Disclaimer: I beta'd this. This monstrosity of errors is all mine. Carrie and Lay are not held responsible LOL

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Chapter 4

If my theory is right, Aro is a complete asshole.

I've seen people die. Seen them with my own eyes. Soldiers, children, it's a job hazard. You would be inhuman to have it not affect you in some capacity, but I've grown extremely capable of deflecting and moving on.

Hell, I buried my own father and was on a plane not two hours later to cover a story in China.

I don't know why my stomach feels uneasy now, at this death, at this realization. "Aro," I whisper into the phone. "Why would you do this to me?"

I can tell my unusually morose tone has made him forgo his usual flippant go-to response about it being good for me. "What is it you think I'm doing?"

"Sending me to get a story about a man's last days? Weeks? On earth with his faithful dog?" I hear him inhale a cigarette through the phone, not answering me. I try to put my usual Bella contemptuousness in my words. "Yes, it's sad. Yes, people love this shit. But really, anyone could write this."

I'm pacing in my motel room, chewing on a perfectly manicured nail feeling guilty I might not be able to do this story justice. Edwards' multiple instances of chastisement still sits heavy. I knock over a silly tchotchke of a fisherman sitting next to the TV in my frustration and continue nervously babbling at his silence.

"When you said I needed to get a human interest story to 'give me some heart', couldn't you have picked an old lady who wins her local 4H pie baking contest every year even though she's a blind amputee?"

I'm starting to get emotional thinking about this guy losing his life so early. I'm unnerved by his ability to just show his love for his dog without embarrassment. Lord knows the ability to love is not a phrase anyone would use to describe me.

And what would become of Joey? That dog will not survive without Edward.

"Keep going, Bella."

"I am, you gave me no choice. What is he dying of, Aro? Some rare disease? Can he not get an organ transplant?" I think about Edward, sick in bed with Joey's little head resting on him, sadness bleeding out of his body as he watches his owner die.

"Just keep going." With that, Aro hangs up.

"Motherfucker." I throw the phone down on the bed, just to have it ring immediately. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I bite.

"Sorry?" Edward's smooth voice hits my ear, a hint of amusement obvious.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry about that."

"Wouldn't want to be the guy that gets that wrath. Boyfriend?" he asks, and I ponder the word.

"No. What can I do for you?"

"So, no means you have a boyfriend and it wasn't him on the phone, or no you don't have one?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I do not have a 'boyfriend'." I roll my eyes at the absurdity of calling Michael Newton my boyfriend. We're barely companions.

"Married?"

"Who's the interviewer here, hmm?" Crap, this is shit I should be learning about him. I need to get more personal with Edward. My stomach lurches at the thought of having to get to know him better. Before he fucking dies.

"Right. Okay so we've got a big day planned."

"Another one? You don't have to work?" Saturday is a big bar tip night, isn't it?

He hesitates. "I'm taking some time off. Did you happen to bring beach attire?"

One end of season, neon pink pair of shorts with Ogunquit written across my ass later and I'm sitting on a beach blanket emblazoned with Joey's face. The main subject of the artwork is walking on the beach with his owner and seems happy as a clam.

Joey walks slowly, sniffing the sand every now and then and stopping when he finds something interesting. Edward ambles behind him, not trying to make him run or fetch. Seemingly satisfied with letting Joey do whatever he feels like.

The yell of seagulls assaults my ears and I shake off the annoyance. It's sunny and warm, but you can tell the summer is winding down. There are a few beachgoers out, but the mad rush of a hot, loud, family-filled July beach day is long gone. I take a few pictures of them and the surrounding area. I'm surprised at how rocky the landscape is. We had to drive to this beach because once the rolling green lawn at Edward's cottage ends, it's nothing but cliffs straight down to the ocean, he said. I make a mental note if I go back there to not get too close to the end if I decide to take in a closer ocean view.

He had picked me up in a Jeep with no doors or windows. Joey was strapped tight into the front seat, so I had no option but to go in the back, which Edward seemed very smug about. An hour later and I'm still trying to finger-comb the tangles out of my hair. While they're strolling, I look over some of the notes I made yesterday, trying to figure out how to start telling this story.

I don't know much. I know Edward loves his dog. I know he's doing everything he can with his dog before he….

Anyway, I've got to start figuring out what my stupid boss wants out of this, so I can go home already. Not that Michael has called, but I guess he just understands I'm working, and I'll be home Tuesday for his work thing. No need to check in, we aren't insecure teenagers. I wonder if he misses me. I miss sitting in trendy, snooty watering holes while he talks shop with his colleagues, all of them in the same navy suit and Patek Phillippe watches. But maybe I miss the scene more than the company.

I'm not going to get to the end of this torturous assignment and get my ass home if I sit on this blanket by myself all day, so I join Edward and Joey as the latter walks to the mild surf only to step away once it gets close. He does this over and over and Edward at no point makes him go in, which I guess is a nice thing to do. I've seen those Tik Tok videos people make of putting their pet in situations they don't like as a way just to go viral.

"Does he ever go in?" I ask, toeing the wet sand with my foot, testing the water temperature. The feeling isn't all that terrible, but wet sand is not a feeling I'm used to. Give me carpeting in a posh hotel room overlooking a beach that looks pretty from afar.

Edward laughs at my attempt to get the clump of sand out from between my toes. "He used to. Used to love the water. I had to stop him many times from jumping out of the boat."

I notice he's doing the hand over the heart thing again, like he doesn't realize he's doing it. "Why doesn't he love it now?"

"He's gotten timid in his old age."

I never even thought to ask more about the thing, I mean Joey, once I started focusing on Edwards… health. "How old is he?"

"He's going to be sixteen in two weeks."

I don't have much animal knowledge, but that seems high. "That seems high." Aro would laugh at me right now.

"It's pretty good for a pug, yeah. His mom and dad both lived to sixteen."

"Were his parents your dogs too?"

"No, my uncle got Joey from a friend of his that raised Joey's parents to be show dogs. They didn't want to do that with Joey, so he became mine." Edward reaches down and gives Joey a scratch on his butt, making him do that jumpy leg thing again he seems to like. "Here's a picture." Edward pulls his phone up, scrolling then showing me. "His parents slept in the same bed all their lives. Guess it was true love."

I shade my eyes and get closer to the screen. The picture is cute, I have to admit. Two dogs that look just like Joey are snuggled up in a dog bed, sleeping peacefully. I'm surprised I'm touched by the thought of endless dog love.

"How old were you when you got Joey?"

Edwards face darkens minutely, but I pick up on it. There's something there. "I was seventeen." His hand moves to his chest, the gentle rubbing subtle.

"So, you've been together a long time."

"Yeah. My whole life, it seems." Edward turns his face from me and stares out at the water.

I let him have silence for a bit and watch as Joey slumps his body down onto Edward's foot and sticks his tongue out. So, Edward is thirty-three, as am I. I have a quick thought about how different our lives and occupations are at the same point in life. What would I do with my time if I was thirty-three and might not live past thirty-four?

Travel? Eat anything I want? Rack up my credit cards on silly things? There are so many places and things I can think of to explore.

And he's chosen to spend it with a dog.

Listen. I would spend my last days with CarrieZM and LayAtHomeMom. And dogs. ALL the dogs.
On a reader note: I am DYING to read iambeagle's new fic, "who's afraid of little old me" but I'm a failure at reading/writing at the same time. Check it out!

This is for Squiggy.

(P.S. - Squiggy's parents really did sleep in the same bed their whole lives. I have a picture I'll post over on Facebook)