Page 11 of The Obvious Check
I settle into the back seat, lying down with my legs bent awkwardly because the space isn’t quite long enough to stretch out fully. The worn fabric of the seat presses uncomfortably against my back, and I shift around, trying to find a position that doesn’t leave me aching.
It’s no use. The car is too cramped, too cold, too hard to ever be truly comfortable. I close my eyes anyway, willing myself to fall asleep. But sleep doesn’t come. Instead, my mind races and my thoughts swirl in a chaotic mess of worry and memories.
With a sigh, I sit up slightly and reach for my phone. The screen lights up, casting a soft glow in the darkness. I scroll through my photo gallery, and my finger hovers over the images of my family. Pictures from before everything changed, before my parents passed away, before Adley and I were torn apart.
I pause on one photo and study it. We’re standing in front of our house and my dad has his arm around my mom. Adley is perched on my hip and her chubby little hands clutch my shoulder as she grins at the camera. We’re smiling so brightly and I still remember the sound of Adley’s laugh that day.
A lump forms in my throat as I swipe through more pictures, each one a snapshot of a life that feels so far away now. Birthdays, vacations, lazy Sunday mornings when everything felt safe and whole. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. But it’s no use. The memories are too vivid, too overwhelming.
A tear slips down my cheek, followed by another, and soon I’m quietly crying in the back seat of my car. The sobs are silent, just a trembling of my shoulders and the occasional hitch in my breath. I clutch my phone tightly, the images of my family blurring through the tears.
I miss them so much.
After a while, the tears slow, and a strange sense of calm settles over me. The ache in my chest remains, but it’s accompanied by a soft comfort in remembering the good times, in knowing that those moments, however fleeting, were real.
I lie back down, this time resting my head on a sweatshirt I’ve been using as a makeshift pillow. The exhaustion from the day finally catches up with me, and despite the discomfort, my eyes grow heavy. The memories of my family are still fresh in my mind, and slowly, I drift off to sleep, comforted by the echoes of a life I once had.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to get a semblance of it back.
Chapter 3
“Woof. Woof.”
“You can’t be serious,” Dash says, staring at me like I’ve just confessed to murder, but it could also be that it’s impossible to read his expression under that goalie mask.
“What’s wrong, bro?” I cringe as soon as the word leaves my mouth.Bro.Dash could one day be my actual brother. It was a nice thought when we were kids. Now? Not so much.
“Am I dreaming? I can’t be the only one who thinks this is crazy.” Dash stares at me for a beat, then turns, looking behind him for backup even though there’s no one there.
Admittedly, I surprised the team when I showed up for practice today, all of whom looked equally perplexed at my new best friend, and peppered me with a litany of questions. Dash, however, is the only one taking the news badly.
“Why is this crazy?” I ask, playing dumb.
He skates forward, getting all up in my business. Now I can clearly see his eyes narrowing. “You got a dog.” He doesn’t sound angry, just incredulous, as though it’s the single most unhinged thing I’ve ever done. Clearly, he’s forgotten about the cage fights.
I glance down at the wriggling ball of fluff in my arms, who’s completely unbothered that my best friend is growling at him like a bear. He’s too busy batting my chin with his oversized paws, tongue flopping out like he’s having the best day of his life.
“Yeah,” I say proudly, bending down to place him on the ice. He immediately takes to it, prancing around like it’s second nature to walk on. “I’d like to introduce you all to our newest team mascot, Stanley Biscuit Bright.”
Henry skates close to my dog, beckoning him with his hand. “I think I’m going to call him Mr. Biz,” he says, scratching Stanley’s ears.
Dash grumbles lowly, thinking I can’t hear him. He hates that Henry and I have become friends after everything. Personally, I think it’s a little hypocritical of Dash to be annoyed. Much like my best friend, Henry had a secret relationship with my sister in high school, then cheated on her. He’s an ass but showed up for me atBehind Closed Doorswhen I needed him the most. Namely, when Luke was letting his goons, Cal and Mark, beat the crap out of me for daring to talk to his precious girlfriend.
Although Dash remains still, looking at me like I’ve developed two heads, the rest of the guys fall for the same adorable face I did when I went to the animal shelter.
Did I plan to walk into the shelter yesterday and leave with a dog? No. Did I have a choice after seeing this guy on death row? Also no.
The minute Stanley waddled toward me with his grumpy grandpa face and tongue flopping out like a pink welcome mat, I knew he was mine. With those massive paws and eyes that judged me harder than my mother ever could, I knew I needed him in my life. I'd only ever had that gut-level certainty once before, and well, that ended with my face rearranged and two shiners that lasted three weeks. This adoption will hopefully involve less bleeding.
“What kind of dog is he?” Scotty asks, crouching down as Stanley jumps on his hind legs, begging for attention.
“He’s a bernedoodle?” With a brown underbelly, white chest and black top, Stanley’s coat is anything but simple. He’s a beautiful dog, estimated to be seven months old, and I’m looking forward to seeing how big he gets.
“You speaking French?” Erik chimes in. “What the heck is a bernedoodle?”
“It’s a mix between a poodle and a mountain dog. They assume that’s what he is based on his coloring.”
“So he’s a fancy mutt?”
