Page 10 of Pugs & Kisses

B ryson evened out his breathing, pulling in slow, deep breaths and letting them out just as slowly. He leaned forward, angling his body until he was in the perfect position.

“Seven ball. Right center pocket.”

He pushed the cue stick forward with a smooth strike, sending the maroon ball spinning across the worn green felt. It clanked against the five ball he’d sunk a few plays ago.

“Impressive,” Derrick Coleman said. His former classmate’s brow dipped as he frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have the time to perfect your technique, as busy as your schedule is.”

“I don’t. I haven’t played since we graduated,” Bryson said. He shrugged, trying to suppress his grin. “Maybe I’m just that good.” He quickly knocked the eight ball into the top left pocket, ending the game.

“No, I’m just that bad,” Derrick said, taking both his and Bryson’s cue sticks and setting them in the rack. “My pool debt was almost as bad as my student loan debt.”

“So why did you choose to come here tonight?” Bryson asked. He clamped a hand on Derrick’s shoulder as they headed back to their table.

“I wanted to see if I could continue my losing streak from eight years ago,” Derrick answered. “Thanks for proving that I could. Success tastes sweet.”

“Happy I could help,” he said.

Derrick flipped him a middle finger and Bryson burst out laughing.

Short and boisterous, Derrick had always reminded him of Kevin Hart.

The two of them had bonded over being the only two Black men in the program the year they started vet school at LSU.

It would have been too much to ask that he and Derrick end up as lab partners.

Instead, Bryson had been stuck with that asshole Cameron Broussard.

Derrick had surprised him tonight by driving in from Baton Rouge to hear him speak at the Louisiana Veterinary Medical Association’s quarterly meeting.

Seeing a friendly, familiar face in the crowd had lessened the nerves that had popped up as he’d stepped onto the dais, but despite both Derrick and Doc being there to cheer him on, those nerves had pestered him for far longer than Bryson was used to.

He’d spoken before audiences ten times the size of the one he’d addressed tonight, but there was something about being in front of the home crowd that made tonight even more nerve-wracking. There had been people there who knew him before he became the Bryson Mitchell, DVM.

At this point in his career, he enjoyed a level of prestige that few in his profession could ever hope to attain, but he also knew that, to some, he would always be nothing more than a basketball jock who’d managed to claw his way out of the bayou and into veterinary school.

Instead of allowing that to intimidate him, Bryson had used it as fuel.

He’d opened with his usual story of how fate led him to transferring in his final year of vet school from LSU to Tuskegee University, the only historically Black university with a school of veterinary medicine.

And how that eventually led to him joining a team of scientists studying 3D-printing technology only weeks after finishing the university’s veterinary medical-surgical program.

Ten minutes into his presentation and he could tell by the crowd’s rapt expression that he had them. He didn’t let go of them until the very end. He still had a buzz flowing through his veins from the standing ovation he’d received at the conclusion of his talk.

Yet, there was one thing that continued to dampen his mood.

Bryson had spent his entire presentation searching for a specific face in the crowd, but it never materialized.

Was he surprised Evie never showed up? Not really.

But it still stung, particularly after so many at tonight’s chapter meeting noted how odd it was not to see her in attendance.

He was the reason she hadn’t been there.

He didn’t believe that excuse she’d given Doc for a moment.

Her entire demeanor had changed when she discovered that he was tonight’s keynote speaker.

He massaged the corded muscles at the back of his head.

Their server was waiting for them when they returned to their table. Bryson added a water with lemon to Derrick’s order of fries and a beer from a local brewery.

As he settled into his seat, he tried to hold on to the lightheartedness he’d experienced while playing pool, but Bryson could already feel that brief feeling of joy slipping away. He just wasn’t up for it tonight, and not only because Evie had been a no-show at tonight’s chapter meeting.

He glanced around the packed sports bar and resisted the urge to look down at his watch to see if enough time had passed to make excuses and head out.

He had hoped being back at one of his favorite hangouts from that summer he’d worked at The Sanctuary would put him in a better headspace, but the only thing being surrounded by this loud chatter did was remind him that this had never really been his scene.

Back when he was at The Sanctuary, he’d joined Derrick, Evie, and the handful of other volunteers who’d been in the program because he’d finally found a group of people who made him feel as if he belonged, but even then he’d preferred an evening at home with a Walter E.

