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“Yes. I think he’s had Poppy ever since.”

“Just… wow,” she says as I sit on the floor to play with Poppy. “I can’t believe you actually just… stumbled across him. And he’s the Forest Santa? That’s a lot of what-the-fuck going on with him.”

My guard rises. “Feather, he’s not what-the-fuck. He’s just very… special, I think.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She checks her phone real quick and then puts it back down. “What else happened? Was he surprised to see you? Because I’m pretty sure he was thinking ‘what the fuck’ when he saw you.”

“He didn’t say a word,” I say quietly. I wish he had talked to me—acknowledged me in some way other than yawning and shrugging. He hurt my heart, and he probably doesn’t even know it.

“Did he see you?”

I roll a tennis ball across the floor and watch Poppy chase it happily, then plop down with it in his mouth. “Yes… I talked to him. He just didn’t talk back.”

Sensing my sadness, Feather’s face softens a little and she doesn’t shoot another sarcastic comment at me. “So what are you going to do now?” she asks.

I look up from Poppy. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t keep him, Holly. There’s a no-pet policy here.”

My heart slams in my chest, and the tug toy I’m holding falls from my hand. “No-pet policy? What’s that?”

“It means we can’t have any cats or dogs. We can have fish tanks, but that’s it.”

“No,” I say, my hands shaking. “They have to let me keep him. This is my home, so it’s his home, too.”

“I don’t think so, Holly. Rules are rules. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

I pull Poppy into my arms while she goes into her bedroom. I stroke his head, not remembering anyone ever saying we couldn’t have pets here. I’ve never seen any of the other patients or residents with a pet, but maybe it’s just because no one has one. That doesn’t mean I can’t keep Poppy, though.

“I won’t lose you again,” I whisper. “I won’t. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

Feather returns with a small booklet in her hand. “It says right here, pets are not allowed to live on the premises. Patients andresidents are permitted to have one ten-gallon fish tank. Certified therapy pets are permitted only on a special case-by-case basis.”

“Can’t Poppy be a therapy pet?”

“No… they have to go through special training. You can’t just say he’s a therapy dog, even though I think—in a lot of ways, for you—heisa therapy dog.” She puts the pamphlet on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, Holly. I know how much he means to you.”

I blink my eyes hard, a dull pain throbbing in my forehead.

“There must be something I can do… Help me think, please?”

Feather kneels next to me. “Okay. Don’t get upset. Take a few deep breaths. Do you want me to get one of your pills?”

A sedative is the last thing I want right now. I don’t want to sleep—I want to be able to think.

“No, please. Just help me think. I’m not good at ideas, Feather. But you are.” I search her eyes, pleading for her to come up with an answer for me because I have none. I don’t know enough, haven’t learned enough yet to come up with plans.

She combs her fingers through her hair. “Let’s see…” She chews on her lip and stares across the room. “What about your parents? Could they keep Poppy for a while? Until you’re ready to leave here?”

A momentary burst of hope surges through me but is quickly extinguished when I remember we’re talking about my parents, who have never shown any kind of compassion for me regarding Poppy. Every time I’ve brought him up, they’ve dismissed me. They led me to believe he was happily living with a family. So either they never knew where he was and didn’t even care, or they knew he was with Tyler all this time and didn’t tell me.

“I don’t think they’d take him,” I reply. “They don’t seem to like dogs.”

Or me.

She sits back on her heels and meets my eyes. “Holly, I think you have to bring him back. He seems happy and clean.” Her hand gently caresses Poppy’s back. “It looks like he’s being taken care of, right?”

I nod, the tight lump in my throat plugging back my words.