Page 8 of A Furry Thing Called Love (Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #7)

Jordan

Socializing classes are some of my favorites, but they’re also some of the most chaotic of all the ones I run.

Having to keep track of both people and pets, make sure no one becomes overly aggressive, or too nervous, and carefully encourage the mix of different temperaments together, takes a lot of patience and dedication.

Some pet parents are overly cautious and anxious, which makes their dogs that way as well, and it can turn a good learning situation into a volatile one very easily.

It’s part of why I love having Indie in the small group sessions like this. She’s calm, collected, well-trained, and has the herding tendencies that border collies are known for, which is helpful with both humans and animals.

The session is wrapping up—they’re not as long as other sessions I host, as I keep them small and short to try to avoid any major issues from popping up—when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Pulling it out, I see Arlo’s name on the screen and my heart gives a little squeeze.

I let it ring and turn back to my clients.

“Okay, thank you for joining me today. I hope to see you soon. If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to come speak to me. You’re also welcome to email or text me with any questions you have later.”

As I’m talking to someone who today was her and her puppy’s first exposure to other dogs, I get another call. Glancing at the screen, a pit forms in my stomach when I see Arlo’s name again.

“Excuse me, I need to take this.”

“Oh, sure. No problem. I should get going anyway. Thanks for taking the time to explain some things. We’ll definitely be back soon.” She scoops up her dog and makes her way out of the training room, while I fumble to answer the phone.

“Arlo? Is everything okay?”

“No.” I can hear the stress in his voice. “I think I need to go to the hospital. Do you mind coming over and taking care of the dogs for me?”

“Shit. What happened? Text me your address, I’m leaving now.”

Indie and I race from the training room and across my property, to the house.

“It’s stupid. I had a dizzy spell and fell on my arm. I think it’s just sprained, but I need to get it checked out anyway.”

My phone beeps with a notification, and I assume it’s the address. Letting us into the gate, I barely have the forethought to latch it correctly so no one tries to escape.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? Just sit tight.”

“Really, there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere, and it’s not that serious.”

“Please let me worry about you until I can see you’re fine in person, okay?”

He laughs a little. “Fine. I’ll see you soon.”

We hang up as I run into the house for my wallet, and to lock the house up. Indie tries to come with me, but I keep her in the gate. I know she can feel my distress, but I don’t know what I’m walking into. Arlo says he’s fine, but until I can reassure myself, the worry won’t leave.

“Hold the fort for me, Indie. I’ll be back later, okay?”

She whines but sits on the other side of the gate, watching me carefully.

Getting into my car, I finally look at my phone and check the address, cursing when I see it’s in Willis Cove—of fucking course. The snobby side of Gaynor Beach is as far as you can get from where I live in the hills of Conway Heights.

Taking a few deep breaths, I back out of my driveaway and try not to have a fucking panic attack while driving to my ex-fucking-boyfriend’s house for a medical emergency. Because that’s not worrisome at all .

When I finally pull up to Arlo’s, I am shaking, and I realize I probably should have asked him to stay on the phone with me so I could make sure he was okay.

Talk about fucking stressful. The entire drive across town, all I could do was worry that, in the time it took me to get to him, something else had happened, or that he was hurt worse than he let on.

Taking a few deep breaths, I try to get my shit under control. My neurosis is the last thing Arlo needs to be dealing with right now, on top of everything else.

Ringing the bell, I hear Millie start barking, and then Arlo’s voice can be heard. Relief washes over me and I sag on the porch as my fears are alleviated by just hearing him. When he opens the door, the puppy tries to escape, and I bend over to snag her harness as she does so.

She wiggles, but eventually realizes she’s not going to win the fight, so stops trying and I coax her back in the house. With the front door firmly shut behind me, I let her go and turn to her owner.

A quick visual check helps ease more of my fears, as I can’t see any visible injuries, but that doesn’t mean much at the moment.

“I promise, I’m fine.” He lifts his left arm. “Just a little injured.”

Taking his hand in mine, I watch as he winces and frowns. I don’t know shit about medical stuff, but the fact he called me at all is worrisome. “Let’s get you to the hospital. Is she crate trained?”

“She is, yes. But really, I just need you to keep her for a few hours while Eli and I go. I’d leave him here, but with the dizziness, I don’t want to risk it?—”

“You’re a fucking dumbass if you think I’m going to let you drive yourself to the fucking hospital when you fell on your dominant arm.”

“Jordan—”

“I’m not having this discussion with you. Get whatever you need, I’ll take her out and get her settled.”

“Jor—”

“Arlo.” Staring into his light-blue eyes that are full of pain—physical, emotional, both?—I hope he can see how much he’s not winning this argument in my own gaze.

Finally, he sighs and carefully removes his hand from mine.

I take Millie outside and coax her into going potty, though it takes far longer than I wanted—something we’ll have to work on—and then I put her in the crate.

She easily goes into the crate, and some of the worry about Arlo having to deal with puppy training on top of everything else eases, knowing that at least one thing is going right for him. That’s not even a ding at him, as I know how hard it can be sometimes. I do it for a living after all.

Once Millie is set, and Arlo has Eli, his cane, and whatever else he needs, I lead him out to my car.

“I still protest everything about this,” he says.

“I don’t care.”

Arlo sighs, but I ignore him and put the car into gear. “Please tell me you’re at least just going to drop us at the ER and go about your day. I don’t want you to be stuck in the waiting room for hours.”

“I’m ignoring you for the rest of the day, how about that?”

“Jordan, don’t be stubborn.”

“ You don’t be stubborn!” I snap back, causing Eli to whine at my tone. Taking a breath, I rein in my temper. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried. Your call scared me, Ar. Really fucking scared me, and I know you well enough that I wasn’t sure if you were downplaying the situation or what.”

“I don’t lie about my health, Jor. I can’t .”

Clutching the steering wheel a little tighter, I try to get my thumping heart under control.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a worrywart. I just… I…” Swallowing back the words on the tip of my tongue, I focus on the road.

After a long moment, he asks, “You’re what, Jor?”

Shaking my head, I wish I could close my eyes, as out of the corner of my eye, I can see him turn his head to look at me.

“I care about you, Ar. More than I probably should…but I do, and today…kind of brought some of my worst fears to the forefront.”

“Which are?” he asks softly.

“That one day I’ll get a call and you’ll be gone. Three years wasn’t nearly enough time to get over you. I don’t know if I ever will. One day…you’re not going to be out there somewhere living your best life—even if it was without me. And that would kill me.”

“Oh.”

We drive the rest of the way to the hospital in silence, as if I didn’t just lay my heart out on the table for him to break it—again.