#mike duarte x ofc

[the-hinky-panda]

The Dog: Part IV

Author’s Note: So if you guys follow @bullet-prooflove​, you know that The Dog and The North Star take place in the same fic universe. The vet in this story does have a name (Meredith) but I will continue to write her as a reader by using you/your and have Mike refer to her by using nicknames only. All this to say I’m not sure how to label this now since she has a name but it won’t be used in this fic.

Another note, I do use physical descriptions in this chapter (freckles and red hair) but I do it for a bigger purpose. Yes, no descriptions are more inclusive, however I wanted to make a point that she is self-conscious of her looks because don't we all have something that we don't like about ourselves? Don't we all have something that we want to change? And how wonderful is it when we surround ourselves with the right people that love us and all our imperfections? So please forgive the physical descriptions in this chapter as they were only done to deliver an important message: love your freckles!

You stand in front of the mirror and inspect your face. Your fingers trail over the splashes of freckles across your round cheeks, your face framed by your red hair. You’re not beautiful. At least, not by social media standards. No one is going to stop you on the street and want to take your picture, make a model out of you. You’re not destined for Instagram fame. It makes you wonder what Mike sees in you, what prompted him to ask you out to dinner at a local brewery. Mike, with his roguish good looks and witty sense of humor; warm brown eyes and easy smile. And dear lord, those adorable dimples. 

You dig out a tube of concealer, specific for freckles and other skin blemishes. Your ex, Kevin, had found it for you. He hadn’t been a fan of your freckles and often urged you to cover them up as best you could. You always kept a tube of the makeup on hand in case he wanted you to join him at a pharmaceutical rep party or just go out for drinks with some of his friends. Holding that small tube in your hand, you wonder if you’re really ready to try out another relationship with someone new. All the masks that need to be worn and maintained, you just didn’t know if you had it in you. 

So, why try? 

If Mike is going to like you, it’s going to be for you. You drop the make up back into the drawer and continue with your normal, basic routine. Simple make-up, a loose twist to keep your hair back from your face, and small gold hoop earrings. Shasta watches you curiously, her head cocked to the side, not exactly sure what this new routine is. It’s pretty sad when the dog is wondering why you’re dressing up. You pat her head as you leave the bathroom. 

“You’re coming with me, don’t worry.” 

Shasta follows you into the bedroom where the second struggle of evening occurs: what to wear? Your wardrobe consists mostly of scrubs. It’s been about six years now since your divorce and you’ve never really gotten back onto the dating scene and your clothes show that. You’re able to find a green blouse to go with your jeans and flats. You grab a navy blue cardigan since you’ll be sitting outside at the brewhouse. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, releasing a long sigh to try to dispel some of the butterflies that have taken up residence in your stomach. 

You had forgotten this part of life. This nervous thrill that makes you feel nauseous but you can’t wait to see what the evening is going to bring. It’s a knife’s edge balancing act of being yourself but just the likable pieces. Honest, authentic but keeping the odd and messy parts of yourself still hidden from view. You pick up Shasta’s harness, try to get the dog to stand still and it takes three attempts to wrestle the harness on her body. It doesn’t help that her short tail is wagging so excitedly, you struggle snapping the enclosures. You stand up, grab your keys, and look at the dancing dog in front of you. 

“If Mike doesn’t like me, it’s your fault,” you joke. “Maybe Bono can teach you some manners, you wild red dog.” 

You get Shasta secured in the backseat of the Subaru and make the ten minute drive over to Mike’s place. Any nervousness that you may have felt while getting ready completely dissipates when you see him, sitting on his front porch, Bono sitting next to him. He’s dressed up his regular henley with a plaid button shirt and has his suede jacket thrown over his arm. You’re struck once again with what a handsome man he is with his confident gait, wavy dark hair, and warm brown eyes. Maybe you should have worn the concealer this evening and you silently chide yourself as he gets Bono situated in the backseat next to Shasta before sliding into the passenger seat of your car. 

“You look nice.” 

You turn your head to hide the nervous, pleased smile that erupts on your face. “Thanks. You look nice too. Have you ever been to the Bronx Alehouse before?” 

