Solace (6 page)

Aaron handed over the lead, and Shane followed him out of the room and up to the front desk. When the paperwork was done, the attendant came out to say goodbye to the dog, and that was that.

“Any idea what you’re going to name her?” Aaron asked as they exited the building.

Shane just shrugged. “What, you think I can’t have a dog named Buttercup?”

Aaron flushed. “No, I just—”

Shane gave him a grin. “It’s cool. I like Buttercup. I wouldn’t want some asshole to come along and give me a whole new name, so I’m not going to do that to her.”

Aaron smiled as if he approved, then nodded once. “Good. That’s good.”

F
or the first few days
, Shane had kept Buttercup’s lead on almost all the time, just like Aaron had suggested. He’d also kept her crated at night, and allowed her to get used to one main room in the house.

But Shane started to feel bad whenever he walked anywhere without Buttercup, and so, less than an hour before their first training session with Aaron, he decided to give her the grand tour of her new home.

In less than five minutes, he’d managed to show her about twenty reasons why his parents should be sainted, and compelling evidence that he probably shouldn’t have survived childhood.

Then he’d shown her his parents’ master bedroom, the one he was using for his own now. His bare feet padded across carpet that had always seemed softer when he was a kid.

“Kinda weird being in this room.” He’d been talking to Buttercup the whole time, because why the hell not? It wasn’t like anyone else could hear him, and she listened without calling him an idiot. “Never used to come in here unless my TV was busted. I don’t really remember even coming in here when I was having a nightmare or something.”

There was irony in that now, but Shane didn’t voice it.

“It just still feels like my dad’s going to walk through the door and tell me I either need to start paying rent or get the hell out,” he said with a laugh. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, I’m talking like they’re dead. They’re just in Boca fucking Raton. I’ve never been there, but I’m pretty sure it’s not the same as being dead.”

Buttercup took this in with the same interest she’d expressed during the last ten minutes. Shane considered it the “‘smile and nod’” of the dog world.

So far, he’d just been rambling on about everything and nothing. Everything he could think of, and nothing that really mattered. But as he looked over his immaculately made bed—something he’d had figuratively beaten into him during basic training—he found his mind focusing far more than he wanted.

On the nightstand sat a picture of his daughter.

It was the same one he’d kept in his bunk. Becca smiling wide, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle. Her platinum blonde hair was a tangle of loose curls, and her smile was missing a few teeth.

He’d mostly cut himself from the picture. All that could be seen was his shoulder, neck, and the side of his face. It was still enough to hurt, though, knowing that he’d once had this, and now he didn’t.

Not for the first time, he was jealous of his past self.

A cold nudge against his fingers reminded him he wasn’t alone. He let out the breath he’d apparently been holding, then glanced down at Buttercup. She was looking up at him with what he could only describe as concern.

“That’s my kid,” he said. “I know she doesn’t look like it there, but she’s mine.”

Over the years, she’d started to look more like him. He always got the impression it bugged Shell, and he sure as shit hoped it bugged the guy he’d met at her house. But even if he’d had any doubt about her DNA, it would have been dispelled years ago. She was a mischief-maker, just like he’d been.

“She’s the reason I get up in the morning.”

He let that truth wash over him, his eyes closing briefly.

“Not just overseas. I always thought that when I was over there, that was the worst it was going to be. That I’d feel homesick and just see all the shit around me and wish I was back here. And I did. But now I’m here, and…”

He ran a hand through his hair, staring off at a now-blank wall. Once upon a time, his parents had hung family pictures there. He remembered them all. He’d pictured them in his mind in Afghanistan, trying to paint them on his own wall, even if it was just when he closed his eyes.

“Now I’m here and I still feel fucking homesick. But Becca… I was so excited to see her. Not even just excited. I felt like… Like I was finally going to get a hit of something I needed to survive. And now that I can’t see her…”

That thought he didn’t want to complete. Not because he was afraid Buttercup would judge him or pity him, but because he was afraid that speaking it aloud would give it weight and power.

It was bad enough when the thought just resided in his mind.

Shane sighed, looking down at the dog. He’d expected she would have an even deeper look of concern on her face, as if she could read his thoughts. But she couldn’t. And he shouldn’t feel disappointed about that.

