"Can I drive it?" Morgan asked running her hand along the shiny red motorcycle's fender. Greg got off the bike removing his helmet.
"Morgan, you can barely drive a car." She narrowed her eyes, glowering.
"Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight? If so, keep it up. Besides, I'm a great driver. You're the one who's too-"
"Responsible? Cautious? Good-looking?" Greg shot her a mischievous grin.
"I was thinking egotistical." She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, staring him down. He laughed.
"I tell you what. How about I drive this time, you hop on, and we'll go for a ride?" he said. He kissed her cheek eliciting a small smile from her.
"Fine. You win this round, Sanders." She took the extra helmet from the back of the motorcycle and put it on. "What number was this again?"
Greg strapped his helmet back on and straddled the bike. "Eleven," he said as he revved the engine. Morgan sat behind him wrapping her arms around his waist.
"So three down, seventeen more to go, huh?"
"We've got time. Now, hold on, baby. I'm going to take you for the ride of your life."
They had been riding for about fifteen minutes when Greg screeched to a stop, almost knocking the bike over.
"What's going on?" Morgan shouted over the sound, clutching him tighter as the bike came to a halt. Greg gripped the handlebars, breathing heavily. He parked.
Taking off his helmet, he glanced back at Morgan. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine. What's going on?" Greg helped her off the Harley.
"This dog, he just jumped out in front of me. Do you see it anywhere?" Greg asked. They both looked around, walking opposite directions on the stretch of sidewalk where they parked. A whimper came behind a row of trashcans. Morgan yelled to Greg and then went to where she heard the sound. Pushing the trashcans aside, Morgan knelt down calling the small frightened puppy to her. Slowly the puppy eased from his hiding place and circled Morgan, sniffing and contemplating her. She held out her hand and the dog licked it. He snuggled against Morgan whimpering once more.
Greg had walked up and approached them with caution.
"Hey little fella." He reached out to pet the small German Shepherd that Morgan was now cradling in her arms, stroking softly. The dog nipped at Greg's fingers and growled as he moved closer. Greg looked at Morgan hoping to shoot her a warning, but she was too busy staring lovingly at the pup.
"Morgan, I think that dog might be unstable. Maybe you should put it down and we can just go home." The moment Greg put his hand on her shoulder, the dog barked and jumped up snapping at his hand. Greg stepped back.
"Greg, the poor thing has no collar and probably no home." She looked up at him. "Can we take him home? Please, Greg. Look how sweet he is." The puppy nuzzled up against Morgan's arm making her case. Greg smiled and then glanced at the motorcycle.
"I would, Morgan, but we brought the bike and-"
"Just go home and get the car. We'll be waiting here. Won't we cutie pie?" She spoke baby talk to the dog petting behind his ear. Greg sighed.
"Fine. You win this round, Brody. I'll be back in a few minutes. Call me if anything changes." But Morgan was too absorbed with the puppy to catch a word he said.
"Uh huh. You are just the cutest thing." She laughed and the dog pounced in and out of her lap.
"Thanks babe," Greg smirked and then slightly frowned when he didn't get a response. "Oh you meant the dog. Okay, be back in a few." Reluctantly he walked to the bike and then drove off, not too excited about the prospect of a new pet.
An hour later they finally made it home with a new puppy and a ton of dog supplies in tow, Greg's wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. Every time Greg tried to get close to the little dog, the pup growled or snapped at him. But the dog adored Morgan and apparently the feeling was mutual.
"You poor thing, you are probably starving," Morgan said opening a can of dog food. The puppy gobbled it up and then jumped up on Morgan's pants legs. She picked him up.
"What should we name you?"
Greg rolled his eyes listening to the one-sided conversation as he lugged all the stuff they had bought at the pet store into the apartment. "How about Ecklie? He's like your dad reincarnated into dog form," Greg muttered.
Morgan shot him an evil eye. "We are not naming him after my dad. What about Barkley? You like that?" The puppy jumped up and yelped. "Barkley it is then."
Greg walked up to them and bend down to give the newly christened Barkley a rawhide bone. The dog reared back and growled, baring his small but sharp teeth. Greg looked up at Morgan.
"I'm still calling him little Ecklie."