He shrugs halfheartedly. “Once or twice.” He glances behind him at Bono. “Guess I better get better acquainted with it.” 

“You know that Bono can go into any restaurant you want. You don’t have to go to dog friendly ones only.” 

“I certainly don’t want to leave Shasta out of the good times though.” 

“That’s very kind of you. Shasta appreciates it.”  You glance to the side and catch his smile that’s just large enough to cause that dimple to appear in his cheek. If it were even possible, you fall more in love with the man. You park a couple blocks away from the restaurant to give the dogs a chance to walk off some of their energy. Well, for Shasta to walk off her energy. Bono trots right at Mike’s side, the perfect gentleman. 

They seat you outside on the sidewalk patio where they provide water bowls next to the table for the dogs and your waitress slips both dogs a small treat when she takes your drink orders. You chat about what has transpired in the last week of your lives, what has happened since that beautiful day spent at Orchard Beach. Your update is short and sweet: working overtime at the clinic. Although the finding of a litter of fox pups did make for an interesting day a couple days ago. His update is more interesting. 

“My sister from Maryland came up for a few days.” 

You know from the texts and calls that have been going back and forth between you two that he has three sisters along the East Coast. “She’s the teacher, right?” 

“Right,” he picks up his beer and takes a sip. “So she cleaned the house, stocked my pantry, and fussed over me for three days before heading back to Baltimore. Then I paid a visit to the training center where Bono came from, learned a bit more about what goes into training a service dog and what they’re capable of doing. There were some dogs there that were being trained to sniff out cancer in people.” 

“I’ve heard of that but haven’t seen any dogs in action yet. Dogs are incredible animals, extremely adaptable to a variety of situations and environments. They’re loyal, loving, dedicated. It makes me wonder what we humans did to deserve them.” 

He laughs but there’s very little humor behind it. “Certainly nothing that we’re currently doing. The world’s a mess.” 

You get it. You understand his bleak world view at the moment. Colin had it too after his accident. But Mike’s nihilistic vision comes from years of seeing the worst of humanity while on the police force. The last five years he’s spent chasing down Oscar Papa certainly hasn’t shown him the best of humanity either. “Maybe that’s why we have them. As reminders that we can be good enough people to deserve the love of our dogs.” 

“How do you do that?” The bitter edge of his perception dissipates and there’s genuine curiosity behind his words. “How do you stay so positive after all the horrible shit you see too? The animal abuse? Abandonment?” 

You shrug. “I guess I take peace in the thought that I’m not one of those people. I care for the animals, treat them, heal them, rehome them. I can’t stop people from being jerks and assholes, but I certainly can help fix what they’ve broken. You can’t make the world a better place without someone out there trashing it.” 

The warmth comes back to his smile and his eyes. “That’s a commendable attitude then.” 

“Thank you,” you raise your beer glass in his direction before taking a sip. He starts to say something else when your name is shouted across the patio and your blood runs cold. You can’t believe he would be here, in the Bronx, at this restaurant, at this exact time. But you hear your name again and when you turn, your eyes are immediately drawn to the extremely well-dressed blonde man who is waving at you. 

“Who’s that?” Mike asks, a sense of wariness creeping into his tone. 

“My ex-husband, Kevin.”  You hope against all hope that he and his bubbly little girlfriend go back inside the restaurant but that is not your luck. The two of them, arms draped over each other in their high-end clubbing gear, make their unsteady way over to your table. 

“Hey, babe.” 

You twist the corner of the napkin in your lap. “Not your babe, Kevin.” 

His blue eyes land on Mike. “Yeah,  I can see that. Kevin Bradford.” , the ex. This is Wendy.” 

“Mindi,” she corrects with a high-pitched giggle.

Mike reluctantly shakes his hand. “Captain Duarte.” 

Mindi emits a small squeal of surprise. “You’re that police guy who got hacked up by-“ 

“Yes, I am,” Mike cuts her off. 

Kevin grabs two chairs from another table and pulls them up to your table. “That’s fucking rad, man.” 

“Kevin!” You feel the tips of your ears heat up with a flash of anger. 