Mosley detective novel or watching Animal Planet.

Tonight, he just wanted his bed.

His bed. The one he’d left in his condo back in Five Points, not the lumpy one at the short-term rental he had here in New Orleans until he could find a place of his own.

The server returned with their drinks and a basket of fries, and Bryson shook off the urge to check airfare to Raleigh-Durham.

He couldn’t let a horrible mattress and one bad night send him scrambling back to North Carolina so soon.

He had yet to even see his parents who—surprise, surprise—were on yet another Caribbean cruise.

He was a Louisianian again. He had to accept everything that came with that.

“Hey, you okay?” Bryson looked up to find Derrick chomping on a French fry. “You can at least show some excitement over beating me at pool instead of making it look like another day at the office.”

“My workdays are a helluva lot more exciting than whipping your ass at pool,” Bryson said. He dodged the fry Derrick lobbed at him.

“I’m just messing with you,” Bryson said. “And I’m good. Just tired. I always experience this adrenaline rush before I give one of these talks, but once it’s done—”

“You’re drained.” Derrick nodded. “I get it. Not that I spend my time flying around the country—oh, wait, didn’t you give a speech in Puerto Rico last year? Make that flying around the world—giving speeches.”

“Technically, Puerto Rico is still the United States,” Bryson pointed out.

“Whatever.” Derrick gave him the finger again. “All I’m saying is that you’ve come a long way since those days of administering rabies vaccinations at The Sanctuary.”

“I’ve done all right.”

“Just all right? I do more clout chasing using your name than my own. I’m damn proud of you, man.”

“I was lucky. I worked hard too,” Bryson quickly added.

He’d be damned if he downplayed the blood, sweat, and frustrating tears it had taken him to get to this point in his career.

“But I also know luck played a role. If the student who had originally been chosen for that research team at Tuskegee had not transferred to UC Davis, I would be spending most of my days repairing perineal hernias.”

“Instead, he’s the one who probably spends his days with his hand up a Yorkie’s ass,” Derrick said.

“Boston terrier,” Bryson said. “Or a corgi. Those are the breeds most prone to perineal hernias.”

Derrick lobbed another fry at his head. “You’re still such a fucking nerd.” He wiped his fingers on a napkin, then said, “I hate to be the one to start the goodbyes, but I gotta bail. Nicole has already sent three ‘Have you left New Orleans yet?’ text messages.”

Thank God. He hoped his relief didn’t show on his face.

“You better get out of here before she sends another one,” Bryson said.

He stood and gestured to the table. “I got this.” He slipped three twenties from his wallet and dropped them on the table to cover their drinks and Derrick’s fries.

“Thanks for making the drive from Baton Rouge. I appreciate it, man.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss the chance to see the great Bryson Mitchell in action.”

“Your ass,” Bryson said.

“I’m just messing with you.” Derrick laughed. “Hey, we need to get together again before you leave town. How long will you be in New Orleans?”

Bryson paused for a beat. He hadn’t shared this news with anyone outside of his immediate family, Doc Landry, and the upper management at the surgical hospital.

“Permanently.”

Derrick stopped in the middle of putting on his jacket. “Come again?”

Bryson grinned. “I just accepted a position at the Animal Surgical Center of Southeast Louisiana in Metairie,” he said, then shrugged. “I’m home.”

“I can’t believe you waited until now to lay that news on me,” Derrick said. “What made you make that move?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Bryson said as he followed Derrick out of the bar. “I want to be closer to my parents, for one thing. When the surgical center contacted me, I answered instead of letting the call go to voicemail. The rest is history.”

They stopped at Derrick’s black sedan, which was parked just outside the door.

“North Carolina’s loss is Louisiana’s gain,” Derrick said. “I’ll be back in New Orleans in a couple of weeks. I’ll hit you up.”

Bryson pulled him in for a one-arm hug and tapped him on the back. “Be safe on that drive back to Baton Rouge,” he said.

He waited until Derrick was in his car before continuing on to his Jeep, pausing while a party of six filed out of the Mexican restaurant next to Cooter Brown’s. He slipped behind the wheel of his granite-colored Wrangler Sahara and backed out of the parking space.