“I’m pretty fucked up, Buttercup.”

His lip curled just a little but at the unwitting rhyme, but he didn’t say anything to acknowledge it. Maybe if Buttercup were a human. But she wasn’t. He didn’t have to pretend he was funny and easygoing and able to just shake everything off.

“I can’t go into a group of people without feeling like I’m in danger.” He tested out the words. The walls didn’t close in on him. Yet. “Can’t just be a normal fucking person. Not anymore. And I’m worried that…”

That I won’t ever be normal again.

That I’m always going to be half a person. Just a shell of what I was, and even that wasn’t great.

Buttercup rested her head in his lap. He stroked her gently, running two fingers along the bridge of her nose, watching as the fine beige hairs separated and fell back into place. It was soothing, like watching tiny grains of sand fill a trail that had just been blazed.

It kept his thoughts from growing any darker, and sustained him well enough until the doorbell rang. He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table; the clock he never used, but didn’t have the heart to get rid of since it had been his parents’.

Again, as if they were dead and gone and not just living it up in the Sunshine State.

Shane pushed himself up from the bed, and encouraged Buttercup to go downstairs. She took off, seeming to sense it was Aaron, and Shane had a moment to look himself over in a mirror.

He wasn’t really sure why he bothered. It wasn’t like he had time to fix anything. Not the dark circles under his eyes or the fact that he had lines in his face that looked more appropriate for a guy ten years his senior. Not the rough patches of uneven beard growth or his wrinkled clothing.

That didn’t stop him from running a hand over his face, though, as if by doing so he could slide a mask back in place.

“Door’s open,” he called down the stairs.

He heard the click of it opening soon after. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Buttercup’s attention fixated on Aaron’s right pocket.

“No, you don’t get those yet. Sit,” Aaron said in a stern voice, seeming oblivious to Shane’s presence.

Buttercup didn’t follow the command immediately. Instead, she did a full turn, wagging her rear end along with her tail, which swept across his walls as she went. Aaron gave her a look that made even Shane take notice and stand a little straighter, and finally she sat as she was told.

He watched Aaron pull a baggie out of his pocket and give her a treat. The scent of it wafted toward Shane and he made a face. These were different from the ones he’d had at the shelter.

Aaron finally noticed him after that, offering a sheepish smile.

“Freeze-dried liver treats. A lot of dogs love them.”

“Oh, cool. That’s what I had for dinner last night,” he teased.

Futile or not, he’d managed to slide the mask back into place.

Aaron laughed. Not the polite laughter of somebody who saw through his bullshit or was otherwise made uncomfortable by him, but the laughter of somebody who actually found the joke funny.

He’d take it.

“Has she been settling in okay?”

“Yeah, she’s been fine. A little bit of whining, mostly when she thinks she’s alone. Other than that, we’re simpatico.”

Aaron nodded, looking down at Buttercup as if she might suddenly contradict that answer.

After a few moments, he brought something else out of his pocket. It was just a small bit of plastic with a glinting metal piece. He’d seen one before. Probably on the same dog training show he’d teased Aaron about.

“If you’re ready, I’d like to start basic obedience training today.”

“For me, or for her?” Shane joked. The mask slipped further into place. “Because I’m house trained, but not much else.”

Aaron gave him a patient smile. “For you both, actually. You said you have a backyard?”

“Yeah, this way.”

He strode toward a sliding glass door, pulling it open. It jerked on the runner, making him grit his teeth. His father would have threatened to tan his hide over that, though Shane could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually followed through with those threats. He’d have to look at it later, maybe squirt some WD-40 in there and pretend he knew what the fuck he was doing with a home.

They stepped out onto a concrete slab, with Buttercup wandering away toward the fence line to sniff. Proof he’d let her out without a leash before. He gave a sheepish grin. There was more proof out here, though not of his inability to follow the rules Aaron had explained to him. This proof was the same as that janky glass door. The grass was brown in clumps, and thinned and gone in others, revealing sand beneath. It was overgrown by a few inches, despite the existence of a push mower in the garage. That, at least, he knew how to use. He just needed to get his shit together long enough to do it.

