Some days he wondered if he needed a secretary.
He flipped to Facebook.
Was Greta on?
Bingo.
Hi. - Bruce
“You are waiting for the heads-up phone display, controlled with blinks.” Jason said, pushing a cart through the building, back toward the front entrance, where his white van was parked.
Bruce shook his head. “No, make me seasick,” he muttered.
“I was kidding,” Jason said.
Bruce blinked. Wait… what? And it hit him, hard in the gut. The idea, so elemental, so ingrained—shit. From one of those books he’d done the cover for. One of the steampunk series Clandestine sold, about a guy who got seasick with a heads-up blinking display, hindering him in his own world.
Of course, it was a romance. A rather erotic one, as a matter of fact, but man, the story was so good…
He’d read it a few times.
“Sorry. Read about a guy in a book,” Bruce said.
“Like you need more sci-fi in your life.”
Bruce smiled. Actually, he did need more…
His phone chimed.
Hi. - Greta
His day got massively better.
Missed you today. - Bruce
“Yo,” Jason said, punching Bruce in the arm.
“What?”
“Put the phone down for a second.”
Bruce rolled his eyes.
“Come over. I got plenty of beer,” Jason said. He adjusted a few of the plastic bins on the cart. “But no phones.”
Bruce let out a snort. As much as he wanted a beer, he knew if he did, he’d wind up hanging out with his buddy all night and never get anything done.
Besides, there was Steve. Poor dog had to be dying to get out of the house. Not that they’d get farther than the corner, but still, he needed to give the dog his exercise. He walked him before leaving, and he didn’t doubt his neighbor, Mrs. Walker would have taken Steve for a walk around lunchtime.
Still, he needed to get Steve out for a while more tonight.
“Got freelance work. And Steve.”
Jason nodded. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s… well, he’s an old dog. Doesn’t love his walks like he used to.”
“Have you thought about—”
Bruce cut him off. “Unless the vet says it’s necessary, no, I won’t.” So far, while Steve was not in the best shape, the dog could still stay at home.
Though if the vet suggested putting him down…
Well, Bruce would come to that when he had to.
Jason let out a sigh. “Well, I got work too…” His gaze wandered—oh, the redhead walked by.
Over her shoulder, she smiled at them both, amusement in her eyes, but she didn’t stop walking.
“Who was that?” Bruce asked.
“No idea. Yet,” Jason replied.
Interesting. They said their goodbyes and Bruce checked his phone.
No Greta.
He shook his head. He might be getting a little too obsessive. Maybe he needed to find someone to take his mind off her.
Maybe not.
That led to bullshit, and he wasn’t in the mood.
Lilly couldn’t believe what she’d seen. Beyond Ava walking around in mortal form at the wedding. Very unusual, but, well, Ava dealt with her charges differently.
It was Bruce that had Lilly so startled.
She’d chased Cupid’s minions all day, keeping them all away from her charge, thank goodness. They’d tried every chance they could, zipping in and out of the crowds. And if she wasn’t mistaken, it looked like one got to Christy’s charge, which only put Lilly even more on the defensive.
She was going to have to stick to Bruce like glue to keep him out of Cupid’s path.
Because the man was in love.
With the words of a girl.
When Bruce got a reply from Greta, his entire aura changed. He glowed from inside, like those who are madly in love.
Lilly rocked her head back and forth, and cracked her knuckles, gold glitter shimmering in the air.
She had work to do.
This wasn’t the first time she’d had a charge in love with words—Alexandra, 1704. Mary in 1871. Claudia in 1894. It happened, more often than not, before technology.
Still, it wasn’t that different now.
Words were still words.
Still very powerful.
And Lilly was good with words.
Chapter Six
Saturday Night
Bruce got home from the wedding, carrying all his gear, as well as a bag of leftover ribs he’d swiped from Jason’s truck before he left.
He expected Steve to jump at the smell when he came in the door. The dog blinked and yawned.
Bruce put his stuff down. “Hey man, how you doing?” He set the ribs on the cabinet. Shadows cast over his studio apartment, making the back—where he worked—look spooky, and the front, where he “lived,” gloomy. Steve groaned in the bed, flopping to one side.
Bruce crossed to Steve’s bed.
“Man, you’re not looking good.” He petted the dog’s head. Steve turned, letting Bruce stroke his neck.
The dog’s breath was strong tonight.
“Steve, you need a Tic-Tac.”
The dog moaned.
Worry went through Bruce’s mind. The dog was his best friend—he hated seeing him like this.
He got out a can of puppy food and stirred it into the geriatric dog food he gave Steve. The vet had told him last week—to help the dog eat more—to add it to the food, along with a pain pill he mashed into a bite.
So far it seemed to be helping. If only a little.
He brought the bowl back and put it in front of his old friend. The dog sniffed it and took a few bites.
Steve sort of nosed the food, pushing it around a bit before he took another bite. Bruce saw a bit of the pain pill in the mix, and relaxed a little.