“What?” He shrugs. “How many dudes can say they went a few rounds with machetes and lived to tell about it? Like, that is fucking badass, legendary.”  Kevin lightly smacks Mike’s arm. “Bet it gets you a lot of action from the ladies, am I right?” 

Mike gives Kevin a sharp smile. “Not quite.” 

“Oh,” Kevin shrugs.  “Guess you haven’t gotten your strength back yet. In that case,” he points to you, “she’s a good one to break you back into the game. Doesn’t ask for much but puts out-“ 

Abject humiliation overtakes you to the point that you’re practically strangling the napkin that is still in your lap. Mike’s eyes flash and he starts to say something when Mindi interrupts  him. 

“Awww,” she coos and reaches towards Bono. “What a cute doggie!” 

“Please don’t touch my dog.” Despite the directness of the command, Mike does soften his tone with the young woman and she immediately withdraws her hand. 

“Sorry. Is he a service dog or something?” 

“He is,” Mike answers.  “I forgot his vest tonight. It’s okay.” 

You’re once again impressed with how easily Mike can read a situation, measure people up, and respond to them. He’s like a social swiss army knife. You do take pity on the poor girl and scoot your chair out slightly. “You can pet my dog if you want. Her name is Shasta.” 

The woman’s face lights up as she gives Shasta a vigorous rub on her back. “What a good girl, Shasty. I’m Mindi.” 

“Hey, hey,” Kevin leans over  and bumps her shoulder with his. “Save some of that hand energy for later, babe.” 

You roll your eyes and look over apologetically at Mike. He responds with a “what the hell were you thinking” look but where there should have been judgment in his eyes, there was a soft mirth. Some of your humiliation fades. The sun has set enough that the lights on the patio turn on and brighten the outside area significantly. Kevin looks over at you and motions to your face. 

“You run out that concealer? I can get you more if you want.” He motions towards Mike and lowers his voice. “You know, since you’re trying to impress someone new. Trust me babe, no one likes looking at…that.” 

“Oh, is that the stuff you got me?” Mindi pipes up and turns back to you. “It’s fabulous and will totally cover all those freckles and spots. It’s a miracle in a bottle.”  

Freckles and spots. You want to disappear again. You and your freckles and your red hair and your odd sense of humor and…

“She’s not trying to impress me,” Mike’s sharp tone draws all three sets of eyes to him. “I’m already impressed.” He picks up his beer. “Besides, I love her freckles.” 

Kevin bursts out laughing. “What is this, your first date? Shit, man. You don’t have to try that hard with her. You already got a cool dog. If she hasn’t slept with you yet, trust me, she will soon.” 

“Kev, be nice,” Mindi says but it’s quiet and half-hearted. 

He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “Honey, you do realize this is my ex-wife. The one who dumped all my things in the front yard, in the rain, for no reason.” 

“No reason?!” You’re halfway out of the chair when you realize your anger has moved you to your feet. People’s heads have turned in your direction and you slowly sit back down at the table. You remember that horrible night in vivid detail. You and Sam dragging Kevin’s Armani suits, fifty pairs of shoes,  and exercise equipment out of the house. You still don’t know how the two of you managed to move a full size treadmill but rage at his behavior that night certainly was a solid motivator. “You showed up drunk to Colin’s funeral.” 

“Who wants to go to funerals?” Kevin counters. “So I knocked a couple back at the bar down the street. Me and half the people there that night had been drinking before showing up.”  

“Yeah but you were the only one that leaned his fucking elbow on my brother’s casket.” The disbelief and fury you had felt when you had seen that, his lean frame casually leaning on the highly polished wood of Colin’s casket roars to the surface again. You want to punch him in his smug face but instead you ball up the napkin that you’ve been twisting in your lap and throw it at his head. 

Mike stands up from the table and tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Okay, we’re done. Enjoy the table, Kevin. Mindi, my advice would be get the hell out now.” 

“Dude,” Kevin throws his arms out. “What happened to bro code? Bros before hoes.” 

Mike grimaces. “Exhibit A, Mindi.” 

