“I’ve been keeping up just fine, thank you.” I gesture to the ever-growing pile of furniture, fabric, carpet, and wood at the curb. “I did part of that.”
“I brought it out here,” she chuffs.
We sip our drinks in silence, both of our eyes roaming around. The street is alive with people going to and from trucks, in and out of houses. Few homes were saved from the water damage, on this street, in particular. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve also never seen Nash like this. Sweat? Yes. But dirty from a day of hard work in the heat? No. She looks ethereal even with her hair sticking to her neck. I soak in being in her presence because who knows how much longer I have?
Chapter Sixty-Two
NASH
I lean casually against Wyatt’s truck, but I’m so filled with excitement I can hardly stand still. While we were taking a break, Mrs. Patterson took me on a tour of their framed photos and told me about their life together. They were high school sweethearts and had rushed to get married before Mr. Patterson was drafted into the war. They looked so blissful in their wedding photos—and so young. It stirred up something that was already swirling in my chest. It felt like I’ve seen that look on a man’s face before, I just couldn’t pinpoint where it was. Maybe my own parents’ wedding photos? They’ve been happily married thirty years, so it’s possible.
When Mrs. Patterson was telling me about their delayed honeymoon, it hit me. I’ve seen that look more than once in my life. The look of a man totally lost in a woman. I have a picture of it on my phone from the day we played flag football with the Hurricanes earlier this year. I pulled it out right then to look at it, pretending to check my text messages. When Chrissy sent me this photo and I saw it for the first time, I thought it was just chance that Wyatt was looking at me likethat. That he missed the countdown on Chrissy’s phone telling everyone when to look and smile, but as I scroll through the photos we’ve taken at the NFL Honors, at the PVF championship, at Jaden’s crawfish boil, and at Henry’s wedding—Wyatt is looking at me in every single one of them. There’s not a photo on my phone where he’s looking at the camera.
This couple’s home is full of water. They’re having to stay with their daughter until it’s fixed. I’m sure there’s other times where they’ve had to be away from home and that’s never kept them apart. I feel the realization in the back of my throat. A house is not permanent. Volleyball might try to take me away from Houston, and if I want to keep playing, I might have to go. Wyatt and I need mutual ground. Somewhere to meet that we both love. A place that’s neither Hurricanes nor Butchers nor Moons.
Now I’m here. Leaning up against the best man I’ve ever known’s truck, drinking my favorite flavor of sports drink, having brought it unprompted by me. I’m covered in muck and sweat. I must stink to high heaven, but I can’t help but smile. I have a plan. I use my left foot as a pivot to spin around and settle myself against him. The truck supporting him and him supporting me. I put my chin on his chest to look up at him.
“Hey there,” he says surprised at my affection.
“Hi.” The universe has been on my side bringing us here, forcing me to see. I was cleaner then and objectively much cuter. But I’ve seen what my future could hold with Wyatt in the salt and pepper hair of Mr. Patterson as he carefully packs away their wedding photos with a reverence that’s rare. They’ve been together literally through hell or high water, and I know in my heart I want that with Wyatt.
He interrupts my thoughts by saying, “Do you want to go for a walk?”
I shrug. “I guess.” What I’d really like is to lay him down in the back of his pickup truck and–
ARF!
I stand perfectly straight, no longer leaning against Wyatt’s hard-packed body. “Did you hear that?”
Chapter Sixty-Three
WYATT
“I think it came from over here.”
I peer around the side, and sure enough, there’s a little dog sniffing my tire. It’s probably ten pounds and the exact color of rainwater and mud mixed together. I look back to Nash, but she’s already rounded the corner calling to the dog. I grab her wrist to stop her. “It could be rabid.”
“It looks lost.”
There’s no stopping Nash from saving this dog, I know. She’s always had a soft spot for animals, but with volleyball, she hasn’t ever had a chance at getting a pet of her own. “Just be careful,” I say, releasing my grip on her arm.
I watch as she crouches down and approaches the dog slowly. It’s a little hesitant at first, but she coos at it, and it eventually steps up to sniff her outstretched hand. She strokes its head gently. “I’m going to pick him up.” I watch as she moves her hands under the little dog’s chest and lifts it into her arms. “That’s a good boy,” she murmurs. “I think it’s a boy, at least.”
She stands and turns to me, and when her eyes meet mine,I about keel over at the softness and care I see in them. Her face is warm as she takes in the dog’s matted fur. The dog seems to relax in her hold like he’s been wandering a long time and is finally able to rest under her care.
I know the feeling.
“We should walk around with him and see if any neighbors recognize him or know the owners,” I say. I can see Nash’s attachment forming to this dog in real time, but I have to make sure we do our due diligence so she doesn’t get her heart broken when she has to give him back.
Colin is still here, talking to John, so I call to him, “We found a dog. We’re going to try and look for his owners. We’ll see you at your house later.”
“See you then,” he says and goes back to his conversation.
We head in the direction we were originally going to walk in. Anytime we pass someone, we show them the dog and ask if they know him. Again and again the people of the neighborhood tell us no.
The walk is not a pretty one. The streets are full of trash from the flooded houses waiting to be picked up. Yards are full of people’s undamaged property covered in bedsheets. Some have ‘we will defend’ spray painted on cardboard signs or on the sheet itself. Others have signs that say ‘do not take’. It’s crazy and a bit disturbing to see. Not only seeing what should be inside houses out here on the front lawn, but the idea that there might be altercations over property. The sun is quickly setting over the trees, and with the power still out there won’t be any streetlights. I suddenly feel the size of this city, the amount of strangers who live here pressing in on me. “We should head back. It’s getting late.”
“But we didn’t find his owner.”