At least Steve took it.
He topped off the dog’s water—which Steve did drink—and walked away, rocking his head back and forth.
“It scares me to see you like this, old man. Think we’ll be going to the vet. See what they can do for you.”
Though Bruce knew the answer.
Euthanizing him.
And while it might be what was best for Steve, Bruce wasn’t sure it was best for him.
After all, he’d had Steve a long time.
Longer than his parents had ever been married. To anyone, each other included. Probably the most stable relationship Bruce had ever had—rather sad, if he thought about it. Aside from Jason and Roark, who he’d known since elementary school.
A glance at Steve, and how he seemed to struggle to take a bite of food.
Maybe he didn’t have much of a choice.
He picked up his phone, an eye on the dog as he typed up a quick text to Greta.
Hey. - Bruce
It didn’t take long for Greta to answer him.
Hi. What’s up? - Greta
Home from wedding. - Bruce
Take lots of good pics? - Greta
I guess. Haven’t looked yet. - Bruce
I’m sure they are. - Greta
Steve sort of “nosed” the food around in the bowl, without eating much.
Maybe his neighbor fed him a little extra…
Yeah. That’s what he was going with.
Yeah. - Bruce
A pause.
Are you okay? - Greta
I’m fine. Why? - Bruce
Just had this feeling something was wrong. - Greta
Bruce shook his head. How did she know, by a couple of texts?
Worried about my dog. - Bruce
Why? - Greta
&
nbsp; He’s not looking good. - Bruce
Bruce sat the phone down as Steve finished eating—what he was going to eat, anyway—and sort of waddled-slash-hobbled over and plopped on Bruce’s feet.
Steve groaned, and Bruce stroked the dog’s head. His hand slid over the dog’s back and felt the fatty tumors. They’d been there for a while, but the one near his shoulder had gotten bigger.
“Great,” Bruce muttered. “We’re definitely taking you to the vet.”
Steve glanced at him with his big eyes, and let out a whine.
“I know you don’t like it, but we’re going to have to.” Bruce reached for his tablet and powered it up. He pulled out the card from his camera and after the tablet loaded, plugged the card in.
Had to do something. Better than worrying about Steve.
Is he sick? - Greta
He’s getting old. - Bruce
He opened up the files and started swiping through the photos. Though even as he scanned through, nothing jumped out as brilliant. They all were good—even he would admit there weren’t any horribly bad ones. A few with closed eyes, or semi-closed eyes, but that happens.
Though, really, he couldn’t focus too much on them. Nothing really—
Ping.
He glanced at his phone, and sat his tablet down.
I am sorry? Is that the right thing to say? About the dog? - Greta
He nodded, as though she could see him, and realized what he was doing.
You’re fine. Did you ever have a dog? - Bruce
Her answer was immediate.
No. - Greta
Why not? Are you a cat person? - Bruce
I don’t do well with animals. - Greta
Interesting, Bruce thought.
It’s cool. My grandmother was like that. Liked animals. Didn’t want them in her house. - Bruce
The memory of his grandmother and her rather choice words about dogs and cats made him laugh. She’d been gone a while and he missed her. He missed her cinnamon rolls, especially. The woman could bake a mean cinnamon roll.
It made him grin, thinking about her, about the baked goods. She was a great grandmother.
She could make a mean cinnamon roll, though. - Bruce
Good, safe conversation, Lilly thought.
“What is going on?” Andres asked, appearing next to her.
She tried to still her racing heart. “What do you want now?” He looked impeccably groomed, neat and tidy, and not a glimmer of an out-of-place magic sparkle.
Sometimes she wanted to kick him. Andres was so together. She was such a mess. It made her yearn for a little of his order to be sprinkled into her life. She needed it.
Andres floated next to her. “I merely wanted to make sure you were fine.”
“I’m great. I’m just… just giddy, thanks,” Lilly snapped, hoping he didn’t get an inkling she considered him handsome in any way.
Andres sighed. “You must be ready. Cupid has already started making issues for Ava and Christy. It will not be long before he is attempting to hinder your own progress.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Lilly said. “I would have never guessed that.”
Andres raised his eyebrow and disappeared.
Ugh, he made her so mad. She didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or kick him.
She needed to stay away from him. Life would be better if she didn’t have to deal with Andres’s constant bother.
Even if he was cute.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday
“Well.” Dr. Howards sighed as he glanced at Bruce. “Steve’s in a lot of pain. He’s hurting, and you said he’s not eating?”
“He hasn’t for the last couple of days,” Bruce said. Already he felt like crap for not bringing Steve in sooner. The dog had been somewhat more active, but he hadn’t realized until yesterday how much he wasn’t eating.
Even with puppy food mixed in.
“Well, I would say he probably doesn’t have long.” The doctor stroked Steve’s back. “His fatty tumors seem to be growing.”
Bruce nodded, unsure of what to say.