You’re humiliated and angry. You had been looking forward to this evening, excited for this new start with a charming, kind, and good man. And you’ve ruined it because Kevin decided to darken the door of this restaurant and bring out the worst of you. Mike has his phone in his hand, most likely getting ready to call an Uber and retreat from this clusterfuck. You don’t blame him at all. You’re so lost in your thoughts, berating yourself for your outburst, that it must take Mike a couple times of saying your name until you hear him. 

“What?” 

He smiles at you, warmly, and extends his hand that isn’t holding Bono’s leash. “Come on. I know a better place.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and take his hand before he changes his mind. His hand is warm, broad and it helps ground you in the storm of your fury. It takes a couple tugs for Shasta to follow you, as she doesn’t want to leave her new, loud and giggly, friend but eventually you, Mike, and dogs soon find yourselves back on the sidewalk. 

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I had no idea-“  

“Don’t worry about it. I have an ex-wife, I get it. They call it baggage for a reason.” 

You sigh and drop your shoulders, the tension finally releasing as you start moving down that sidewalk back towards your car. “Thank you, for understanding.” 

You walk a block and stop to wait for the light to change when he squeezes your hand. You realize you never let him go from the restaurant. You give him a small smile and he leans over and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “I like your freckles. Don’t ever cover them.” 

Oh yeah, you were completely and utterly head over heels for this man.  

[the-hinky-panda]

The Dog: Part II

Author’s Note: So if you guys follow @bullet-prooflove​, you know that The Dog and The North Star take place in the same fic universe. The vet in this story does have a name (Meredith) but I will continue to write her as a reader by using you/your and have Mike refer to her by using nicknames only. All this to say I’m not sure how to label this now since she has a name but it won’t be used in this fic. That being said, here’s Part II! 

*************

You never wanted to know the warning signs of a seizure. 

But you do. 

In fact, you notice it in Mike Duarte at the same time as his dog, Bono. The dog moves immediately to Mike, taps his hand twice with his nose and tries to herd him closer to the bench seating in the room. It starts with Mike’s coloration, an odd mixture of patchy flushing up his neck. There’s an uptick in his breathing, a slight panicky edge to his inhalations. Next comes the struggle with speaking, the confusion of why he can’t form words. That’s when you see the realization come over his face and he sits down on the bench. 

At that point, you move towards Mike, quickly tugging his jacket off and balling it up to use as a protective pillow between his head and the wall. When your brother would have his seizures, he would try to fight against it, frustration giving way to anger. But there is just a weary resignation with Mike. His eyes go glassy and start to roll but you’re able to steady him, support him, in the corner of the bench. You slip the jacket under his head as Bono jumps up into his lap and lays across his knees, a canine seat belt to keep him from falling forward. 

It’s not as dramatic as tv shows make seizures out to be. There’s no foaming at the mouth or wild twitching and jerking of his muscles. There’s an occasional tremor, a curling and uncurling of his fingers, rapid eye movement, and a hitch in his breathing. Overall, it’s fairly sedate on the outside. What is happening neurologically however is another story. You reach out with your foot and hook your toe around the little stool on wheels that you sit on from time to time to make notes in charts or clip nails. It slides easily over and you sit next to Mike, smoothing your hands over his arms and hands. 

It only lasts three minutes but you feel like you’ve run a marathon when he starts to come out of it. His muscles relax first, the rapid eye movement slowing. Next his breathing starts to even out, the labored breathing becoming steadier. You wrap your hands around his wrists, your thumbs lightly running over the raised skin of his scars and the cursive script of a tattoo. Your hands easily slip into his, the pads of your fingers pressing into his broad palms. 

“Mike? Can you hear me?” 

Bono raises his head and whines quietly and Mike releases a shaky breath. “‘M okay.” 

You still keep a light hold on one of his wrists, his pulse beating under the pads of your fingers and you tick off the beats on your watch. His heart rate is slowing at a good pace. Bono jumps down but sits between Mike’s knees and rests his head on one of Mike’s legs. You gently guide his hands onto the dog’s head and watch as his fingers move through the soft fur, the strokes becoming more and more steady.

