Naturally that didn’t happen. I can’t say I’m disappointed, because in the end I saved the dogs. And I almost got the girl. The peace. And there’s still time. Less than a week now until I’m flying back to Edinburgh, ready to jump into training, ready to shift my whole life to rugby.

There’s still time.

Isn’t there?

By the time the dogs stir, I’ve cleaned up their piss and shit and put defrosted ground beef down for them. I have some collars in my dresser —I know Kayla thought it was strange to be so prepared, but I’ve never not found a stray—so I put them on the dogs and make leashes out of rope.

We go for a quick walk. The pit bull is still headstrong under the leash and seems to shy away from loud noises and quick movements. But with some love and obedience training, he’ll be a good pet for someone. I can tell by the eyes. A dog’s eyes don’t lie. A dog doesn’t lie. If you see the good in them, there is good in them. Last night when I was cleaning his paw, finding the debris imbedded in a cut, the cause of the limping, he looked at me with thanks. I felt that deep, deep inside.

The smaller mutt, the terrier mix, is more fragile. She clings to the pit bull’s side and still doesn’t trust me too much. She may in time, but I have a feeling she’ll be coming back to Edinbugh with me. I’ve seen so many dogs like her, which are dogs like me. She needs someone like Lionel to bring her back around. Lionel will show her the ropes; he always does.

I put them back in the flat and then head out to the nearest pet store. It’s strangely chilly today, the weather here even worse than Scotland’s in the summer, and I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, turning up my collar and keeping my shoulders hunched against the fog as I move through rough neighborhoods.

I never feel fear, or disgust, or pity for these people—the homeless, the addicted, the forgotten. I was them. I know what it’s like. I know too well. All I feel is hope and hopelessness, a stunning combination. Hope that they’ll one day come to that point, that road, that branch, and decide for themselves to get up, to grow, to live.

But the hopelessness, that lies in myself. Because there’s nothing I can do for them. Every decision to better your life has to come from within, not from anyone else.

And then there’s that bitter, hard truth that grows in you, in your darkness, like mold. The truth that you’ll never be free. You’ll never forget that sweet song that pulled you under and brought you to your knees. That once you’ve seen how far you can sink, you know exactly how far you can fall. That truth tethers you. It lurks behind every thought, every action.

Sometimes, the slide backward into who you once were seems inevitable.

When I return back home, arms crammed with dog food, treats, and leashes, I look up a local vet and make an appointment for them tomorrow. The pit bull needs his paw properly looked at—he’s also not neutered, and I’m unsure if the terrier is spayed. Both of those things need to happen before they’re given homes.

I settle down on the ground and spend a good hour at their level, just observing them, until my phone rings. I roll the Kong toy I bought them back toward them, the pit going for it with gusto, then I get up to answer it.

It’s Bram.

“Aye?” I say into the phone.

“What the hell happened to you last night?” Bram asks. “You just took off and we couldn’t find you. We couldn’t find Kayla either.”

“I went for a walk.”

“You’re always going for a walk,” he says. He’s right about that. Jessica—my adopted mother and Bram’s aunt—always say I have too much troubled energy and I need to keep walking it off.

“Has Nicola spoken to Kayla?” I ask. I haven’t texted her yet. I’ve been debating it all morning.

“Yes, she’s texted her. Kayla said you found some dogs and took them home?”

“Aye. I’m looking at them right now.” I clear my throat. “Look, sorry, I left my phone at home and hers died so we couldn’t get in contact.”

Bram sighs. “Okay. Well…you missed the end of a great concert.”

I suppose that was a jab over the VIP ticket. “The day was fantastic. Thank you, mate.”

“Don’t take this wrong way, Lachlan,” he says, “but…”

I exhale heavily. “What?”

“I worry about you. When you do stuff like that. When you just leave.”

My jaw tenses at that admission. “What are you worried about, exactly?”

He pauses. “You know,” he says quietly. “I feel responsible for you while you’re here.”

I grip the phone tightly, feeling a burst of anger radiate through me, molten and hot. “I’m fucking thirty-two years old, Bram. I’m here to help your arse, not to be babysat. You might think you bloody know me, but you don’t.”

“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “Sorry. Okay? Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” I mutter. “I better go.”

“Wait,” he says. “Just reminding you about tonight.”

I frown. “Tonight?”

“With Justine.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking hell.” I press my fist into my forehead. “That’s tonight?”

“It’s Monday, and it’s the only chance we have, Lachlan. Please do not back out. There’s no way that Nicola will let me take your place and I’m pretty sure Justine won’t want me there either. It’s all you.”

Kayla. I’m thinking of Kayla. Will she care? Is it even worth mentioning?

“I really don’t feel like dealing with people today,” I say, even though I know that it’s futile. “Especially people like that.”

“Lachlan,” Bram says. “You’re leaving next week. Just go, have a few drinks, meet the father and tell him everything. That’s all you can do and it’s our last shot.”

“What about…” I trail off, wiping at my nose.

“What about what?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll go. But as soon as I think it’s done, I’m out of there.”

“Good,” he says. “We’ll be at the Lion so you can come right there afterward.”

“Of course you will.”

I hang up.

And with that troubled energy, I take the dogs for a walk.

I sit by the Giants’ Promenade and watch the boats in the marina, one dog on the bench beside me, the other at my feet. I decide to give them names. The pit bull is Ed. The terrier is Emily. I like giving human names to dogs. It’s more respectable that way. It tells them they’re one of us and reminds us of the same.

I take my phone out of my jacket many times, look at it many times. I think about contacting Kayla. Asking how she is. If she’s okay. I want to mention that I’m going to a function with Justine, that it doesn’t mean anything.

But I don’t. Because I’m afraid her response will be, “So, you can go out with anyone,” or, “It’s fine, you don’t owe me an explanation” or even the biting, “Why are you telling me this?” I want to do right, I do, but I’m not built for this. I’m not even with Kayla and I’m already acting like I am. Not the right trap to fall into right now. Or at any time.

Eventually the dogs and I head back to the flat. I keep busy. I go for a run. I lift at the gym downstairs. I spend time scouring the internet, trying to find rescue agencies in town that might be able to find a foster for Ed.

And I check on my plans with Justine. They’re on. She’ll swing by with a Town Car at seven o’clock. So I shower. Trim my beard down to the bare minimum, slick my hair back, put on a black suit and tie. It feels utterly unnatural, and it’s only the glimpse of a tattoo at my collarbone—nunquam iterum—that reminds me that I’m still me. A big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Thankfully, the evening isn’t as horrendous as I envisioned. I’m still out of my element. I hate socializing with these people, the ones who sit at the top and throw stones down below. But I can have a good poker face from time to time. I make nice. With Justine. With her father’s cronies. With her father himself. In the suit and tie I look just respectable enough to fool them all, and when I talk about Bram’s project, Bram’s vision, it’s convincing. I’m pulling from in deep and it’s working. Because I believe in it, and I want them to believe in it.