Читать книгу Damaged Hearts - Jan St. Marcus - Страница 14

As I park the car in the garage and approach the inner door, I begin to wonder what will be waiting for me. I hear Sparky’s nails clattering on the floor, so I know he’s home and pretty normal, but what about Bran? Did he stay or did he bolt? He seemed pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing since last night and I have no idea if he saw the video. But I keep remembering that I promised myself that I wouldn’t obsess over him, and I would just let the chips fall where they may. So as I walk in the door, I give all my attention to Sparky, who seems especially rambunctious. The only thing that can make me smile more than my car is Sparky. Something about a sentient being that knows what unconditional love is and revels in it is just so fucking special I can’t get enough of him not getting enough of me. If I could physically manage it, he’d probably let me pet him for twelve hours straight. As I’m thinking that, he rolls over and presents his stomach for tummy rubs, and I indulge him, putting my bag down and sitting on the floor next to him.

After about a minute of the tummy rubs, he pops his head up and runs to the end of the hall, right to Bran, who’s standing there watching. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but he’s smiling. “Welcome home, dude,” he says, walking down the hall with Sparky at his heels.

“Thanks. How was your day?” I ask. I frown a bit when I see what he’s wearing: Really worn jeans that are barely hanging on his hips, a super ugly T-shirt, and no shoes. Yeah, we’re going to have to go shopping. But on the plus side, he obviously washed his clothes, but, yeah, shopping just zipped to the top of our “to do” list.

“Pretty good. I mean, really good. I relaxed, played with Sparky, applied for a couple of jobs.”

“That’s cool.” I stand up and grab my bag. “Hey, I hope you’re not offended by this, but I kind of want to take you shopping. Is that all right?”

“Shopping?”

“Yeah. Like we can get you some clothes that fit . . . and look nice . . . you know, shopping?” Bran stares at me hard for a moment. Then he does a pirouette right in front of me.

“You don’t like this year’s fashion trends from the Dumpster Collectione?” He has pronounced these words in a mocking French accent. Or was it supposed to be Italian? Doesn’t matter, the accent was terrible and the joke fell flat, but the message was received.

“Okay then. Just give me a minute and we’ll go.” Sparky looks at me and then back to Bran as I walk to my bedroom. I throw my bag on the bed and realize that there isn’t really anything else I need, so I turn and walk back up the hall. Bran hasn’t moved, but Sparky takes off out of sight and returns with his leash in his mouth, running up to me, dropping the leash at my feet, and sitting down.

“He’s not subtle, is he?” Bran asks, laughing.

“Sparky is many things, but subtle is not one. You wanna walk with us?”

“Absolutely.”

I put on Sparky’s leash and he’s looking back and forth between Bran and me as we exit through the garage. I hit the garage opener from my pocket and the door rolls up and we exit to the alley behind the house. Sparky pulls on the leash as he runs from smell to smell in the wide alley. He’s remarking his spots as he goes, and he keeps looking back at Bran and me.

“I have to tell you something,” I start to say.

“Is it about the video?”

“So you saw it?”

“Hard not to. It’s, like, everywhere,” he says through a smirk.

“Yeah. It’s a thing, I guess.”

“Now I see where Sparky gets his subtlety from. That’s kind of an understatement.”

“Really?” I say. A little shocked.

“Um, yeah. It’s gotten like, over a million hits.”

This stops me in my tracks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“I didn’t put it up.”

Bran studies me and then shakes his head. “I believe you, but …”

“I seriously didn’t. It must have been the cops.”

“Why?”

“How should I know?” I ask rhetorically. “Maybe they were as pissed off as I was. What an asshole that guy was.”

“But you recorded it.”

“I did. I’m not even sure why. I guess part of me was thinking maybe I would give it a friend to post and maybe get you a GoFundMe page or something.” I take a breath. “I hadn’t thought it through. Still haven’t.”

“Well, they’re calling you the ‘Bad Ass Samaritan’.”

I try to stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”

Bran laughs. “It was pretty bad ass.”

“Well so much for maintaining a low profile.”

“Like, you can look like you do and drive that monster and be low profile?”

“Point taken. But I do kind of keep to myself.”

“Good luck with that.”

We start walking again. Sparky doesn’t care about our human drama. He’s found something really interesting near a stand of rosemary bushes. He tugs back at the leash when I try to get him to follow us as we walk on. He’s not budging. “Come on, Sparky!” When I tug on the leash, he sits down, putting his front legs in front of him. He’s looking at me like, “Chill, dude, I’m not done here!”

We stop and he goes back to his serious sniffing. I sigh. I hope this video thing isn’t going to blow up in my face. My NSA people can be kind of nervous with stuff like this. Apparently, the work I’m doing for them is pretty important, and they have invested a lot of money in keeping my work and my identity under wraps. At one point, I was told that part of the reason they didn’t insist that I move to Maryland where they’re based, is that they wanted me outside the normal sphere of NSA contractors and employees. We don’t really discuss it openly, but I know that Devon has a team of people keeping me under surveillance. Or protection. Or whatever they call it. I know it’s not like a Secret Service detail or anything, but I know they have eyes on me. And no, I don’t mind. In fact, I don’t care. I’m not doing anything wrong or sketchy, and my life isn’t interesting enough for anybody to really care one way or the other about what I do.

Sparky finishes his business and we walk on. “Are you okay?”

I look at Bran. “Huh?”

“You kind of zoned out. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I offer. “Just trying to get my head around this. I’ve never gone viral before.” I hope my little laugh puts Bran at ease and hides my growing concern.

“Thank you,” Bran says. He’s as earnest as I’ve ever heard him. I look into his eyes and they’re sparkling, but serious.

“For what?”

“For sticking up for me. I mean, I know I’ve already said it, but that video . . . that video really brought it home . . . that someone cared enough to do that for me.”

I nod and smile. “No problem.” I look at Sparky, who has stopped walking and is looking back towards the house. “All done?”

“What?” Bran asks.

“I was talking to Sparky. I think he’s ready to go back.”

We all turn and head back to the house.