The next few days were torture for Greg. Any time he tried to get close to Morgan, Barkley jumped in between them. Sitting on the couch watching a movie, the moment Greg reached his arm around Morgan's shoulder a growl caused him to move it. When he tried to put the moves on her in the bedroom, the moment he tried to go farther than second base Barkley was on the bed laying between them his head resting on Morgan's lap.
When Morgan was gone, the situation didn't get any better. Greg tried to avoid the dog only to find him chewing on his expensive sneakers or his video game controllers or anything else that the dog could sense held some value to Greg. So not only was he sexually frustrated, he was also very irritated.
That night he made up his mind. Barkley was not going to sleeping in their room. It was the only time that his and Morgan's schedules coordinated all week and he was not going to let it go to waste because of a damn dog.
"Morgan, we haven't had sex since you brought home that dog. Please baby, just let him sleep in the living room tonight. One night, that's all I'm asking," he pleaded with her as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror readily for bed, Barkley patiently sitting by her side.
She looked at his reflection in the mirror seeing the desperation in his eyes. She turned to face him.
"Okay," she replied, "Barkley can sleep in the living room for one night."
"Thank you," he mumbled kissing the curve of her neck. "I love you so much." Barkley growled pulling on Greg's pant leg.
It was four in the morning when the barking and whimpering finally became too much for Morgan. She looked over at Greg who was passed out on the other side of the bed. She shook her head, not believing he could sleep through something so loud and heartbreaking. Slowly, she got up and cracked opened the door.
"Come on, Barkley," she whispered to the traumatized pup. "You can sleep with me, but you have to be quiet."
Greg felt something hot and sticky on his cheek. He opened his eyes and jumped out of the bed startled as dog drool ran down the side of his face.
"How the hell did you get in here?" He glanced at the opened door, wide eyed. He looked back at the dog in disbelief. "You're a demon dog, aren't you?" he whispered. Morgan barely moved through the whole ordeal, finally enjoying some sleep.
Greg started walking toward the bathroom only to find something crunch underneath his feet. He looked down seeing for the first time the mess that Barkley had created. Trash was strewn all over the floor, a trail of it going from the bathroom to the bedroom and further into the hall. Greg groaned, running his fingers through his drool coated hair. His phone beeped. He picked it up. He only had twenty minutes to get dress and clean up the havoc the devil dog had wrought before he was late. He stared Barkley down who was now laying protectively next to a sleeping Morgan.
"You will pay for this, little Ecklie," Greg said before storming off to get ready.
"Whose Harley is that in the parking lot? Pretty sweet ride." Adam walked into the break room and grabbed a jelly doughnut before falling into the chair next to Amy, who cringed with disgust watching him.
"It's Sanders," Miles said sitting across from them, not looking up from the game of Candy Crush on his iPad.
Adam laughed, wiping the jelly that fell on his shirt. "What? When did he get that?"
Amy pushed her chair farther from Adam. "Have any of you noticed how strange he has been acting lately?"
"You mean how he's been on edge all the time, snapping at everyone," Rosalyn said sipping on her coffee. "I think the boss is going through a mid life crisis. He has the same symptoms my ex husband displayed before stupidly buying a Porsche he couldn't afford."
"No way, man. He's too young to be going through a mid life crisis." Adam leaned closer to Amy and smiled. "I think it's cause his wife is pregnant. Least that's what I heard."
"She's not pregnant," Amy made a face looking at Adam.
"How do you know? My source is pretty reliable," Adam countered.
Rosalyn laughed. "Hodges, the gossip from the lab. That's what you consider a reliable source. Are you sure this is the right job for you?"
"Besides, she bummed a tampon off of me last week when we covered swing shift together. She's not pregnant." Amy stood to grab some coffee herself.
Miles and Adam both gave her a look of revulsion.
"Oh, please, you work gory crime scenes on a daily basis but a woman's menstrual cycle is what repulses you." Rosalyn rolled her eyes.
Amy sat back at the table, quieter now, drink in hand. "I think there is more to it than that any way." She hesitated. "I wasn't going to say anything, but well, yesterday I saw what looked like a things-to-do-before-you -die list on his desk."
"A bucket list?" Miles looked up again from his game.
"Yeah," she lowered her voice, glancing around before speaking again. "I think he might be dying or something. I mean think about it. They had a quickie wedding even though they planned a ceremony for this weekend. He bought a motorcycle. He seems tired and upset all the time lately. It doesn't take a seasoned investigator to see what's going on."
