Tone Deaf(57)

I cringe and search for a defensive retort to snap back at him. Then I see his gaze flick over to Cuddles, and I realize he’s talking about a dog attack. Oh. That changes things a bit.

Yeah, I text, moving my hands slowly and carefully as I type the word. Cuddles doesn’t seem to care about the motion, so I add, When I was twelve, my neighbor had a pit bull that escaped from her yard. I tried to catch it so I could bring it back, but it freaked out and bit my arm.

I don’t tell him about the real wound: How it was one of the first times I saw my dad’s PTSD totally take over, how the sight of the blood made him go silent and brooding, and how he wouldn’t even go back into the examination room when the ER doctor stitched me up. He never really talked about my injury—he just gave me a long lecture about not provoking animals. To this day, those wounds still haven’t healed.

Jon nods slowly. I can see why you’re afraid of dogs. I wait for him to get up and put Cuddles away, but instead he just adds, But that’s no excuse to be scared of Cuddles.

I scoff and edge back from the gigantic dog. “Oh, really?”

He pats the cushion next to him, and Cuddles leaps off my couch. She trots over to Jon and jumps up next to him, rolling back over for a tummy rub. Her tail wags frantically as Jon scratches her stomach, and she reaches out a paw so it touches his shoulder. He pats her paw and says to me, “Here, have a look.”

Jon rolls Cuddles over a little, so she’s on her side. From this angle, I can see a mass of scars running up and down the dog’s hide.

She belonged to one of Jace’s neighbors, Jon texts, using one hand to type and the other to pet Cuddles. They were into dog fighting, and poor Cuddles lost a match. Jon lifts up the dog’s giant head, and I see a bunch more scars around her neck.

I swallow hard, trying to keep bile from rising up. That’s just sick. Vicious or not, no animal deserves to be hurt like that.

Jon lets Cuddles’s head drop, and he gently scratches behind one of her cropped ears. She opens her mouth, and I wait for her to bite at Jon’s hand. But she just lets her tongue loll out and pants happily as he pets her.

Jace found her a couple of days later, he texts. She’d managed to escape before she was killed, and she ended up in his yard. Jace had been saving up all year to buy a new guitar, but he decided to use that money to take her to a vet. He pats Cuddles on the head. And Jace has had her ever since.

“So Jace saved her,” I murmur.

Jon nods. He’s not always a good guy, but he has his moments.

He’s been good to me, I protest.

A slight smile lifts Jon’s lips. He has, hasn’t he? You seem to take all the bad out of him.

I don’t know what to say to that, but I’m saved from having to respond when Jon’s phone lights up with a message from someone else. He reads it and stands from the couch. Sorry, but I’ve got to go, he texts. He hesitates and then adds, Tony wants to talk with me. I think he’s getting really suspicious that Jace is up to something. So you two need to keep being careful, okay?

Of course, I text back, and I keep my eyes locked on my screen so Jon can’t see the worry on my face. I guess I’ll see you later.

Yeah. Later.

He heads for the door, not making a move to put Cuddles away. Before I can protest, he waves at me and strides out the exit.

I groan and let my head fall back, all the time keeping an eye on Cuddles. She wags her tail and jumps onto the couch cushion right next to me. I stiffen, wondering how hard it would be to put her away myself. She’s trained, right? Maybe she knows a command that will make her go away.

I point to Jace’s bedroom and say, “Go.”

She cocks her head and just stares at me.

I take a shuddering breath and say with more force, “Go!”

Cuddles barks at me, but doesn’t do anything else. Then she opens her mouth in a huge yawn, announcing to me that she has extremely large teeth and is very tired. Without any warning, she plops her head in my lap and closes her eyes.

I freeze, not knowing what to do. If I shove her off, she could get mad, but I can’t just let her stay there. No way is a pit bull using me as a pillow.

Cuddles reaches toward me with a paw and gently lays it on my knee. She keeps it there, her huge paw pressing against my fragile skin. I cringe and wait for her to claw at me, but all she does is start to snore, the deep noise vibrating against my leg.

Before I can think better, I reach down and tentatively pat her head. Her tail wags in her sleep, and her paw presses against me a little harder, but she doesn’t react beyond that. I keep petting her, all the time ready to leap up and run if I need to. But a minute passes, and then two, and Cuddles just continues her nap.

“Hey, girl,” I whisper, stroking the soft fur around her ear. “I guess you’re not as vicious as I thought.”

She shifts in her sleep and keeps snoring.

I scratch her neck and then softly ask, “You want to be friends? I promise to give you tummy rubs if you promise not to eat me.”

My voice must be a little louder than I wanted it, because Cuddles blinks her eyes open and peers at me. After a moment, she licks my hand and closes her eyes, her tail still slowly wagging in her sleep.

I give her head another pat and the gently trace one of the scars on her shoulder. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I murmur. “We’re going to be besties before you know it.”