Page 10 of It’s Only Love

He stands straighter, puffing out his chest and flexing his biceps, grinning.

“Pure muscle, baby. Do you want to touch it?” He waggles his eyebrows as he holds up his arm in front of me.

I wrap my hand around it, feeling the warmth and sinewy smoothness of his skin under my palm.

I squeeze my hand, and he beams at me. “See? Told you. Pure muscle.”

I nod appreciatively before releasing my grip, my hand tingling with the phantom feel of him. “Not bad.”

Dennis huffs. “Not bad?”

“ Anyway … So, how’s school?” I ask as I move past him and start walking down the trail.

He jogs after me, bumping his shoulder against mine when he catches up with me.

“It’s good and everything I thought it would be.

The professors… Fuck, they’re the real deal, Mike.

The stuff they know! So me of them are walking, talking encyclopedias.

I have this one professor—Professor Mitchell—who’s been amazing; guiding me through my degree and helping me find the perfect courses.

If I struggle, I can always go to him. I’ve never had a mentor before.

He just keeps pushing and challenging me. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah? So you’re happy you went then?”

He smiles. “For sure. It’s right where I wanna be, Mike. The people. The whole atmosphere… I mean, I miss home sometimes, but it’s worth it, you know?” He trails off, a rare wistfulness to his voice.

I nod because I’ve always wanted that for him. To go out into the world and find what he couldn’t find right here in Cannon Beach. I’m sure when he graduates, he’ll be off to do even greater things… away from me.

“And I have Wes, a little piece of home with me,” he adds.

“That’s good, Den. I’m really happy for you.” I hesitate for a moment, pride welling in my chest. “I bet by the end you’ll be smarter than all your teachers combined.” The idea of him leaving Cannon Beach for good hits me, and I blurt out, “Then you won’t ever want to come back home.”

He stops in his tracks and turns to me, his eyes locking onto mine, his voice raw and honest when he speaks, “I’ll always want to come back, Mike.

” He reaches for me, but stops mid-movement, pulling back and stuffing his hand in the pocket of his hiking pants instead. “Cannon Beach is home. Always will be.”

There’s a finality to his words that hits me right in the chest. Fuck, I wish I were as sure of myself and the world as Dennis is. To be that young and know exactly who you are and what you want. But what really hits home is that he wants to come back and stay.

“What about you? You regret not going off to school somewhere?” he asks .

“Me? Nah… I’m not exactly college material, Den.” I’m not. Never was. I did okay in school, but that’s about it.

“You could be. You’re smart, Mike. I know you think you aren’t, but you are. There are so many different ways of being smart, and if you wanted to, you could easily go to school, so don’t say you can’t. Because that’s simply not true.”

I never know how to respond when he says stuff like that to me. I don’t know what to do with myself. So I just settle on, “Thanks, Den.”

For the next thirty minutes, we continue down the trail, passing through denser, forested areas, interrupted by stretches of rocky terrain.

We savor the silence and the trees sheltering us from the sun.

The day blends with other days just like this in the past, a replica of moments with Dennis, where no words are needed to express how much we enjoy being together with nature all around us.

The trail narrows, and when we can no longer walk side by side, Dennis takes the lead, and I walk behind him.

It’s almost noon, so the sun is higher and warmer.

The exertion makes us hot. Dennis’ T-shirt is soaked with sweat, the thin fabric clinging to his back, the outline of his slender spine visible.

Whenever he moves, I catch small whiffs of his cologne mixed with a more earthy scent.

Occasionally, his phone pings with a message, but he doesn’t pull it from his pocket. It makes me feel special somehow, to know that when we’re together, it’s enough for him.

The first time he came back after starting college, I was worried that our friendship wouldn’t be enough anymore.

Or that I’d ruined it that night at the bonfire.

But my fears were unfounded. When we’re together, it’s just us.

At college, though… I have no idea if he’s dating or seeing someone.

We never really talk about things like that.

He probably is. I mean, why wouldn’t he be?

He’s good-looking, smart, and fun. Of co urse he’s someone who would have people interested in him. People. Guys. Other guys.

I brush my hand across my chest, not sure how to feel about the idea of Dennis being with another guy.

I’ve always been protective of him, but somehow this doesn’t feel like that.

It feels more like… I don’t know… The tightening sensation in my chest is confusing.

