Page 35 of Riot

I know we’re going to have to pay for his treatment, and that isn’t an issue. I just want him to be okay. “I guess it does.”

Two hours later, Nina tells us that Cookie is going to be okay. His leg is broken in two places and he’s going to need to keep a cast on it for a minimum of four weeks, maybe longer. Nina isn’t a hundred percent sure, but she thinks Cookie is around two to three years old. Still a baby. He also has bruising on his underside, probably from being thrown into the dumpster. I shudder at the thought of someone doing that and poor Cookie being stuck in there for God knows how long while people continue to put rubbish on top of him. He’s lucky he didn’t suffocate.

I excuse myself to the bathroom to have my own private cry because I can’t deal with any more of this trauma. I don’t haveto know this poor baby to feel something for him. Just seeing his cute, trusting face looking up at Nina when she had to inject him with pain relief, never once trying to bite her or even move. He’s so beautiful.

She also said it’s likely that it’s been a few weeks since he’s eaten anything. I cry into my hands, sitting on the toilet seat of the farthest stall. I know crying won’t help Cookie right now, but sometimes a good old cry tends to sort things out.

I unroll some toilet paper and dab my eyes, blowing my nose as I try to calm myself.

I can’t deal with this. I wasn’t cut out for dealing with animal trauma.

I hear the bathroom door squeak and try to stop my heaving sobs.

“Halo?” Shit. It’s Riot.

“Just one second!” My voice sounds shaky even to me, but I hear the door close.

I stand, wiping my under eyes once more with my hands as I straighten myself out. I unlatch the door and then jump about five feet in the air when I see Riot leaning against the closed door.

“Jesus, Riot! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t look very sorry. “I was worried about you.”

I walk to the sink and take a look at myself in the mirror. It’s then that I groan.

My mascara has run and I seriously need to sort out my racoon eyes. I rummage around in my purse for the wet wipes. Pulling one free from the packet, I start wiping the black smudges.

“Please don’t be sad. He’s going to be okay.”

“But what about his trauma?” I counter. “He’ll always have that memory of someone dumping him like trash!”

His hand plants on my back softly, rubbing my lower back in small, soothing circles. “Dogs are much stronger than we give them credit for. He’s already waking up, wagging his tail and drinking water.”

“He is?”

“We can see him when you’re ready.”

I shake my head. “It’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

“Getting so emotional over a dog I don’t even know.”

He comes behind me, looking at me in the mirror as I stare back at his reflection. “Don’t ever say that,Kitten.Caring about something, especially when they’ve been hurt, isn’t ever stupid. It actually shows what kind of person you are; kind, caring, considerate. You have a big heart. I knew that from the moment I met you.”

I look down at my shaking hands. “How could you know that?”

“You’re forgetting that I was with you in Mississippi. I saw what you did for Star in helpin’ her get her sister back. We went to Hell and back, and you never once complained or ran away. It was one of the toughest things the club has ever done, and you were right there, standing by your best friend, never letting her fall.”

I swallow, trying to not let more tears slide. “I just feel things… for animals especially, so deeply. I had a dog once… she was my life…”

“What was her name?” he asks softly.

“Pepper.” I sniff. “You know when people say ‘it’s just a dog?’ Well, she was never just a dog. She was more like my therapy dog. She knew things about me, my deepest, darkest secrets that nobody else did. She helped me through some traumatic years as a teenager. Pepper never once told me I wasn’t good enough.I wasn’t slim enough. I was never ugly to her. I was her best friend.”

I feel him kiss the back of my head and I glance up. His eyes are not just closed, they’re squeezed shut. Like he’s warding off some horrible memory of his own.

“Sometimes…” I whisper. “Sometimes I still feel her around. When I’m sitting by myself, I’ll feel her presence, you know? She gives me little signs. Some people may think that’s nuts, but it’s helped me heal, thinking that she’s still around me.”

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