Page 51 of Pretty Dogs

“DallasthinksIshouldn’t have said it.”That’sas close to an apology as he’s going to get, and based on the wry tilt of his mouth, he understands.

“Iam a coward.”Hesips the coffee, staring at the floor. “Andit was my fault.”

“It’snot anyone’s fault, but that doesn’t mean shit.”Iprop my hands on the table and wait until our eyes meet. “He’sgetting recruited by a gang, and if you don’t watch him and keep him busy, you’re gonna lose him.”

WhenIlook up,Dallasis leaning on the doorframe, listening.Thiswasn’t howIwanted to have this conversation with him, but he doesn’t look upset, just thoughtful.Hisbright eyes give me the only jolt of emotionI’vefelt sinceIjumped out ofAlex’struck.

Theoglances between us, then sets his mug down on the table and stands up with a bitter smile. “Right.It’sall so easy, isn’t it?Givehim some clean sheets and play with his kitten, and you’re all fucking heroes.”

Hetakes a step toward the back door, butIcross my arms instead of moving. “What’sthat supposed to mean?”

Justlike every time, he squares his shoulders and glares up at me with reckless defiance.Partof me suspects he killed the pervert with the chair on purpose, not in an accidental panic.Somepiece of the madness in me recognizes the same savagery in him, andIcan’t help but respect it.Ijust never expected to find it in such a scrawny nerd.

Thesound ofCalvin’sloud, goofy laugh echoes through the open door.Justas suddenly as he stood up,Theodrops back into his chair and rests his face in his hands. “Heonly told me he was a boy six months ago,” he says in a muffled voice. “Beforewe left home.Istill don’t understand what it means, or what he needs.Allhe does is ask questions, all day every day, andIdon’t have the answers to any of them.”Hisbrown eyes look dark with frustration when he lifts them to mine. “Soif you thinkI’mlazy and weak, tell me howI’msupposed to keep him warm and fed, take care of his damn cat, steer him away from trouble, help him transition, and make sure he doesn’t get raped or murdered all at the same time.”

Iglance guiltily atDallas.Hishopeful face makes it so obvious–he wants me to speak up and invite them to stay.It’smy job to protect people, becauseI’mthe strongest andIknow the worst dangers out there.ButIcan’t protect these two, because of mistakesImade so long agoIhad no idea whatIwas doing.Theoneeds to getCalvinout of here and go somewhere safer, somewhere far away from me and my world, before he loses that sweet kid.

“Hey,”Dallasmurmurs asIwalk past him out of the room without saying anything, but he doesn’t make any move to stop me.

19

DALLAS

“That’sa lot of bird’s nests.”

“Huh?”Ilook up from sweeping fluffy brown hair off the back step.

Calvinwaves his unhurt arm vaguely toward the distant trees, sparkling green in the sun.Helooks like one of those before and after pictures of sheep that hide in the hills for three years and then get shorn.It’sa hack job of a haircut, but it’s not my faultIonly had kitchen scissors to work with. “Birdsmake nests from the hair,” he explains. “Myfriend from before we ran away had purple hair, so we scattered the trimmings around the yard.Welooked everywhere for purple nests, but we never found any.”

“That’spretty cool, actually.”AsIslide the broom back into its place behind the door,I’mambushed by the mental image of trekking around the yard withCalvin, hunting for nests and keeping track of each one in a notebook based on the materials we laid out.Iused to love shit like that whenIwas his age.

Theincessant banging of metal on metal drifts in from theTVin the living room.Beckhasn’t moved from the couch in two days except to go to the bathroom.Hejust huddles under a blanket and stares at constant reruns of his favorite show, where a bunch of sweaty dudes compete to forge knives and swords.I’vebeen drifting off next to him at night, then waking up in the morning to find him still watching with the sound muted so it doesn’t disturb me.

Theman isn’t doing okay, not since the broken arm incident.Iknow the shape of what’s hurting him, the wayCalvin’srun-in with the gang reminds him of his past, but he’s holding the rest deep inside where he’s the only one who gets hurt.Forthe first time,Idon’t think it matters whatIsay.Hehas to find the answers for himself if he’s going to truly believe them.AllIcan do is be here when he needs me, distractCalvin, and try to ignore my body’s increasingly frequent reminders that we haven’t had sex or even made out in too long.

Ibake whenI’mstressed, whenI’muncertain, and whenI’mhorny andIcan’t do anything about it.Sopretty much all the time.Mentallyrunning through my small store of ingredients,Ibend over and grab my trusty cookie sheet from the drawer next to the oven.Thewarped metal rattles asIset it on the counter.Calvin’swatching me curiously from the doorway, his broken arm hugged protectively to his chest.

“I’mmaking cookies.Wantto help?”

Tomy surprise he wrinkles his nose, pressing closer to the door frame. “Nothanks.”

Iturn around with a bowl in one hand and a half empty bag of cheap flour in the other to study him.It’sso incredibly obvious when he’s being cagey; the kid can’t lie for shit. “Whynot?”

“Idon’t wanna be rude,” he mumbles, avoiding my eyes.

NowI’mjust curious. “Youhave my permission to be rude for the next thirty seconds.Go.”

“Ijust…”Afamiliar helpless frustration flashes in his eyes, oneIfeel in my very core. “Bakingis for girls, isn’t it?Myaunt used to invite all the girl cousins over to make cupcakes.Shegave us these matching pink aprons with flowers…”Heshudders and gags emphatically.

“Well.”Igesture around the kitchen, demonstrating the lack of aprons in any color. “I’msorry she made you feel like you weren’t a boy when you were baking.Iknow how much that sucks.Butbaking can be a very manly activity.”

Hepurses his lips, clearly unconvinced, and glances over his shoulder towardBeck’sposition on the couch.

“Ah.”Igrin at him. “Youwant to know whyBeckisn’t baking?Becausehe’s scared of the oven and thinks recipes are witchcraft.”

Astartled giggle bursts out of him before he can hold it back. “Really?”

“Onehundred percent.Youcan ask him.”Pullinga wooden spoon out of the drawer,Ibrandish it at him. “Ialso haven’t told him that you can eat the dough.”

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