The door opens and Mona peeks in again. “Sorry, thought you were done…do you need me to call someone?” 

You give Mike a good look over. His coloration has just about returned to normal, his pulse is within a good pace, and his breathing is not labored. “I think we’re okay.” 

Mike releases a long breath through his nose. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

“Mona, tell Dr. Ramirez that I’ll be heading home, okay.” 

Mona knows your story, your history with your brother Colin. She  knows your personality too, so there’s only one question that she needs to ask. “Do you want me to grab Diego?” 

“If he’s not too busy. And a bottle-” 

“Of water, got it.” 

Mona leaves and Mike starts to stand up but you gently push him back down. “Let’s wait to move around until Diego gets here.” 

He reaches behind his head and dislodges his jacket. His eyes are looking everywhere except at you. “Who’s Diego?” 

You take the jacket from him and shake it out, helping him back into it. “He’s a tech who works in the back with the large dogs. Pit bulls are his specialty.” 

“And humans who have seizures, apparently,” he grumbles. 

“It’s more of a liability issue. I don’t want to help you out to my car, have you fall, and then you sue me and the clinic.” 

He gives you a surprised look, his eyes finally meeting yours, but you smile back at him and he nods in understanding of your attempt at humor. “You don’t need to give me a ride home.” 

“Oh no?”

“No, I drove myself.” 

Surely you didn’t hear him correctly. “Wait, what?” 

But a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and you breathe a sigh of relief. There’s a quick rap on the door before it opens and reveals Diego. He’s a mountain of a man, six foot seven and almost as wide as he is tall. Tattoos decorate the thick ropes of muscles on his arms and up his neck. In a borough overrun by gang members, Diego looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. That is, until he smiles. You’re waiting for it, that millionaire dollar grin of white teeth and crinkled, brown eyes, but it never comes. He stands in the doorway, massive hands folded neatly in front of him as he watches Mike and Bono in the corner. Mike pushes himself up so he’s sitting taller, straighter. 

“Diego Torres.” 

“Captain Duarte.” 

You shift uncomfortably from one tired foot to another. “You two know each other?” 

Mike looks warily between you and Diego but ends up not saying anything. It’s Diego who answers your question. 

“Captain Duarte busted me eight years ago when I was a dumb sixteen year old kid. BX9 was making all kinds of promises and I was swallowing them. I was lookout for a bodega robbery when Sargent Duarte at the time busted my slow ass when I got scared and ran. I spent five years in Rikers for that.”  

You see the smile start to form on Diego’s face and Mike visibly relaxes. 

“That saved my life, man,” Diego continues. “I got involved in the dog shelter program where they bring in dogs for prisoners to rehab. I loved having an animal around. So I started working on a vet tech certificate while I was there. The pit bull rescue gave me a job when I got out and when I finished the cert, they helped me get a job here.” 

You pat Diego on one of his large biceps. “And now Diego is our resident pit bull whisperer. I’m trying to convince him to go to vet school.” 

Diego gives you a shy grin. “Actually, I got accepted last week.” 

“That’s amazing!” You can’t help it but hug him. “Oh, let us know if you need anything! Clinical hours, observing surgeries, internship. Whatever you need!” 

He squeezes you back and then goes to Mike, who stands up and steadies himself against the exam table. Diego extends his hand and Mike, after a brief hesitation, takes it. 

“I’ve always wanted to run into you again, Captain Duarte, to thank you for running me down that day. I got a girlfriend, a one-year-old son now, and a job. I have a life and it’s thanks to you.” 

It’s extremely personal, standing there and watching this interaction. You see the tightness in Mike’s jaw, the uneasy eye movement of trying to look anywhere but at the man before him who thanked him for a priceless gift: a purposeful life. Eventually, Mike shakes Diego’s hand again, hesitantly reaching up and clapping the man on the shoulder. 

“I’m, uh,” Mike clears his throat, “I’m happy to hear that.” 

Diego glances at the floor. “I followed the Oscar Papa trial. And when I read that he accepted a plea deal, I thought you had died from the attack. The papers, they only reported the attack, nothing else.” 

