighter.”
Merle held her closer. “Take it easy, baby. Tom’s going to set you free. Just be patient. He’ll save you.”
Tom unwound the wire with the words thumping in his heart.
It took many minutes, but finally the thin, rusted metal untwisted. Merle took the flashlight, and Tom lifted Mist. Merle’s voice shook. “We need to get her to a doctor.”
“Yes. I know one. He takes care of the dogs from the shelter.”
Tom called the vet, who climbed out of bed to meet them at his hospital. Merle got in back with Mist, and Tom drove slowly so as not to hurt her. As they cruised to downtown Laguna, Merle said, “How did you know where to find her?”
Tom glanced in the rearview and saw Merle holding Mist tightly in his arms. “I figured if you called her and she heard you, she’d come or at least bark. So she couldn’t hear you. And that meant she was probably near the ocean, since it makes so much noise.”
“Man, I never thought of that.”
“You were too upset to think very much.”
“Yeah.”
They rode for a few minutes quietly. Tom said, “How did she get out?”
Merle sighed really loud. “I let her into the backyard to pee, and I didn’t notice the gate was open.”
“I never thought she’d run away. She loves you.”
“She didn’t run. I got drunk and passed out and left the door open.” He sounded really mad. “She probably got disgusted waiting for me and decided to check out the neighborhood.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with Mist?”
“I never saw you get drunk before, Merle. I think Mist would be sad if she didn’t have you. Just don’t do it again.”
Merle started to laugh. It was loud and filled the whole truck. He’d stop for a second, then start up again. “Oh God, you’re so great. I love you. You’re amazing.”
Tom held his breath. “Really?”
“What?”
“What you said.”
“That you’re great and amazing?”
“No!”
Merle leaned forward so his voice was soft behind Tom’s ear. “That I love you?”
Tom nodded.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Me too.”
“You mean you love me?”
“Yes.” Things got really quiet. Couldn’t stand it anymore. “I guess that doesn’t matter, though, does it?” Tom pulled into the parking lot of the animal hospital, parked, and got out. Merle slid out beside Tom and held Mist’s legs while Tom picked her up.
Merle patted Mist’s head. “How do you figure that?”
“W-what?”
“Why do you say it doesn’t matter?”
“Because you’re you and I’m me.” Tom smiled at Merle, but he felt really sad.
Inside, Dr. Sanderson waited for them, and they carried Mist into his exam room and put her on the metal table. Merle never stopped holding Mist’s head. He kept telling her what a good girl she was and how he’d try not to do any more dumb things and how he loved her.
Funny, Tom kind of wanted to be a dog.
Dr. Sanderson shaved Mist’s fur, cleaned and treated her wound, and bandaged it.
He said, “I’ll put her in a cone so she doesn’t chew at her bandage.”
Tom shook his head. “She won’t chew it. Honest. She’s such a good girl. She’d hate that cone.”
“It’s just instinct, Tom.”
Merle leaned down and kissed Mist on her head. “How ’bout I take the cone, and if she starts to chew, I’ll put it on?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They checked out; Merle paid the doctor, got medicine and bandages for Mist, and made an appointment to bring her back in three days.
Tom drove to Merle’s house in silence. It was like waiting. He carried Mist to the grass, put her down to pee, then took her to the pink dog bed in Merle’s room and laid her gently in it. She licked his hand, sighed, and closed her eyes.
Merle put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Come on. We need to talk.”
Chapter Thirty-one
TOM’S STOMACH did a big flip at the warmth of Merle’s hand. “Okay. I’m not so good at talking, Merle, but I’ll try.”
Merle took his hand. That seemed like a good thing. They walked slowly to the living room but left the bedroom door open so they could hear Mist.
“Want something to drink?”
“Okay.”
“Beer? Soft drink? I have root beer.”
Tom smiled. “I really like root beer.”
“Good. I do too.” He walked into the kitchen, but Tom could still see him since it was so open. Merle looked good doing everything, but he seemed kind of—tired, and like life was being hard on him.
“We both like dogs too.”
Merle smiled a little. “Yes, dogs and root beer.” He brought a fizzy glass to Tom, then sat in the chair opposite him. “I’m going to sit over here while we talk so I don’t jump your bones.”
Tom laughed root beer up his nose and it felt burny. “That’s a very funny thing that people say.” He got some root beer down his throat this time. “So you go first because I don’t know what to say.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why don’t you want to see me?”
“No fair.” He frowned. “That’s me going first.”
Merle nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But there’s no point talking if you really don’t like me and don’t want to see me anymore.”
“You know I like you. I told you.”
“Let me rephrase. If you don’t want to be with me like as my boyfriend no matter what I say, then I’ll shut up and that’ll be that, I guess.”
“Boyfriend?” He bit his cheek and it hurt. “What does that mean?”
Merle leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “Well, it means we’d hang out, go places together, go on dates, have sex—” He looked up and grinned. “—and wouldn’t see other people.”
Tom’s heart beat so hard he couldn’t catch his breath, so he sounded funny. “How would that work, Merle? What about when people like René want to be your boyfriend, and when you have to go to movie stuff and you want to take somebody?”
Merle’s eyebrows squinched up. “I’d tell René I already have a boyfriend, and if you didn’t want to go to the, uh, movie stuff with me, I might take a costar like a girl.”
“You mean I could go?” He felt his eyes getting wider.
“Sure. That’s what boyfriends do, right?” Still, he kind of looked away.
“But, Merle, that could be bad for you.”
Merle stared at his root beer. “How do you mean?”
“People don’t think a guy like you would be with a guy like me.”
He blew out his breath as if he had too much of it. “You might be right and the secret—” He looked up suddenly. “—is not giving a shit.”
Does he mean that? Tom couldn’t
make his lips work.
Merle said, “I get that some people may think it’s odd that we’re together, but it’s only a problem if we think it’s weird, right?”
Tom looked down at his hands. “I kind of think it’s weird, Merle.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re, you know, you. Smart and funny and talented and handsome and—smart.” Oh shit, he didn’t want to say this. “You need a guy like you so everyone can say, ‘Aren’t they a perfect couple?’” He wanted so bad to run out the door, but he wasn’t going to, because talking was important.
Merle leaned forward on his knees. “I’ve thought about this a lot. All the time, really. I understand what you’re saying. People don’t expect us to be together. But the fact is, I’ve been with the guys people want me to be with. They’re fine. It’s like René. He’s brilliant and inspiring and—fine. I can settle for that and make everyone else happy.” He took a drink of root beer. “But damn, I don’t really want to live for everyone else.” He looked up, kind of like he was wanting Tom to understand. “It’s hard for a person in my business to say ‘Fuck it all, I want to live my own life.’ If other people don’t like you, you fail. But I finally realized, like yesterday, or was it today, that I’d rather be happy than successful.”
Tom swallowed.
Merle spread his hand. “I only have one definition of happiness and that’s spelled T-O-M.”
“That’s, that’s me.”
“Right. T-O-M spells the kindest, most together, loving, and smart guy I’ve ever known. I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ll be taking a big chance on a—you know, actor. But honestly, I’ve tried to see my life some other way. I’ve even wanted to want it some other way, but I’ve only ever been truly happy when I’m with you.”
Tom wiped a hand across his face.
Merle looked up really direct. “I’ll be honest. I don’t want you to be my boyfriend.”
Tom’s throat tightened. “N-no?”
“What I really want is for you and Lily and the boys to move in here with me.” He glanced up. “I mean, we’ll still take care of Mrs. A. and go see her all the time and everything.”