I don’t date a lot myself, only when Mom’s nagging becomes too much.

Then I cave until a few awkward and forgettable dates later, it’s all over.

It’s not that I don’t want a relationship.

I do. I want someone to spend my life with.

But so far, I haven’t met anyone who makes me feel even remotely as content and happy as I do with Dennis.

But he’s moving forward with his life, and I’m the same as I always was, so it makes sense for him to date.

Shit, what if he’s already fallen in love?

The question burns in my chest, on my tongue, on my lips.

I need to know if there’s someone like that in his life.

Someone special. I don’t know why, but I just need to know.

What you really want to know is if he’s still single . The truth slams home. Still, I ask. “Are you—”

He stops, and I nearly smack my front into his back before I can finish my question. “What was that? Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That sound. It was right there.” He tilts his head, looking around. “There? You hear it?”

I nod, hearing a frail whimper coming from somewhere to my right, from the thick underbrush, my question quickly forgotten.

Dennis walks to the edge of the trail, skimming the treeline. “Sounds like an animal.” He gestures at me as he makes his way through some shrubs. “C’mon. This way.”

I follow him, the bushes scratching my bare legs, the occasional thorn digging into my skin. The whimper grows louder as we make our way through the underbrush, pitiful whines and yelps guiding us.

Suddenly, I’m not grown-up Mike anymore.

I’m thirteen-year-old Mike, and it’s my mother’s animal-like cries coming from the living room as she collapses in Mrs. Winston’s arms. Despite the warm day, I feel cold, goosebumps washing down my bare arms, the small hairs at the back of my neck standing up.

I breathe in through my nose, focusing on Dennis weaving past branches and bushes in front of me.

I focus all my attention on him. I’m with Dennis. It’s not that day. It’s not.

“Shit!” Dennis blurts, then takes off running toward a small clearing.

I jog after him, nearly stumbling over a root sticking up from the ground.

He’s crouching when I reach him, and a small dog is lying on its side in front of him.

It’s hard to tell because it’s nothing but skin and bones, but it looks like a pup.

“Mike?” He looks up at me, a watery sheen to his brown eyes, his bottom lip shaking. “Oh, Mike, look at her.”

I crouch next to him, taking in the clearly starved animal, its chest heaving from pain and probably fear, too.

“Poor girl,” I murmur. “How the hell did she end up here?” Then I notice a large gash running from the dog’s left hip joint and all the way down its thigh.

Crusted blood coats the fur around the wound, and flies squirm and buzz around it.

It looks infected, with some yellow stuff oozing from the cut, and a foul, sickly odor hanging in the air.

“She’s hurt, Mike. We need to…” He reaches for the dog, but it snarls at him, baring its teeth.

“Careful!” I bat his hand away. “Don’t touch her. She’s scared to death.”

Dennis frowns at me, a challenging glimmer in his brown eyes. “We can’t leave her here. She’ll die.”

I offer him a small, reassuring smile. “I know. We won’t leave her. We’ll take her with us.”

His face visibly relaxes as he exhales. “Yeah?” He takes in the dog, its eyes now closed. She’s a beauty, despite her current state; jet-black fur, a slim, fox-like look to her features.

“Yeah,” I say as I start pulling off my T-shirt. “But don’t touch her.”

Dennis nods, holding back, watching my every move.

I fold my T-shirt together until it resembles a band.

Then, carefully, I lean in over the now-sleeping dog, sliding my T-shirt under her snout.

She stirs but doesn’t wake, probably exhausted from being out here for God knows how long without food or water.

I quickly tie the fabric around her snout, making sure it’s secure and tight.

When I’m confident that the dog is pacified, I slide my arms under her and lift her from the ground.

She weighs next to nothing, her fur soft and warm against my chest, her heart beating steadily.

“Shit, Den. She’s just a pup.” My throat tightens, anger filling my chest. Who the fuck just leaves a dog out here? No way she just ran out here all by herself.

Dennis shakes his head, tears pooling in his eyes. “I know. You think you can carry her to the truck?”

“Yeah, I’m good. She weighs nothing.” I adjust the dog in my arms, tucking her head under my chin as I try to avoid touching the wound. “How far do you think? Twenty minutes, maybe?”

Dennis nods, then starts walking back out toward the trail. “Yeah, no more than that. Careful.” He points to the ground where he steps over a branch.