Page 73 of The Christmas Keepsake
Matt glanced over at his wife, and then looked at Hollis. “Go on. Tell her. Tell my wife the reason why I’m so upset.”
Hollis opened his mouth but no words came out. He took several shallow breaths, feeling like a fish out of water. “This isn’t the way I wanted to tell you.” He kept his voice quiet. Wasn’t Matt the one who’d taught him that a calm tone was the easiest way to turn away wrath? “You have the wrong idea about the situation. I’d like to sit down and calmly discuss things.” Hollis gestured at Matt and Sandy’s dining room table. “Please.”
Matt emitted a noise from deep in his throat that sounded like a low growl—the kind of warning that dogs gave before they attacked. “Get out of my house,” he said, his voice equally quiet, but in an unsettling way. “Get out before I throw you out.”
The setting sun cast long shadows across the peeling paint of the front door as Hollis trudged up the porch steps of the house wherehe’d been living for the better part of a year. Matt’s words still rang in his ears, a bitter blend of disappointment and rejection.
“No son of mine would ever do this to me. No real son… Get out and don’t come back.”
Fumbling with his keys, Hollis’s hands shook as he tried to fit them into the door’s lock. He’d always believed in second chances, in the power of change. It was what had gotten him through his years in the foster system, bouncing from home to home. It was what had driven him to take in Duke, the scraggly mutt no one else wanted and, more recently, to foster Buster, a lab mix with a history of aggression.
As the front door finally swung open, Hollis just wanted to go inside and take a long, hot shower, rinsing off the filth of the day he’d just had. He was hit with a heaviness as he entered the front door, however. Something heavier than he was already feeling.
His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, looking for something. He wasn’t exactly sure what, but there was a tension in the air wrapped in the faint smell of blood.
And then Hollis heard a tiny whimper.
“Duke?… Buster?”
Another low whimper answered him, coming from the mud room near the back door where he kept the two dog crates. Hollis rushed in that direction, his breath catching as he took in the scene. Duke lay on his side, just in front of his crate, his golden fur matted with dark blood.
“Duke!” Hollis’s knees buckled in front of his dog. In response to Hollis’s gentle stroke on his forehead, Duke’s tail gave a weak thump against the tiled floor.
What had happened here tonight? Hollis looked in the direction of Buster’s crate—it was empty. He scanned the room, but Buster was nowhere in sight.
He was positive he’d left both dogs crated. The crate doors were open, however. Hollis’s gaze jumped to the doggie door that led to thefenced area in the backyard. Bloody paw prints made a path from the doggie door to the spot where Duke was lying. Hollis looked at Duke again. “Did you two get out somehow?” He quickly got up, hesitant to leave Duke’s side, but what if Buster was injured as well? Stepping onto the back porch, Hollis looked around. “Buster!” he called. “Buster, come!” He waited for a long beat, but there was no sign of the lab mix. The gate was closed, but it was possible that Buster might have gotten on the roof of the outdoor kennel and jumped the fence.
“Buster!” he called again. He couldn’t search right now. Duke’s condition seemed serious. He’d been Hollis’s constant over the past five years, his anchor in a world that always seemed ready to cast him adrift—just like it’d done tonight.
“Come on, buddy.” With gentle hands, he scooped Duke into his arms, wincing at the dog’s painful yelp. “It’s okay, boy,” he murmured, blinking away the sting of tears. “I’m gonna get you help.”
He cast one last look at the doggie door, hoping Buster would bust through. He hated to leave, knowing that Buster was out there. Was he injured too? Or was he responsible for Duke’s condition?
“I’m sorry, Duke,” Hollis whispered. There was too much blood matted on the dog’s fur to see if the injuries were punctures or gashes. What was the extent of his injuries?
The drive to the emergency vet was a blur of red lights and frantic prayers while Duke whimpered and panted softly in the passenger seat. Hollis’s mind raced, replaying the events of the day in an endless, torturous loop. Matt’s rejection, Duke’s injuries, Buster missing—it all swirled together into a maelstrom of pain and doubt. He’d had that familiar feeling of everything being too good to be true a lot this season. He should have known that life would backhand him and knock him to the ground.
“Hollis,” Dr. Lynch said ten minutes later when Hollis walked into the veterinarian’s office. “Follow me.” She led him to an examining room and motioned for Hollis to lay Duke on the metal table.
Stepping back, Hollis watched, feeling helpless as the doctor gave Duke a sedative to calm him. Then she took her time cleaning and assessing every wound.
“No sugarcoating. Just say it,” Hollis said after ten minutes of holding his breath and floating up prayers.
“His condition is serious,” she said gently. “I think he’s stable for now, but I’ll need to keep him here. I need to sew up some of the deeper gashes, and with all these wounds, there’s a risk of infection.”
Hollis nodded numbly.
“He was definitely attacked by something,” Dr. Lynch continued. “Where’s…” She hesitated.
“Buster didn’t do this,” Hollis said, even though the thought had crossed his mind. He was ready to insist that Buster was a good dog. Buster hadn’t shown any aggressive tendencies since coming home with Hollis.
“I’m not saying he did,” Dr. Lynch said. “I’m still assessing the nature of the injuries. I’ve got this though, Hollis. Duke is in good hands with me. You know that.”
He nodded. “I do know that.”
She forced him to meet her eyes. “You need to go find Buster right now. Because something happened while you were gone. If Buster isn’t responsible for Duke’s condition, he could be injured too. Or…” She trailed off again.
Or worse. Yeah.
