Like a puppy.
Just like the one curled up on the bottom step of the stairs that led to Sadie's apartment. Weak. Skinny. The unmistakable coloring and shape of its head was that of a blue pit, even curled up into itself to try to stay warm from the cold.
The moment I eased the bike into a parking spot at the side of the building, Sadie vaulted off the back of the bike and dropped her helmet on the pavement. She jogged over to the dog as I switched off the ignition and hurried after her. "Sadie!" I called after her, snatching her hand and making her stop. "He could be dangerous. Cornered and hungry dogs do desperate things," I said.
"Does it look like I give a shit?" she snapped, stomping her booted foot down onto my own with all her might and tugging her hand free in the split second of distraction that followed.
"Sadie!" I yelled.
But Sadie was not to be deterred, striding forward with smooth but purposeful steps until she crouched down in front of the dog. The poor thing lifted its head to sniff the hand she held out, letting her pet his nose gently. "Hi, Baby. It’s okay," she whispered. "Where did you come from?"
With her so close, I moved as slowly as my urgency would allow. I couldn't risk startling the dog and having Sadie hurt. The thought of her bleeding, of her blood being on that canvas of death, threatened to send me careening into a spiral of rage. Shoving it down, reminding myself she was alive and well, with a dog licking her hand adoringly, I stepped up next to her.
The dog made no move to harm either of us, even with me towering over it in what might have been intimidating for most animals. "He doesn't have a collar," I said, though I couldn't be surprised. The dog looked like it hadn't eaten in days, with its ribs starting to hollow out, and what looked like a dry nose.
"Even if he did, I'd be damned if I brought the poor thing back to that owner," Sadie growled in warning. I recognized it instantly, the sound so similar to the way I felt whenever the thought or threat of losing Sadie came over me.
Three minutes had passed.
And she'd already laid claim to the fucking dog.
Shit.
If I'd been jealous of the gym, how would I feel about a dog that could take her attention away from me? Something that could cuddle up with her and steal the warmth that was mine. "Let's get her inside," I sighed, leaning down to pick up the dog but then stopping. The quiet warning growl didn't come as a surprise, given the state of the animal, but I didn't appreciate it in the slightest.
Sadie laughed, clearly not as bothered by the potential danger the dog might present to her as I was. "Yeah, he makes me want to growl too. Come on, Rebel. Let's go," Sadie called, patting her thigh with a hand as she walked around the corner and to the front door. The dog got to her feet slowly, following Sadie without hesitation. Like she'd follow her to the ends of the Earth and never question where she led.
I knew the feeling.
Dropping my head back to stare at the sky, I wondered once more just what I'd gotten myself into with Sadie Hicks.
I didn't have the slightest clue, aside from the fact that it would never be anything but interesting.
Then, like the damn dog, I followed Sadie inside the gym. Leaning against the wall, I watched her gather up towels and make a little bed behind the front desk. The dog settled in comfortably while Sadie moved around like a whirlwind, flying around the gym like a machine with single-minded focus. She grabbed water from one of the coolers and a bowl from the staff room, pouring it for the dog to drink.
"I left some grilled chicken in the fridge the day before yesterday because I was too anxious to eat. The container has a blue lid. Can you grab it?" Immediately I wanted to know what had made her anxious, but the pointed look on her face while she picked up her phone made me refrain from asking. There'd be other times to discuss the little hints of her problem with anxiety, the particular ways she did things in exact repetitions.
I did as she asked, finding the chicken and bringing it out. I opened the container, shredding the chicken breast by hand before placing it back in the container and putting it in front of the dog. “Wash your hands,” Sadie ordered, not missing a beat. Turning my attention to her, I found her on the phone, her voice quiet as she paced back and forth in front of the desk. As the dog dug in behind me and ate the chicken hastily, I leaned against the desk and cleaned my hands with a wet wipe off the counter while I studied her.
Five steps in each direction, and then she'd turn and go back the other way.
She did it five times, and then she'd pause. Her fingers tapped against her thigh five times, and she'd start all over again.
It struck me that it was the reason everything Sadie did seemed to have a particular rhythm. It was always to the count of five. I'd watched her brush her teeth methodically that morning, each side of her teeth getting five brushes before she moved to the next and then did it all over again. Most people would just brush the outside of their bottom teeth until they were finished with that spot, but Sadie had to do it five times.
That wasn't enough, so she went back and did it again.
She ended the call, shoving her phone into the pocket of
