That’s why he couldn’t say it. Because there was no way his parents would want to say no once they saw the puppy, and then he’d feel as if he’d forced their hand.
Instead, he nodded and said, “I saw a sign. For puppies.”
Silence. It was so long he thought Dad wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “I wish I could say yes, Logan.”
And that hurt, really hurt, because he didn’t want to make Dad feel bad. His parents did have lots going on, and Logan saying, “But I want a puppy!” was selfish and spoiled. He wanted to be mature and understanding and acknowledge that, compared with most kids, he was pampered and spoiled. A kid couldn’t ask for a better life. Or better parents. He always wanted to remember that, especially when things didn’t go his way.
“Dad!” Kate shouted from the bottom of the ladder. “Logan!”
“We’ll be down in a few—” Dad started to call back, but Logan rose and yelled, “Coming!” Then he said to his dad, as maturely and sincerely as he could, “I understand,” picked up a box, and headed down.
After everyone went to bed, Logan snuck out with leftover roast beef and a hoodie from Kate’s hamper. He’d give the puppy her sweater to sleep on, along with the one of his own he’d left earlier. That would get the dog accustomed to both their scents. Not that the puppy would be staying, but just … Well, he wasn’t sure why. He told himself he was taking Kate’s hoodie so, if she did see the puppy, it wouldn’t be afraid of her.
He also brought a backpack with a separate set of clothing, which he’d change into and store near the fort.
He tried not to feel guilty about sneaking out. He still did. That was his wolf brain. It wasn’t just breaking the rules that made him feel sick. He’d made a mistake. A big one. He should have taken the puppy to the house right away. Told his parents what happened and let them deal with it.
He’d gone behind their backs, hiding it in the fort, and now he was digging himself deeper into a hole. There was no way he could go through with his plan now. He shouldn’t even try. Which was a good and mature realization. Except … well, that still left the puppy.
As soon as he drew near the fort, the puppy started whimpering. He trudged those final steps, because he didn’t want to see it. He wanted to shove the meat through a hole in the wooden walls and run back to the house. That wasn’t fair, though. This wasn’t the puppy’s fault any more than it was his parents’. He’d started it; he had to follow through.
He opened the door and the puppy launched itself at him. He fell back on the snow as it jumped on his lap and wriggled, whimpering and whining in excitement. It licked away the tears on his cheeks, because, yes, there were tears, as much as he’d tried to hold them back. After a moment, when he didn’t respond, the puppy’s wiggling and whimpering became more frantic, a little panicked.
He wiped away the tears, gave it a fierce hug, and took out the meat. The puppy licked a piece, gulped it, and started to choke, which meant a major freak-out, until he managed to pull the strip out of its throat. That’s when the tears threatened again, when he looked at the puppy on his lap, coughing and shaking its head, and all he could think was, I can’t do anything right.
“Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to help, is it?” he said, his voice echoing in the night.
The puppy whined and licked his face, its whole body shaking with fresh excitement.
“You’re not old enough for meat. I should have thought of that.”
The puppy kept dancing in place, tiny claws scrabbling against him, just happy to hear his voice, to have his attention.
“We don’t have any baby bottles. I don’t know what else to use.”
How did wolves feed their young once they were ready to start meat? Regurgitation. He made a face. “I can’t do that. But I guess …”
He took a piece of meat from the bag, chewed it, and spit it into his hand. The puppy gobbled it up almost before it hit his palm.
“Well, that works,” he said. “Still gross.”
He repeated the process, and the puppy ate all the meat in the bag, slowing only as it neared the end.
“Tomorrow I’ll grind it up in the house,” he said. “I’ll research it and …”
And how long was he going to keep the puppy in the fort?
“It’s just until I have a plan. I’ll—I’ll figure out what to do. How to get you a real home and …”
His voice broke and the tears prickled again, but he blinked them back and cleared his throat.
“You don’t need that. You need exercise.” He put the puppy down, got to his feet, and started to run, the puppy tumbling along at his heels.
After breakfast, Kate practiced her music. Normally, he’d have stretched out on the floor nearby and read or studied. But while that was perfectly fine for piano and guitar—and even, if he wasn’t studying too hard, for drums—Kate had recently decided she needed to add a wind instrument to her repertoire, and of course she hadn’t chosen the flute.
Maybe it would be better once she had more practice at the trumpet, but at this point, well, no one expected him to hang around. The trumpet noise also meant he could slip into the kitchen and prepare the meat without anyone knowing. Then he zipped out the back door with a quick, “Going for a walk!” to Mom, who hesitated, as if thinking she’d like to escape with him, but he was gone before she could.
He fed the puppy until its tiny belly bulged, and then they played until the puppy collapsed. He wouldn’t be able to return until dinnertime. It was his day for Christmas shopping. Jeremy was taking him later this morning. Mom might pretend she was perfectly fine with crowded malls, but she didn’t volunteer to go twice in as many days.
While they shopped, Logan tried not to fret about the puppy problem. Of course, he did. At lunch, Jeremy said, “You’re quiet today.”
Logan found a smile. “I’m always quiet. You’re just used to having Kate around, too.”
“True, but there’s the kind of quiet that says you just don’t have anything to say and the kind that says you have too much to say and don’t know how to start.” Jeremy cut into his steak. “Your dad used to have that same look, when there was something he needed to say.”
“Like: ‘I didn’t do it’?”
Jeremy returned Logan’s smile. “Actually, no. At your age, your dad never had any problem telling me when he’d done something wrong. It weighed too heavily on him. He’d blurt it out like a confession.” Another bite of his steak. “You have that look, too, though.”
Jeremy kept his gaze on his food, but Logan still felt it and tried not to squirm.
Jeremy continued. “Whatever you’ve done, I suspect you feel worse about it than you need to. There’s something you’d like to talk about, but you want to work it out for yourself.” He lifted his gaze. “Am I close?”
Dead-on, as usual. Logan could feel the words churning inside him, desperate to escape. I rescued a puppy, and I wanted to give it to Kate, but I know I can’t, and now I have this puppy in the fort, and I should have said something, and the longer I wait …
“Logan?”
He should speak up. Jeremy was the person Mom went to for advice—the person everyone went to for advice. He would keep Logan’s secret and help him solve this.
Except Jeremy was right. Logan wanted to figure it out for himself.
“I understand you don’t like to ask for help,” Jeremy said, as if reading his mind. “That you get from your mom. It’s not that she doesn’t value anyone else’s opinion. Or that she thinks she can do everything herself. It’s that she wants to be able to do it herself. She expects more of herself. Asking for help is weakness.” He looked at Logan. “Does that sound familiar?”