She’s the only creature I tell all my secrets to—the only one who knows how much I’m struggling.
I miss Mike with every beat of my heart, every breath that fills my lungs. While he’s living his dream, I’m drowning trying to reach mine. And I don’t know how I can ever get it unless I’m willing to give him up.
Rowan is right. Mike deserves to be happy. But how can I make him happy when my own happiness is so out of reach?
Chapter 43
Four weeks.
It’s been four weeks since I last saw him.
In Phoenix’s cage, I tap my finger against a calculator, crunching numbers. I’ve tried to work this out a thousand different ways—a way I could give up my uncle’s financial support and still finish getting my degree. I’ve accounted for theoretical jobs and maybe-possible scholarships. I’ve calculated living expenses and textbook expenses and miscellaneous expenses. I’ve added the numbers with my car and car insurance, without my car and car insurance, with Internet, without Internet, and it all comes out the same.
Not possible. Without sizable savings, which would take me years of living at home to accrue, it’s just not possible.
“Hailey,” Barb says, lifting the lock on the cage and coming in to sit next to me. Phoenix immediately skitters to the other corner of the cage, curling into her usual ball, and Barb frowns. “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay?” I ask, setting my calculator down and staring up into the solemn face of my supervisor.
“We’re transferring some of the dogs to another shelter this evening. We’re over capacity, so they’ve agreed to take them in.” She hesitates, and my heart constricts as I realize what she’s about to say. “We’re going to send Phoenix to them. They’re a smaller shelter, so—”
“No,” I say, already shaking my head in denial.
The corners of Barb’s mouth sink down even further. “She’s not adjusting, Hailey. I know you’ve gotten her to eat, but she’s not putting on weight like she should. And she still won’t let anyone else touch her. She’s been here for almost a month—”
“I’ll work with her more,” I promise, but Barb simply shakes her head, pity filling her moss-green eyes.
“How? You’re here every single day, Hailey. You do your homework in her cage. I know you want to help her, but this isn’t healthy . . . I’m doing this as much for you as I am for her.”
Tears fill my eyes as I stare across the cage at Phoenix, her glacial blues peeking out from under her paw as she watches us. I’ve tried everything I can for her. Even Rowan has come to the shelter, and we’ve tried to take her on walks together, but Phoenix hasn’t opened up to anyone but me. I know that moving her to another shelter won’t help—she’ll close back down, she’ll stop eating again, she’ll stay curled in a ball until they realize she’s never going to get better.
“I’m taking her home with me,” I decide, and Barb pats my arm.
“Hailey—”
“I’m taking her home, Barb. You’re not sending her away.”
“You can’t save them all, honey,” Barb says, giving my arm a motherly squeeze. “I love you for trying. You know we adore you here. But you can’t get too attached to the dogs, or we won’t be able to keep you on staff.”
“Then fire me,” I say, already packing up my things. Barb could drop me from my internship for this, but I’m hoping—praying—she won’t. “I love you too, but”—I point at the damaged dog still cowering in the corner—“I’m taking that dog home with me, and nothing you say is going to convince me to leave her.”
In my car, I gaze out the windshield with my hands on the steering wheel and Phoenix sitting timidly in my passenger seat. I stare over at her, and she stares back at me. “Well, shit.”
I walked her out of that shelter with no plan and no place to take her, and now we’re just sitting in the parking lot, stuck. I know I can’t take her back to my apartment, because I already discussed fostering Phoenix with Danica a couple weeks ago, and she reminded me that our lease strictly states no pets. I could always take her there anyway and keep her there low-key until I figure out something else to do with her, but I know that would end in disaster; even though Danica has been less horrible than usual lately, I don’t doubt she’d open the front door to let Phoenix “run away” if Phoenix dared touched one of her precious shoes or five-hundred-dollar purses.
“Shit,” I repeat as I stare over at the dog I’ve grown to care for over these past few weeks. I’ve watched the fur grow through the injured parts of her snout. I’ve watched her eyes clear as she learned to trust. I’ve watched her tail wag excitedly when I praised her for finally being brave enough to go to the bathroom outside.
She chased a ball yesterday—really actually chased it across the shelter yard—and I can’t let her go back to being a dog who’s too scared to run or play or live.
She crawls across the console to sit on my lap, and I rest my forehead against the soft fur of her shoulder. “Why couldn’t you let anyone else pet you?” I groan, and her tail slaps back and forth across my gearshift.
With a sigh, I lift my head, and she starts covering my face with sloppy dog licks until I nudge her back to her side of my car. “Where am I going to take you?”