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Chapter 29 - Amaya
Last Updated:
2025-06-02 18:30:32
BryantAlan. Alan. Alan. I thought we covered all this. Amaya has made it clear she is all in. Yet you're still keeping things to yourself out of fear of losing her. Keeping secrets is HOW you could truly lose her.
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A Bark in the Park Chapter 32 - Alan
I never thought I’d pray over blood again. But there I was, on my knees in the middle of the ruined safehouse, pressing a warm, wet cloth to the gash above Rufio’s brow and whispering steady, low nonsense into his fur like it could undo what happened.He didn’t whimper. He didn’t move. He just laid there, his breath shallow and uneven, eyes dull with pain but locked on mine. He’d done everything he could. Fought harder than most men I knew. He was a lion trapped in a corgi’s frame—and he hadn’t let them take her without making sure they bled for it.“I’m so damn proud of you,” I whispered, voice catching as I ran my hand gently over the spot behind his ears. “You did good. You kept her safe as long as you could.”But he hadn’t been able to stop them. And neither had I.I stood, blood and guilt streaked across my palms, and grabbed my phone. The ache in my chest wasn’t just grief or fear—it was fire. Controlled. Contained. Ready to burn down every last name connected to mine if it mean
A Bark in the Park Chapter 31 - Amaya
It started with a flicker. One moment, the ceiling lights glowed softly with their dull, even hum I’d become familiar with—comforting in its normalcy. Next, they flashed twice and went out. The silence that followed was abrupt and uncharacteristic, as if the house took a deep breath and never exhaled.Rufio stiffened beside me on the couch.He’d been lying on my leg with his head, jerking occasionally in a squirrel-chasing dream. Now, his whole body stiffened, and his ears pricked up. His growl began at the back of his throat, low and quiet at first, vibrating almost against me. Then it grew louder and became harsh and guttural. My own heart constricted.“Rufio?” I whispered while sitting up. “What”He did not look at me. He kept his eye on the front door. And then we heard it. Footsteps.Fast and loud and deliberate—gravel crunching beneath strange footprints. I stood up before I realized it, heart pounding and mind already shouting at me, This is not right.I grabbed the nearest thi
A Bark in the Park Chapter 30 - Alan
I left the photo in her hand for all of three seconds. Then I reached out and took it. Carefully. Gently. Like I wasn’t sure if it was still mine to hold.She didn’t stop me. Just watched me like she could see through my half-truths and hollow reassurances. I could feel the weight of her disappointment before she even turned her back. I didn’t blame her.The folder was still on the table when I passed through the kitchen. I grabbed it, tucked it under my arm, and grabbed my jacket off the hook by the door. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t a word in the world that could make it right.I needed answers. And only one person would be straight with me now—because she never bothered to sugarcoat a damn thing.Fifteen minutes later, I parked in a gravel lot behind a boarded-up antiques shop just off Bedford Road. Clay’s truck was already there, parked like it had just rolled off the set of a small-town vigilante movie. Makayla’s car was pulled into the shadows, barel
A Bark in the Park Chapter 29 - Amaya
By the time I rolled out of bed the next morning, Alan was already gone—up, dressed, and downstairs with Rufio, who I could hear padding back and forth by the front door like he was guarding the perimeter of a castle. The air in the safehouse was heavy, still flavored by adrenaline and the aftertaste of yesterday’s protest. But something else lingered, too. The shift. The line we’d crossed. I pulled on the pair of my jeans from the care package and one of Alan’s shirts that still smelled like him. My body ached in that dull, satisfying way that said I’d done something real. But emotionally? I was stretched thin. Worn in a way that sleep didn’t fix. When I came downstairs, the laptop was already on the table, and our pre-protest maps and signage notes were shoved to one side. Alan glanced up from the kitchen counter, where two mugs steamed like peace offerings. “Call’s starting,” he said, nodding toward the screen. I gave a small smile of thanks and settled into the wooden chair as
A Bark in the Park Chapter 28 - Rufio
Something had changed. The air felt different. Not just the usual leftover noise after a crowd breaks apart—the trampled grass, the lingering scent of sweat and food trucks, the paper signs that flap even after the people holding them are gone. No. This was heavier. This was them. My humans. Alan’s scent was sharper than normal—edges curled in like burned paper. It always meant he was thinking too much, trying to fold himself in half so no one could see what was boiling underneath. And Amaya? She smelled like that wind before a storm. All bright nerves and stubborn fire. Determined. But afraid. I didn’t like it. After the loud part of the day ended, the signs came down, and the chanting stopped, we walked. Not quickly. Alan always knew not to rush when the world was watching. But I stayed close—too close for his liking, probably—with my nose low and my ears alert. I’d caught the scent of the man before anyone else. That plant. The one who threw the bottle. I didn’t know his name,
A Bark in the Park Chapter 27 - Amaya
The sun had barely cleared the trees when I stepped outside. Alan’s hoodie pulled over my head, and the sleeves were still too long even though I’d rolled them once already. Dew clung to the grass, sparkling like it had secrets to keep, and the air had that crisp, charged stillness that always came before something big, like the city holding its breath from miles away, waiting to see what we’d do next. The safehouse door shut quietly behind us. Alan walked beside me, a duffel slung over one shoulder, his free hand gripping Rufio’s leash as the puppy trotted at his side like a soldier reporting for duty. The SUV Makayla had left for us was parked just down the drive, black, sleek, and unassuming—the kind of car that blended in anywhere, from backroads to boroughs. I opened the back and started loading our bags—posters, backup signs, a box of printed flyers, and Alan’s battered gray folder with everything Makayla had sent encrypted to his laptop last night. It felt surreal, putting pro
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