Page 108 of Halo

“Look, if you think I'm leaving her side, you can forget it, buddy. I'm staying right—”

He lumbers across my legs, his nails pinching my skin. Turning in a clumsy circle, he drops his full weight into my lap with a satisfied grunt.

I stare down at the solid mass of a dog, his white coat mixed with a few broad patches of brown. Beneath his fur, small hairless scars look suspiciously like old burns.

Oh, buddy … What happened?

His head tips back, locking his eyes with mine as he gives a silent whine.

I cautiously give him the back of my hand to smell before slowly petting his head and scratching behind his ears.

His eyelids droop almost immediately, and within minutes, his snores fill the room.

I smirk. “Truce.”

***

The clank of a pan jolts me awake as a twinge of pain reminds me where I've been sleeping. Rays of morning light cut through the window blinds as the bold aroma of coffee soothes my senses.

Before I can even sit up, dead weight in my lap stops me. Angus lies belly-up with his paws in the air like a dead cockroach. His head hangs off my thigh, lips curled back as he snores..

“Okay, buddy …” I gently nudge him, but he doesn’t move. “Angus,” I say louder. “Angus, c’mon, buddy.” I rub his belly which earns me a tail wag, but nothing else moves. So, I commit the unforgivable sin: I brush my finger across his foot pad.

With a growl, he sits up and glares at me.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger.” I hold my hands up.

He huffs again. Crawling out of my lap, he stretches, then hops onto the couch, making himself comfortable on Leah’s pillow.

I stand up, cracking my back and rubbing my neck before shuffling to the kitchen. Instantly, my breath escapes.

Leah is standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my sweater.

“Mornin’.” I saddle up behind her, my hands slinking around her waist.

She hums, leaning into me. “Mornin’, cowboy.”

I kiss her exposed shoulder, then rest my chin on head. “Whatcha’ cookin’?”

“Eggs?” she says with uncertainty in her voice. A pad of butter scorches in the skillet as she holds a glass measuring cup with a few broken yolks.

I reach past her and turn off the burner. “You got dinner last night. How about I do breakfast?”

She eyes me for a second before passing over the eggs. “Fine. But I’m taking credit if they’re good.”

“Deal.” I wink as I fish out an eggshell. “How are you feeling?”

She rubs her lower abdomen. “Better, thanks.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Eh … manageable. Like … maybe a four.”

“That's manageable?”

She stifles a grin. “It's fine—it really is. I'm not—”

“Go cuddle Angus, okay?”