I nod. Once.
He does the same. My friend knows the mission; what we need to do now. His rucksack drops to the floor with a thud. From theplastic bag, he pulls two bottles of beer and an energy drink. He throws Hannah the latter, then passes me a beer.
“Right, pack up, both of you. You’re not staying here another night,” he says.
“I’ve not even…”
“Pack. It’s sorted.” There’s no room to argue. “I’ve got your back.”
That’s Dog. Chaotic, disorganized, and reckless until it matters. Until his friend is crumbling with nowhere to go. Then he steps up. Then he’s steel, solid, my bridge out of this mess.
We move around each other, stuffing clothes into bags and grabbing essentials. Hannah packs her school stuff, her pajamas, and her favorite teddy bear. She slips a photo of the three of us at Loch Ness into her bag, back when we were a family of three.
Every few minutes, she glances over, checking I haven’t disappeared. I’m going nowhere. Not now, not when my little girl needs stability. Her happiness is my new mission, and I’m going to succeed, even if it’s the last thing I do.
Dog carries our bags out to the car. For a small man, he lifts like he’s built from iron. It might be from the years of hauling wounded soldiers to safety, or sheer stubbornness. Who knows. He’s saved my life three times; it could be more. I stopped counting after the gunshot in Baghdad.
I slam the trunk closed. Dog turns the key in the ignition as I climb in.
“Right, let’s go,” he says. “Can’t hang around here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask. He taps his nose. “Tell me it’s a hotel at least. We’re not staying in a tent. This isn’t a surprise holiday.”
“Don’t be a dick. It’s a house. With three bedrooms. Perfectly acceptable digs.”
“Three bedrooms?” I mutter.
“Sure, for you, Hannah, and me.” He says it so naturally, as if his presence is a no-brainer. “You don’t expect me to kip on the sofa, do ya?”
Hannah snorts with laughter. The tiny sound keeps me steady right there in the driveway. With a final look at the little white cottage I’ve called home for years, we drive off to the unknown.
Wherever Dog has found, heaven help us—he’s slept under bridges.
Dog flicks on the radio, singing off-key. Hannah groans, then joins in. By the time we’re driving through the village of Aviemore, both of them are turned up to maximum volume.
As we turn into a street on the edge of the village, a woman steps out of the corner shop. She has messy blonde curls, boots thick with mud, and a hole in her jeans. Her hands fumble, keys dropping onto the pavement. It looks like she laughs as she picks them up.
I only see her for a moment. I’ve never seen her before. And here, in Aviemore, everyone knows everyone. Your private life is the lifeblood of the community. Strangers stand out. She’s an outsider, and for some reason, I look twice.
Dog yells something crude. Hannah squeals, and the moment is gone.
We turn into another street, this one a dead end, stopping outside a small two-story house. It looks clean and tidy with a red front door.
“Home sweet home,” Dog says, killing the engine.
I look to Hannah, who is already pushing open her door.
“Come on, Dad,” she calls.Dad.Even though I miss Daddy, Dad means things are becoming more normal, well, as normal as they can be. “I get first pick of the bedrooms.”
“Not if I beat you to the door,” Dog shouts.
They race up the short path. My friend holds back, allowing Hannah’s fingers to touch the PVC first. She beams back toward the car, and I smile.
“Come on, Dad.”
I laugh, then make my way to meet them.
Chapter three