“We can do a biopsy of some of these tumors, make sure there’s no cancer.”
Bruce’s head popped up. “Cancer?”
“It could be why he’s not feeling well. But with the amount of them, it could take a while to determine exactly what is going on.”
Bruce shook his head. “Cancer’s terminal.”
Dr. Howards nodded.
His eyes moistened and he looked at the doctor. “What would you do?”
The doctor shrugged. “If it was me? I wouldn’t bother. The treatments would only prolong things, and he’s so old, it might not do any good anyway. He’s hurting. I would, uh, let him go.”
A tear fell from the corner of Bruce’s eye. “And how do I do that?”
“We can set up an appointment, and when you bring him in, we can take care of it. You can wait outside—”
“No, I want to be here.” He stroked the dog’s head. “He’s my buddy. I won’t leave him alone.”
Dr. Howards nodded. “Emma and Janet outside can set up your appointment. They’ll go over with you all the arrangements necessary.”
Bruce nodded, shook the vet’s hand, and clipped on Steve’s leash. In the hall, he paused. Dropped to his knees and wiped away the tears.
Steve came over, pressing his huge frame into Bruce’s. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what else to do for you.”
The dog grunted, and licked his face.
Licked away the tears.
Bruce felt his heart break, shatter into a thousand pieces.
Lilly wiped away her tears. “Poor Bruce,” she whispered.
Chapter Eight
Thursday
How are you doing? - Greta
Bruce snorted when he saw the text. They’d talked last night through text for three hours. He told her about setting up the appointment to put Steve down. She asked how he was. He said fine and changed the subject.
Still, he didn’t want to be alone. Or rather, didn’t want to be lonely, thinking about Steve. And crying.
God, he’d cried a lot last night.
Thank God no one saw it.
Texting Greta kept him sane. They talked about benign crap—nothing fancy.
He didn’t realize she had two jobs or was saving to move into town. His respect for her bloomed during their conversation. It took a lot of strength to move away from family.
He didn’t know if he could. Even if his only real family was his sister…
Glancing at the text, he figured he’d better answer her.
It held more appeal than working on the photo shoot.
Ok. - Bruce
He picked up the camera again. “Okay, ladies, this time, I, uh, really want to, uh, see something sexy.” The outside daylight started to waiver, and if he didn’t get a few more shots, he’d lose it.
Had to get this done, because he didn’t feel like doing more tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be a very hard day.
The models, three rail-skinny girls, dressed in gothic roller derby gear, grinned, twisted and posed, flashing lots of cleavage and ass—how he would have normally liked it.
Though today, he kept glancing at Steve. The dog sat in the corner, curled in his bed, snoring. At least his chest moved.
Bruce checked on his four-legged roommate every little bit. He knew this was coming, could feel it for a while now, but still, the thought…
He was losing his oldest pal…
His stomach took a nosedive.
“How’s this?” one of the models asked. Bent over so far he thought her implants would fall out.
“Yeah, that’s good.” He tried to put as much of his usual self in
to the answer. He snapped more pictures. They’d been at this for a couple of hours.
Surely they had enough pictures for the calendars.
The girls turned and wiggled, shaking what they had, and Bruce did his job. Any other day, he would have enjoyed this immensely, but not today. He didn’t have the heart for it.
“Okay, I think we’re good,” he said after he’d snapped another half a dozen shots.
His cell phone chirped, and he grabbed it.
Just okay? - Greta
Yep. - Bruce
The models gathered up their stuff and one approached him, the one with the implants. For the life of him, he couldn’t even remember the gal’s name.
“You seem awfully distracted today, Bruce.”
He nodded. “Got stuff going on.”
“Well, if you need anything, you know I’m always available. Even to talk.” She pushed out her cleavage.
“I appreciate that, Tina,” he said, happy he remembered her name.
“Tanya,” she corrected.
Oops. Oh well. “Sorry. Like I said, stuff on my mind.”
His phone chirped again.
Now that I do not believe. Is it the same as a girl saying she’s “FINE?” - Greta
This did make him smile—a genuine one.
He typed in his reply.
“Who are you texting?” Tanya asked.
He didn’t realize she still stood there. “My girlfriend,” he said, without thinking. And in a strange way, it felt right too.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” She stood straighter, a bit less cleavagy.
He nodded to her. “Yeah, we’ve been… It’s been a thing for a few months now.”
She let out a snort. “Then you’ll be breaking up, in what, a week?”
This gave him pause. “Pardon?”
“Oh please, Bruce. Like everyone knows you don’t stay with anyone for more than a few months.” She crossed her arms.
Any other time, he would have blown the comment off, even joked about it. Today, though, it hit him hard and he had to bite his tongue.
“Sometimes people change, Tammy.” This time, he purposely screwed up her name.
She snorted. “Yeah, sure they do.” She leaned over and grabbed her bag. “You’ll be calling.” She slapped her ass. “This is only gonna get better.”
Guys and Godmothers Page 17
