Page 109 of Book and Ladder
“Who kicked your puppy?”Dustin asks on our run. He chuckles, but his eyes are sincere.
The whole crew is jogging through the neighborhoods around the station as a warm up to today’s workout. These runs aren’t as innocuous as they were before the calendar spread like wildfire through the town. Women stand on their porches gripping cups of coffee, their eyes riveted to us without any effort to disguise their ogling, they blatantly turn from their gardening to stare, screen doors clatter as they rush to watch us pass. I’m taking it as a compliment, even if it feels like we’re jogging through an open casting call forThe Bachelorette.Yet another reason I cling to my podcast anonymity.
“I don’t have a puppy,” I remind Dustin.
“Maybe this is a sign that you need one.”
“So someone can kick it?”
He chuckles, “Nah. So you don’t have to look like the solo castaway survivor on the island of Patrick. Life is meant to be shared. Trust me.”
“I’ve got you guys.” My excuse falls as flat as it is.
“Is this about a woman? Or women? One of the two you have to pick between?”
I nod. I don’t know if he sees my affirmation of his guess. “Turns out they’re the same woman.”
His face scrunches. I don’t clarify. The weight in my chest feels like a thousand pound ball of knotted string. Untangling it in front of Dustin would be too complicated and lengthy.
His silence stretches for a half block. Then, in typical golden retriever style he says, “At least you don’t have to pick anymore.”
A short hiccup of a laugh bursts out of me. “Yeah. There is that.”
Our shift is uneventful except for one minor fire which we contain as if we’re going through the motions in our sleep. The smell of smoke still clings to me long after the fire’s out. I rinse off at the station, but it lingers—woven into my hair, my skin, maybe my bones. The easy noise of our crew joking with one another fills the early morning air. The town feels hushed, expectant.
On the way to my car, I pull out my cell, scrolling past my dad’s name on the screen once. Twice. I’ve been avoiding him since I pulled away from Moss and Maple—fleeing the reality of my feelings for Daisy and her obvious lack of interest in reciprocating.
That kiss. And it wasn’t only our incredible chemistry. We challenge one another, but there was this moment in the midst of the heat where she succumbed to the tug andrelented. I think she needs that—someone to be there for her, to be strength where she feels weak, to hold her edges together when she’s holding everyone else’s.
We’ve always had an intellectual compatibility. We’re well matched. Only she won’t let herself acknowledge it. Her body knew what her mind resisted.
I walked away from her.
I could’ve told her the truth—that I’m the voice she’s trusted online, the man behind the podcast. That the man she hates is also the one she wishes she could meet. But she’d take my duplicity as betrayal, not the connection it’s been. To her, my family will always be the Hatfields, and she’s a McCoy.
So I walked away—for her. And it’s killing me.
I can’t evade my dad forever, so on the way home from my shift I dial him.
“Patrick.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know. I’ve been busy.”
“Dressing up like you’re the entertainment at a child’s birthday party and riding carnival rides with your nieces?”
He’s got me there. “I spent a little time with my family. The girls aren’t going to be this young forever. I don’t want to miss even one special tradition with them.”
“You’ve always been so sentimental.”
I don’t know if he means that as a compliment or not, but I’m taking it as one.
“What did you need?” I ask, trying not to sound as impatient as I feel.
He hasn’t done anything to warrant my animosity. He believes he’s improving a town he cares about. He’s not a villain—just a single-minded man with a giant blind spot.
