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“Who? Oh, um, fine.”
The tremor in Kenny’s voice made Michael sit up straighter. “What is it? Is he sick?” That question got his tablemates’ attention but Michael ignored them. “How is he?”
“Look, Alistair didn’t like Rosco, so we had to rehome him.”
“What?!” Michael stood so fast he nearly knocked his chair over backward. Uncaring, he stalked to a less crowded corner of the bar, fury briefly blinding him, and he nearly walked into a wall. “Why the fuck did you rehome him? All you had to do was fucking call me, Kenny. He’s my dog!”
“He was my dog. I bought him—”
“With money you got from my fucking app!”
“Before we got married, which did not make him community property, and irregardless of—”
“That’s not a word and you know it. Where is my dog?”
“I didn’t call to talk about the dog, Mikey, I called about your dad, and to see how you were doing.”
“I was fine until you called, asshole. Look, I didn’t go after you for anything that went down between us. I rolled over and took it, but I will not take this. I want to know where he is and that he’s safe, or else.”
“Or else what?” All traces of concern in Kenny’s voice were gone, replaced by a familiar haughtiness Michael despised. “I know the house hasn’t sold, so you don’t have the money to sue me. Have fun at home.”
“Where’s Rosco?”
“He’s fine.”
“Kenny—”
Kenny hung up.
Michael barely resisted the urge to fling his cell across the room. While doing so might feel good for about twenty seconds, all he’d end up with was the expense of buying another one, and it wasn’t his phone’s fault his ex was a giant douche. Rosco was with someone else, God knew who, and Kenny didn’t seem to give a shit as long as his new boyfriend was happy.
“Dude, I’d ask if you’re okay,” Brand said from behind, “but something is clearly wrong. Half the bar could hear you yelling.”
“Sorry.” Michael turned, not surprised to see people at several tables look briskly away. “Not a good call.”
“What’s going on? Can I help?”
“Probably not. When my ex left a few weeks ago, he took our dog with him. Now he tells me his newest boyfriend doesn’t like dogs, so they rehomed him.” Hot tears sparked behind Michael’s eyes but he blinked them back. “Fucker gave away my best friend.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Brand’s face reddened. “I almost lost Brutus to a wild animal this past spring so I can imagine how you feel. Our dogs aren’t just animals.”
“No, they aren’t. Fuck.” Michael stalked back to their table and chugged the last of his beer, then poured himself a second glass. He wasn’t about to get hammered, but he needed something to take the edge off his temper. If he had a clue where Kenny was right now, he’d have hunted the guy down and given him a very in-person piece of his mind.
And then he’d go get his fucking dog back—right?
Being stuck here, eight hours away, was a convenient excuse to roll over instead of solving the problem head-on. Just like he’d rolled over on the divorce agreement instead of fighting.
Brand whispered something to Hugo, whose expression went from angry to sympathetic in the space of a few seconds. “That’s so fucked up,” Hugo said.
“I feel like the bastard is doing all this just to hurt me and I don’t know why,” Michael replied. “All I ever did was love and support him, and all he’s done this last month is take from me. And even after everything he’s done, I never really hated him until this moment.” He gulped from his beer, but after so many years of high-end cocktails, the low alcohol content wasn’t doing much for him.
“You gonna need a ride home, man?” Brand asked.
“No, I’ll be fine. I haven’t been able to get drunk on beer since I was eighteen.” He shoved a few more nachos into his mouth for good measure, this time not caring that they were a little extra spicy. He’d pop some antacids when he got back to Dad’s house. “I appreciate the gesture, guys, but I don’t think I’m going to be good company tonight.”
“Completely understandable. You need the day off tomorrow to take care of personal business?”
As much as Michael loved the idea of going back to Austin to hunt Kenny and Rosco down, he had no idea how to go about doing it. None of his old friends were likely to tell him where Kenny was, not even the ones who’d loved Rosco, too. Unless Kenny had given Rosco to one of those former friends. He hoped so. Kenny might be a self-centered prick, but he’d never been deliberately cruel to an animal. Only people.
