Sebastian’s silence was so long and so rare that I glanced back at him.
“What’re they for?” he asked.
I wasn’t thrilled about letting Sebastian into what was a very significant and sometimes painful part of my life, but I was even less interested in wasting time fabricating a story. “He has an enlarged heart,” I said. “As much as I try to pretend it just means he has more love to give, it doesn’t. It means his heart works harder and less efficiently. And that he’s very sick.” So as not to invite any more questions, I added, “But we manage.”
I squatted by Bruno, teasing the concoction in front of his nose until he licked his chops. When he started to drool, I gave him the pills and rested my elbows on my knees, praying he’d swallow them. He spent a full twenty seconds sucking all the peanut butter off before he spit out the diuretic. Then the supplement. Then the rest. I dropped my face in my hands. “Damn it.”
Sebastian came over. “Did you try—”
“I’ve tried everything,” I said, not bothering to hide the frustration in my voice. “I made him chicken and rice this morning and he took his pills then, but as you can see,” I gestured toward Sebastian’s desk, “he threw them up.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
I lifted my head to look up at Sebastian. From my angle, he seemed to hit the ceiling. “Some mornings are fine, others are impossible.”
“Sounds like it could get expensive.”
Of course, Sebastian’s first concern was money as Neal’s had been, but he wasn’t wrong. Bruno’s illness, in addition to supporting myself and my ex for years, had eaten up my savings. From consistent check-ups to daily medicine to alternative therapies, there was no cost too high to keep Bruno alive, but it did require a steady paycheck and personal sacrifices on my part such as turning one dinner into two when possible and regularly opening up my closet to eBay. “The meds keep his heart working and fluid out of his lungs, so I don’t really have a choice.”
Sebastian removed his suit jacket. “I’ll clean up the mess.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, but he picked up his shoe and left the room. I faced Bruno. “Okay, big guy. I tried to play nice, but here’s how it’s going to go—I’m going to stuff them in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow. It won’t be pleasant, but it’s the only alternative you’ve left me. And it’s for the best. Got it?”
Bruno cocked his head.
I picked the pills out of the carpet, stood, and pointed at a spot next to my feet. “Come. Sit.”
Bruno groaned as he got to all fours, then dropped his haunches at my side. Slowly, so as not to spook him, I straddled him from behind. He wagged his tail then looked up and back at me, as if we were about to play. I scratched his chest until he thumped his back leg. “Good boy,” I said in my most soothing voice, then quickly pried his mouth open, tossed the pills back, and held it shut. My vet had shown me how to do this, assuring me it wouldn’t hurt him, but I usually left it as a last last resort anyway. He wrestled with me until I was forced to release him. Within two seconds his meds were scattered at my feet.
“Come on,” I said, plucking them off the ground. Bruno sensed what was coming and backed away. “No,” I said, gesturing for him to come back. If Sebastian saw this and thought Bruno was a distraction, he’d go to Vance, and I’d be forced to take Bruno home. I lunged, chasing Bruno around the office. Luckily, Sebastian had shut the door, or I had no doubt Bruno would be bounding through cubicles right now, jumping desks and dodging my coworkers like he was on an obstacle course.
I pushed two of my boxes, still partially unpacked, next to Sebastian’s mammoth desk, then went around to the other side. Now that Bruno was trapped, I rested my hands on my knees, partly to look him in the eye, and partly to catch my breath. The most exercise I’d had lately was sprinting from the subway after work to catch my favorite taco truck before it left for the night. “Finally, this overcompensating hunk of wood is serving a purpose,” I said to Bruno.
“Hunk of wood?” Sebastian asked as he reentered the room. “Should I be flattered or insulted?”
I looked back over my shoulder. Sebastian held a bowl of liquid with a spoon sticking out, along with a roll of paper towels under his arm.
“I was talking about your ridiculous desk,” I said.
“Ah.” He grinned. “The word you’re looking for is undercompensating.”
“That’s not a thing.” I shrugged as best I could while bent over. “I see something like that, and I have to draw my own conclusions.”
“Without all the evidence, your conclusions are simply hypotheses.”
I nodded at the colossal piece of furniture that would probably qualify as a small boat. “This is all I have to work with.”
“That’s all you choose to work with. If you’d like me to invalidate your assumptions, all you have to do is ask.”
I frowned. Had he just offered to show me the goods to disprove my overcompensation theory? Sensing my distraction, one of his many humanlike abilities, Bruno made a break for it. I pounced, caught his collar just as he tried to escape through my legs, and straddled him from behind as I worked my fingers between his clamped teeth. “It’s for your own good,” I said, panting. “Swallow the pills. Swallow the pills!”
“Keller—”
“Stay out of this,” I said to Sebastian. Bruno wriggled underneath me. “You want a treat?”
He opened his mouth, and I shoved the pills in just before he bucked me off. I toppled on my ass, flopped back on the ground, and covered my face with my forearms. “I can’t do this today.”
Bruno nudged his snout under my arms to lick my face. “Leave me alone,” I said, but of course he didn’t. He was preternaturally good at knowing when I needed comforting, even if he was the cause of my distress.
Sebastian sighed heavily. “That’s enough wallowing.”
I didn’t move, reluctant to face the reality of everything he’d just witnessed. Dog puke, me getting winded after a minute of running around, and a breakdown that had brought me to the ground. All things which could, and surely would, be used as ammunition to embarrass me at a later date. I peeked at Sebastian from under my arms. He was on his knees soaking a towel in the bowl he’d brought, then pressing it against the stain. “What is that?”
“Dawn dish soap, hydrogen peroxide, and baking soda.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
“You think he’s the first to puke in here?” he asked.
I laughed without thinking, then stopped when he checked the stain. The towel in his hand crunched, because it wasn’t a towel, but something fluffier and stark white. “Is that . . . a diaper?”
“Yep. Soaks up better than a towel.”
“But how do you know that? And where did you get it?”
“Dixon Media has a pregnancy magazine a few floors below us. I work with Justin—this isn’t my first rodeo.”
I blinked at him. Did he have a secret life as a dogsitter? Was he a dad? It wasn’t that far-fetched considering his playboy history—surely, he was no stranger to pregnancy scares—and it would explain his intensity when he’d grilled me about whether I was a single parent. None of my research had turned up a family, but maybe he’d intentionally kept it hidden.
“Just out of curiosity,” I started, “have you ever, you know, held a newborn? Or a baby bottle? Been required to keep a human alive overnight?”
“Huh?” He checked the carpet, then continued pressing the diaper to it. “Just my niece and nephew.”
Ah. Of course—his sister. That was why he knew about vomit stains and sanitary shortcuts. “How old are they?”
“Five, and nineteen months.” He stood, dusting off his hands. “It also works with a pad.”
“What?”
“A menstrual pad. But I didn’t want to get busted raiding the women’s bathroom.”
“Good to know.” I eased myself into a sitting position. “I’ll hit up the store later.”