Mike tips his head to the side. “Dead people make better headlines.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’re not a headline, Captain Duarte.” 

“Me too.” 

“Alright,” you interrupt, opening the door that leads into the back of the clinic, “Let’s get Captain Duarte home so he can rest.” 

Bono’s ears perk up quickly at the word home, a term that he’s already associated with a place. Diego walks close to Mike’s side, his hands ready to assist but still giving Mike respectable space. You lead the way through the back lab area, duck into your office to pick up your purse and coat. When you go outside, the sun is starting to set, a chilly breeze whipping around the small parking lot. You unlock your car, a Subaru hatchback, open the back door for Bono as Diego stands guard over Mike as he slides into the passenger seat. Diego pats Mike’s shoulder twice, reaches into the backseat and gives Bono a head scratch, slipping him a treat, before shutting the door and giving you both a wave goodbye as he heads back into the clinic. 

You turn the radio off before turning the car on, not wanting to startle Mike with your loud appreciation of 90’s music. Your brother tended to get very cold after one of his seizures, your house having a stash of blankets in each room. But you don’t know what Mike needs, what the aftermath is like for him. 

“I have seat warmers,” you show him the switch so he can turn it on himself. “Also feel free to turn the heat up or down as you want.” 

“I’m fine.” His response is short, tight. “How, uh, how did you know…” 

You smile slightly as you pull the car out of the parking lot and into the snarl of congested traffic in the south Bronx. “My brother was in a car accident when he was sixteen. He hit his head, suffered a traumatic brain injury. He would have frequent seizures after that.” 

“‘Would have?’ Did he get better?” 

You had hoped he wouldn’t pick up on the past tense but he did. “No. He, uh, passed away during the pandemic, from COVID.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah. Me too. He was a really nice guy, loved everyone and everyone loved him.” 

“What was his name?” 

“Colin. He wanted to go to Colombia and get a social work degree. He wanted to be a guardian ad litem for children going through the custody and placement issues.” You swallow down the lump of emotion that lodged in your throat. “He believed everyone deserves to feel safe as a child. There was a girl that I befriended in elementary school who didn’t have the greatest parents and was more or less raised by our parents. Colin wanted to do that as an adult, take care of kids who had terrible home lives. But then the car accident happened and he wasn’t able to pursue that dream anymore.” 

Mike scoffs. “It’s always the ones we need the most that die young.” 

You couldn’t disagree with that statement. You often think about all the good that Colin could have accomplished had he lived. You often wonder why he would have survived the car accident only to die eight years later in a pandemic. Death had taken most of your family from you. Your father had been shot by a panicky kid with a gun in a bodega robbery. He had been a beat cop in the Bronx for twelve years. He had just taken the detective exam the previous week. Two days after the funeral, his exam results were in the mail and he had passed with flying colors. 

Your mother had raised you and Colin by herself after that. She had told you that your father had been the love of her life, never to be found again. And she never did find anyone else. She worked at her brother’s bar in the North Bronx, Connolly’s. She had a mind for business but her brother was old school and never handed the reins of the business to her. He did allow her to manage the bar area of the restaurant, which soon became the most popular part of the place. Despite working long hours at night, she still took care of you, Colin, and even your best friend.  Samanatha had been the third child in your family, accepted into the home and always had a place at the family table. You, Colin, and Sam all were inseparable until life pulled you apart. 

You had gone to Cornell up in Ithaca on a full scholarship for veterinary science. Sam had gone to the police academy, following in your father’s footsteps. Colin was still in high school, star quarterback on the football team at Bronx River High School. You had been cramming for spring finals when your mother had called you. Colin and his friends had gone down to Coney Island for an afternoon of fun on an unseasonably warm spring day. They had stayed until the park closed, driving home much later than they should have. The driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. Two dead, two critically injured. You had driven all night to get to Knickerbocker Hospital where Colin was in ICU with his traumatic brain injury. 

They didn’t think he was going to walk again. Or talk. Or care for himself. The doctors told you and your mother that he may never even wake up again. But he did wake up. He did learn how to talk, walk, and care for himself after a year of intensive therapy. He would never be able to live on his own, but he was alive. The seizures were absolutely frightening and took a lot of time for you and your mother to handle with any sense of efficiency. But you both learned how to do that as well. 