But then, a dark, cynical voice reminded him:
Why even bother if Becca’s never going to be able to stay here?

He pushed that voice aside and listened to Aaron’s instead. He didn’t hear a lecture like he expected. Instead, Aaron just launched right into the training session.

Aaron taught him basic commands. Ones he already understood, like sit—which Buttercup knew, but sometimes chose to ignore—stay, come, and heel. There was “wait,” too, which to Shane just seemed like a variation of “stay,” but Aaron treated as something really important, so he didn’t question it. He wasn’t the dog trainer, after all.

After a couple of hours—longer than Shane would have thought—Aaron seemed to realize the time. Or rather, the sun started to sink beneath the horizon, forcing Aaron to notice it. He flushed, then looked at Shane. He’d learned to appreciate the look of a flush in a man’s skin, but not like this. A flush of heat, of passion, yes. But embarrassment? He never thought he’d enjoy seeing that so much, and yet he found himself wanting to invent ways to make it come about more.

Apparently he just needed to control the rise and fall of the sun and he’d be in business.

“Sorry, I was supposed to keep this to an hour. You probably have other things you need to be doing.”

Shane arched a brow at that. Funny. He’d thought the same thing of Aaron.

“You are really cutting into my TV time.”

Aaron shrunk a little at that and mouthed another apology.

“I was just being a dick, man. I appreciate you spending extra time on me. I’ll probably need it.”

“Oh.” A hint of a smile before it scampered away. “Sure. Of course.”

“How long do you figure this all will take? A few months?”

A few months of not seeing Becca through anything more than Skype—if Shell would even allow that—might just kill him. But he didn’t have much of a choice. If it took a few months, it took a few months.

“Usually it’s two years, actually. Obedience training on its own takes a few months, and more repetition beyond that.”

Two years. If he didn’t have a few months, he definitely didn’t have two years. In two years, Becca would be nine years old. Almost into double digits. She’d be in, what? Fourth or fifth grade? About to go to fucking junior high. From there, it would be a short jump to preteen, then teen. By then she’d want nothing to do with him.

And maybe—
maybe
—they’d reconnect fifteen or twenty years later, when she was an adult.

Some part of his mind told him that line of thinking was the doomsday scenario, and not reality. But he’d been trained to think about the worst thing that could happen; to plan for it so he wouldn’t be caught with his thumb up his ass.

Back then, it had been so he didn’t get a bullet lodged in brain. This fate, though… this inevitability was far more painful.

“It won’t take that long. Not if we’re working on it as often as we are, one-on-one. I can probably cut that down to a year, and I’ll help you train Buttercup in skills that will assist you as we go.”

Aaron must have noticed something was wrong, which meant Shane’s face was being a lot less impassive than he wanted. The trainer’s voice was apologetic, his words coming out a bit fast, as if he’d scrambled to say them.

Shane didn’t want to look the way he felt inside. He didn’t want Aaron to see his panic. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see it. That, too, was something he’d been taught.

So he found a way to bolt that mask in place, giving Aaron his most charming—and mischievous—smile.

“Guess that means we’ll be spending a lot of time together, then. Should I fix you up a room, or do you wanna just share a bed?”

Aaron’s eyes widened, and for a moment he looked incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe Shane had actually said that. If Shane didn’t know himself so well, he might not have believed it either.

But this was what he’d done. This was how he’d survived. Distraction. Redirection. Techniques he’d honed to a fine point.

Better still that they usually ended up with Shane balls deep inside of a willing soldier, taking out all his frustrations in each hard thrust.

He allowed that thought to show through his eyes, smiling at Aaron in a way that he hoped was as predatory as he wanted to feel.

It seemed to make its point, because Aaron flushed again. Not just the lightest dusting of pink across his cheeks, but full, hot red coloring his entire face and down into his neck. Even his ears seemed a little pinker than they were before.

Shane took a step forward. Maybe he’d get his chance sooner than he thought.

But Aaron didn’t stand still, mesmerized by his hard gaze. He backed up and stumbled away, his hand going to the back of his neck. He looked everywhere but at Shane, and Shane held in a sigh.

Not today, then. And if he was a halfway decent person, he’d be happy with the idea that it wouldn’t ever happen. Their relationship should stay professional.