"He has been acting different lately. I heard him on the phone the other day, and when he saw me, he seemed flustered. He was whispering to whoever it was and then hung up almost immediately when I came in. I think he was said something about scheduling an appointment. Odd, right?" Rosalyn said, absentmindedly stirring her coffee.
The team was silent for a moment, staring at the table, contemplating the evidence. They didn't hear when Greg walked up to the table beside them.
"Is everyone okay? You guys are pretty quiet," he said surveying the group. Amy looked at him on the verge of tears.
"Excuse me." She ran out of the room before anyone could see her cry. Rosalyn stood to follow her.
She patted Greg comfortingly on the back. "Sanders, you doing okay? You can tell us if there is something going on. We are all here for you."
Greg looked at her confused. "I'm fine. Are you doing okay?"
Rosalyn shook her head, a solemn expression lingering on her face. "You men are so stubborn. I'm going to go check on Amy," she said leaving.
"What's going on with them?" Greg poured himself a cup of coffee.
"They think you're dying." Miles's gaze was focused on his game.
"What?!"
"Yeah, I didn't hear everything, something about a mid life crisis, your crappy attitude lately, and a bucket list. Oh, and something about a phone call and you being secretive. Other than that I got nothing." Miles focus never wavered as he spoke, moving his finger across the iPad.
"Hold on. They think I'm dying and going through a mid life crisis?" Greg asked still confused. He ran his fingers through his now clean hair.
Adam leaned back in his seat. "Do you think Amy would go out with me?" Miles and Greg both stared at him.
"I think you're delusional," Miles said. "And," he focused his attention on Greg now, "you have been acting weird lately, so it's safe to assume you are in some sort of crisis."
"Nice bike, by the way," Adam said stuffing his face with another doughnut.
Greg sighed. "I'm not dying or going through a mid-life crisis. That list is something Morgan and I are doing, goal-setting stuff. Same with the bike. I can explain everything. The phone call, well we got this dog I hate. Actually, it hates me. It's ruining my life. I was going to see if I could get someone to take it off our hands. But everyone knows everything around here, and I don't want Morgan to find out." Greg's phone beeped. He looked at it. "Sorry, got a meeting with the sheriff. I'll be back later. Tell the girls that I'm fine."
Greg sat in the chair next to Russell for the monthly supervisor meeting. Russell patted him on the back.
"You look tired, bud. Everything okay?" Russell asked.
"I'm not dying if that's what you're asking. I'm fine." Greg rubbed his face, leaning back in his seat as he crossed his legs, resting his left foot on his right knee. Russell looked at Greg's shoe and then back at him.
"Um, Greg, I think you have-" he started to whisper when Ecklie interrupted him.
"Sanders, what the hell is on your shoe?" The sheriff yelled from across his office. Greg looked at the bottom of his foot and when he saw it, he cursed under his breath. He peeled the condom off the sole of his shoe and quickly tossed it in the trash.
"Sorry, our dog got into the trash and some of it must of ended up on my shoe," Greg said nervously. Ecklie walked over and looked down in the trashcan and then back at Greg, his glare as cold as ice. "Morgan's just got some new birth control, so we had to…" He always said too much when he was nervous. Curse that damn dog, he thought.
"Sanders," Ecklie closed his eyes and braced his hands on the desk, "I'm still getting used to the fact that you are married to Morgan. Please don't tell me more than I need to know."
"Yes sir," Greg sunk into his seat, mortified. This was the last straw. The dog had to go.
Greg's phone buzzed when he reached the apartment door, ready for some peace. He reached down and picked it up, reading the text. It was from Morgan's mother.
Left Morgan's wedding dress on the bed because the closet was blocked. Can you hang it up for me? Thanks! See you at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.
Greg opened the door and realized it was very quiet. Too quiet.
"Barkley?" he called out not getting a response. "Satan?" he tried, seeing if the dog would answer. Nothing.
The bedroom door was cracked open. He could already feel a sense of dread as he approached it. Pushing it back, he looked in. The bottom half right corner of Morgan's wedding dress had been chewed off and ripped to shreds. Laying on the floor next to what looked like a pile of vomit was Barkley, whimpering and rolling on the floor, obviously in pain.