As soon as you felt you had a handle on Colin’s condition, your mother was found dead on the floor behind the bar at Connolly's, from a massive heart attack. It was suddenly just you and  Colin at that point in the house. Sam frequently visited between her long shifts at the precinct. You, Colin, Sam’s occasional pop-ins, your new internship at Happy Tails Vet Clinic, and Kevin Bradford. 

Kevin was a fast talking pharmaceutical salesman who wined and dined you, offered a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, and someone to warm your bed. His family was from the Hudson Yards, a high end area in Manhattan. He was good looking, charming, and noticed you. You felt grateful for the attention, that with everything happening in your life, someone was interested in you and the mess that was your life. So when he suggested marriage after your mother died, you went along with it. 

Then the pandemic hit. Colin came down with Covid and passed away before his twenty-fifth birthday. 

You realized Kevin was the real mess, attending warehouse parties in the city and banging anything in a skirt or scrubs at the vet offices across town. With Sam’s intervention and help, you kicked him to the curb as well. Just barely thirty, an orphan, no brother, and an ex-husband, you had thought it was the end. 

But you learned how to live again. You put one foot in front of the other, threw yourself into the vet practice and soon took over as one of the three head veterinarians. You lived in your parents home on the outskirts of the Bronx. It wasn’t a large house but it was in good condition, a safe neighborhood, and had a small garden in the back. It is a quiet life. One you wished could be shared with your family, but they were there in the pictures that hung on the walls and the memories that you often indulged in remembering. 

Mike is relatively quiet on the drive, speaking only to give directions to his home. He doesn’t live very far from the clinic, almost half way between your home and the vet office. You pull up to a craftsman style home that’s about the same size as your home. The neighborhood is well within the Bronx line, not a bad area but not one you would feel comfortable walking in at night even with your dog. 

“Thank you,” Mike says quietly.  “You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I know. But  I would have appreciated it if someone did this for my brother so, here we are. Do you need any help getting inside?” 

He shakes his head. “No, I'm good.”

You know that lie so well. The words drop easily from his mouth but his eyes are tired and tell a different story. “I have off tomorrow and I usually go down to Orchard Beach with my dog, Shasta. It’s a good area to let the dogs run and wear themselves out.” 

He’s a smart enough man to read between the lines, know what exactly you’re putting out there. He gives you a small smile as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. “Thanks for the tip. And thanks again for the ride.” 

You laugh nervously. “Don’t forget to give me 5 stars on Uber.” 

He gives you a pity laugh as he lets Bono out of the backseat. You watch him walk up to the door and into the house before pulling away from the curb. You shake your head in complete and utter embarrassment. 

Don’t forget to give me 5 stars on Uber. 

God, you were an idiot. No wonder you were alone.

[the-hinky-panda]

WIP Game

Thank you for the tag @bullet-prooflove! You are responsible for the mess that is my WIP.

Rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit! (one of the rules was also to tag as many people as there are wips but my wip folder is too big to play that lmaoooo) - I second this - Mine is wayyyyy too big

WIP List:

Salvation: (this is an AU, alternate ending to Heroes) Les Packer x OFC! Morgan Fox

The Gin Blossom: Gilly Lopez x Fem!Reader

Heroes: Coco Cruz x OFC! Morgan Fox, Angel Reyes x OFC!Morgan Fox

The Preacher's Wife: Hank Loza x OFC! Maggie Fox

Dog Days Are Gone: Chibs Telford x Fem!Reader

Something Witchy: John Doggett x Fem!Reader

Tremont Tempest: Mike Duarte x Fem!Reader

The Dog: Mike Duarte x Fem!Reader

And I think that's enough for now...and I'm going to tag the wonderful and talented @seltsamkind cause I know they have some fantastic ideas for fics, @drabbles-mc (but they may have done this already but I love their stuff!), @tropes-and-tales because they're amazing as well. And @the-ginger-hedge-witch because she always has something amazing in the works.