Page 16 of Iron Fist

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I grouse.

He lets out a noise somewhere between a whine and a yelp.

“Keep it down, will ya? Let a guy nurse a hangover in peace.”

I take a step toward him, and his whole body stiffens, like he’s expecting me to chase him out of there. I don’t have the energy to start a mad chase around the whole place, so instead I just shake my head and turn back down the hall to the kitchen.

The coffee has just finished brewing when I hear the scrabble of claws on the wood floor. The dog appears in the archway, tongue hanging expectantly.

“Dude, I don’t have any dog food.”

He cocks his head, ears flopping.

“I know you understand me,” I tell him, pointing a finger. “You’re just pretending not to.”

Still, I set out a bowl of water for him, because it would be rude for me to be the only one drinking. He rushes to it and slurps the whole thing up like he’s just come out of three days in the desert.

“Damn. You’re pretty thirsty.”

I open the fridge, sighing as I realize I’m about to give him the leftovers of a big honkin’ sirloin steak I made for myself a couple nights ago. I pull it out and cut it into pieces.

“You go slow with this,” I warn him as I hold the plate over his head. “I had plans for this steak.”

Of course, he inhales the whole thing in about two damn seconds.

Once I feed him for the second time, this dog isonme like I’m his damn savior. He starts to follow me around wherever I go, so close it’s like he’s stuck to my leg. I take my coffee outside and sit on one of the Adirondack chairs on the front porch. He plops himself right down on my booted foot and leans against my leg.

“So you’re a leaner, eh?” I bend down and pat him on the neck. My palm catches on something, and I realize he’s got burrs stuck in his fur. “Well, shit, that can’t feel too good.” I pull a couple of them out. He sits patiently and doesn’t resist. “Good boy,” I tell him approvingly. “We’ll get you fixed up.”

Once again, I find myself wondering where he came from. There’s no collar on him. By the state of his fur, it looks like he’s been out here for a while. Probably some asshole dumped him out by the side of the road or something. He’s gonna eat me out of house and home if he sticks around here.

“You get dumped, buddy?” I ask him. “I know the feeling.”

And just like that, I’m thinking about Rory again. The anger starts to rise up again inside me, making my head start to pound a little harder. Goddamn, I thought I could drink and fuck the thought of her away. And I was doing a pretty good job of it last night, too.

But I can’t live my life black-out drunk.

“Gonna have to get that bitch out of my mind somehow,” I grumble.

The dog looks up at me quizzically.

“Don’t ask,” I tell him.

I’ve had a lot of women in my time. A hell of a lot more than I can count, that’s for sure. If it hadn’t been for Aurora, though, I never really believed the shit about love making sex better. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, or maybe I’m romanticizing it because it was so long ago, but I swear to God, sex with her was like it was some sort of a fuckin’ religious experience. Sometimes afterwards, there were tears in her eyes that I’d kiss away, the salt tasting like heaven to me. Like life. Like eternity. I knew for a fact we’d be together forever. That we could handle anything as long as it was the two of us, side by side.

I learned the hard way that just because you think you know something doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. No matter how certain you are about anything, you can still be full of shit.

I loved Aurora with my whole heart. With everything I had. I thought I knew her.

I was full of shit.

But just my luck, the bitch still managed to make it so that after her, I could never love anyone again.

7

RORY

The morning after my run-in with Brody, I wake up restless after a night of confusing dreams about my teenage years.

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