Running Wild(Wild #3)(98)

“Relax. Puppies are way easier to place than old sled dogs. We’ll figure it out,” I promise around a sip of coffee from my travel mug, reaching down to test a leaf on the fake plant Calla dropped off while I was delivering Nala’s puppies. “What all’s on the schedule for today again?”

“Well, you have an appointment at six tonight at Tyler’s.”

“Yeah, I remember—”

“I’ll bet you do.” Cory leans against the desk, chin propped in her hand. “So?”

Beside her, my mother adjusts her glasses and feigns deep concentration on the computer screen. Clearly, they’ve been gossiping. I don’t doubt that my mother hovered at the kitchen window, noting when Tyler’s truck pulled away just before eleven, much to my dismay.

“So, what?” I try to play clueless, but it lasts all of three seconds before the foolish grin stretches across my face.

“I knew it!” Cory explodes. “I knew it was only a matter of time!”

My mom’s face lights up. “Will he be coming to Sunday dinner again?”

Shaking my head, I leave the two of them to their squeals as I head for the exam room, my hope riding on a cloud.





*



I hum to the song on the radio as I coast up Tyler’s driveway, hoping the simple act will allay the nervous flutters in my stomach. Last night was unexpected, and I’m still reeling from it. But I don’t regret it or the possibilities that might transpire.

What Tyler does to my heart …

This is happening, and in the most unconventional way.

So many people find the start of a relationship exciting, but I’ve always found it more unsettling than anything. If you get past the first few dates and decide you want more, you’re in an all-consuming testing stage—uncovering delightful secrets that make you fall harder while discovering flaws that will endear or annoy you, or both, catching glimpses of troublesome things that you downplay or pretend don’t exist because you’re focused on the here and now. You might faintly wonder about five, ten, twenty years down the road, but you can’t see it. You make your decisions for your future based on what you want to see.

When I met Jonathan in my late twenties, I was still figuring out who I was, revealing the best parts of myself and hoping that when my flaws and insecurities exposed themselves in the months and years to come, he’d be in too deep to be scared away. I fell for Jonathan’s sense of humor, his work ethic, and the stability he gave my life. I convinced myself that he didn’t understand my love of animals because he didn’t grow up in a house like mine. I outright ignored the fact that our nights in bed were often lacking the passion I’d found with others.

And then I met Jonah, and everything I thought I knew—about myself, about men, about what I wanted in life—blew up.

Now, here I am, a year and a half to forty, and I don’t have the time or patience for any of it anymore. But nothing about this thing with Tyler has been conventional, from the first day we met to now, seven months later, as I pull up behind his green truck, wondering how long I should wait before I buy a pregnancy test.

It’s insane and reckless.

And I desperately want this to be real.

I hop out of the driver’s seat, smoothing my hands over my favorite jeans and adjusting my flowing green top. I spent far too much time after my shower deciding what to wear for a post-birth examination.

The barn doors are open, so I collect my black bag and head toward the raucous barking. It’s as if all the dogs have congregated in one post.

When I stroll through to the other side of the barn and the farthest set of open doors, I see that they have. The entire team, minus Nala, are untethered and trotting in circles within the expansive enclosure, barking and playfully nipping at each other. Even Sleet is there and tolerating Pope.

And in the middle of them is Tyler, his back to me, his cargo pants already covered in streaks of mud, his stance wide as he tosses out names and warnings, like a schoolyard supervisor watching children.

Now that I know the feel of his body far more intimately, the pull to him is much more potent.

The dogs notice me before Tyler does, and several charge forward. The rush would be daunting, had I not grown up around this, had I not already met each of them personally at the race. I laugh as they all greet me at once, nipping at my fingers, brushing past, several jumping, leaving muddy paw prints on my legs and waist, reminding me why I don’t dress nicely when I visit kennels.

“Airi,” Tyler calls out, his voice calm but his tone warning as the black swing dog tests the leather handle on my bag with his teeth.

“They’re excited today.”

“They know I’m taking them to the creek.”

There’s a strained note in Tyler’s voice that prickles my senses. I’ve heard that in his voice before—when he was preparing to leave the Cripple checkpoint. And when he turns, when I see the dark circles that line his eyes, as if he didn’t sleep last night after he went home, I know something is wrong.

“You got them?” he asks Reed as he walks my way.

Reed pauses in his attempt to harness Nymeria with a gray husky nipping at his hands, stealing a glance my way before he nods.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Tyler’s hand slips over the small of my back to guide me toward the barn, but even that simple touch feels off compared to how his hands felt on me last night.