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Chapter 11 - Amaya
Huling Na-update:
2025-05-09 18:11:44
BryantAmaya knows something isn't right. She knows Alan is in some kind of trouble, and that text proves it. He just doesn't seem willing to tell her more. Saying he ran with a bad crowd isn't the full truth, though it does give her a basic idea.
Pinakabagong kabanata
A Bark in the Park Epilogue - Rufio
Life at the house was nothing short of glorious these last two years. I had space. Glorious, glorious space. A yard so big I could run full speed until my paws barely touched the ground, ears flying, heart racing, the wind in my fur like applause. It was paradise—a canvas for all my zoomies, a battleground for every bird that dared linger on the fence, and my own personal patrol post. The squirrels knew better now. Even the mailman had learned to show proper respect. This wasn’t just any yard. This was mine. The house, too. My humans had filled it with laughter, furniture that wasn’t off-limits, and rugs just squishy enough to roll around on. The best part? My throne. A sun-drenched patch of floor right by the big window—warm, perfect, and shaped just right for my stretch-and-snooze routine. That spot was mine. That view was mine. This life... it was all ours. But lately, something had been wrong. My humans were gone. Alan and Amaya hadn’t come home in two whole nights. And before
A Bark in the Park Epilogue - Alan
The morning sun streamed through the windows of our Harlem apartment, casting long golden bars across the floor and warming the edge of the bed Rufio still claimed as his own. The city outside buzzed with life, but here, it was quiet. Steady. Sacred. Today was our wedding day. It’s hard to believe four years ago Amaya wasn’t part of my life. Now I couldn’t picture a life without her in it. And after today I’ll never have a day without her because she’ll be my wife. I stood at the mirror in a navy suit and crisp white dress shirt. My fingers moved automatically, looping the navy tie into a Windsor knot without thinking. Years ago, I learned how to do it from my mother. She had insisted that I would need to be able to tie a tie myself. She’d made me practice until I could do it blindfolded. She would’ve liked Amaya, no, loved her. The kind of fierce, brilliant woman who would’ve brought out every proud bone in my mother’s body. Rufio sat just behind me, tail thumping once against the
A Bark in the Park Epilogue - Amaya
Sunlight flooded across the windows of our new Harlem apartment, anointing everything it hit with gold. I awoke to light, blinded for a moment by the brilliance, then smiled as I stretched in the warm linen sheets. Rufio lay at my feet, back up, one paw shaking as he chased something, probably a squirrel, in a dream, no doubt racing through a dream landscape of Marigold Grove. His happy snores filled the air like waves washing over a shore. Our home didn’t look like something out of a magazine, but it looked like us. My sketches were framed and hung on the walls, some playful, some intricate. In the living room there was one drawing of Rufio nose deep in a shoe and another of Alan, unguarded and grinning. The punching bag Alan had insisted on bringing from the safe house hung in the corner of the small den, now more a comfort than a necessity. And then there was Rufio’s toys—balls, ropes, a plush otter missing half its stuffing, scattered like colorful confetti across the hardw
A Bark in the Park Chapter 42 - Rufio
I woke up victorious. Sprawled full-length across the bed, limbs stretched out as far as they could reach, like I’d conquered the world in my sleep. Which, to be fair, I probably had. One side of me was pressed against Amaya—warm, still, soft breaths fanning the top of my head. The other side? Just a dent in the mattress. Alan’s spot. Still warm, still smelling like sleep and safety, and the shampoo he only used when Amaya was staying over. The second I sniffed the air, I knew why he wasn’t there. Pancakes. I blinked open one eye. Blueberries. Butter. Real maple syrup. There was even the faint clatter of a spatula and a soft humming sound that Alan probably didn’t know he made when he was focused but content. He was up. Cooking. Which meant it was morning. A good morning. I didn’t move at first. Just stayed there in the sheets, soaking it all in—the softness of Amaya curled behind me, the warmth still clinging to the blanket where Alan had been, and the smell of food drif
A Bark in the Park Chapter 41 - Amaya
One week later, I stood in the park that we fought to save and let the sunlight settle over my skin like a reward we’d earned. The air was warm, thick with the scent of grass and magnolia flowers, and the breeze carried the faint hum of the city around us—distant traffic, a saxophone wailing from a subway grate, someone jogging with earbuds in. A week ago, this park had been the center of a protest. Legal threats. And now, it was the place for peaceful walks and celebrations. Today was our celebration. The entire dog family and their people had come in full force. Pockets arrived first, wearing a flower crown made of clover, bounding off ahead of Makayla and Lilac before they even finished parking. Reese and Don showed up with their arms full—Calli and Aoide on leashes in one hand, and the twins, Leocádia and Nikolaos, in a double stroller. Tootles came strutting in like royalty, dressed in a tiny bowtie that matched Apollo’s shirt, Dionysia trailing behind in a sundress and wedge
A Bark in the Park Chapter 40 - Alan
I woke before the sun, the weight of last night still buzzing under my skin. Amaya was tucked beside me, soft and warm, her arm draped across my chest like she’d always belonged there. Maybe she did. Rufio, who had crawled into bed with us at some point, was curled up at our feet, his slow puppy breaths rhythmic and steady. I didn’t want to disturb them, but my mind was too loud to stay still. I slipped out of bed carefully, moving as quietly as possible while dressed, and left the room. The hallway was quiet as I made my way towards the common spaces of the Frost family safehouse. I assumed everyone else would still be asleep. The main common room was quiet. Lilac was passed out on the couch under a fleece throw, Pockets curled up against her like a fuzzy little heater. Posters and art supplies from the protest planning were still scattered across the coffee table—markers uncapped, glitter spilled, and a half-empty bag of gummy worms forgotten beside a Sharpie. Clay and Makayla w
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