Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

will adopt one of these cuties. Between the center and starting her own practice, I’m sure she has loads of time to train and bond with a dog.

My thoughts were supposed to be snarky, but the idea held merit. If anyone could handle all that plus the added work of a new pet, it was Aria.

Bonus, she would score a date with a firefighter.

My mind went to the bodyguard with his overgrown hair and stubble, honey-colored eyes, and easy grin.

Maybe after the firefighter auction, we could do a bodyguard calendar. It’d bring in a fortune.

Everyone knows the only thing more irresistible than a cute dog is a hot guy with a cute dog.

Him

THE PROBLEM WITH seeing people’s deepest, darkest secrets every single fucking day was it made it impossible to forget. Impossible to pretend.

Each new person I met, I wondered what they were hiding. What sickness stewed in their brains. What mask they wore.

Because everyone had one.

Everyone but her.

She may have lied with her words, but never with her eyes. There was a bleak honesty to her pain she couldn’t hide. She wore her scars.

Literally and figuratively.

Maybe one day she would tell me everything. Share her pain and show me her scars.

Or maybe I would help her in a different way.

Carefully removing the man’s wallet from his discarded coat, I took a business card.

It wasn’t as if he needed it anymore.

Chapter Eleven

Monsters

Briar

For a good run

SALSA. SALSA. SALSA.

Do it for the salsa.

My mantra wasn’t my usual one, but it may have been more effective. It’d fueled me through the entire hoopla of dragging my ass off the couch and getting ready. Repeating it, I gave myself one last glance in the mirror. My hair wasn’t sticking up or knotted. I didn’t have any food stuck in my teeth. I’d even dressed up.

Well, I was wearing skinny jeans instead of leggings and a fitted blue tee instead of a hoodie. For me, that was dressed up.

Grabbing my purse, I opened the door to leave.

What the hell?

I couldn’t step into the hall because the area in front of my door was loaded with stuff. Rather than the black matte pot of blooming flowers, there was a mini tree with a cool twisted trunk. Next to it was a wrapped present—which, based on its shape, seemed to be a large picture frame. That or really smooshed and oddly packaged chocolate covered strawberries.

I was betting on the former but secretly hoping for the latter. Even if they were smooshed.

Since I had a few minutes to spare—and there was only so much anticipation and mystery one girl could take—I hauled the wrapped present into my open doorway before sitting on the floor. I ripped into it with more gusto than I’d ever had at Christmas as a child, mostly because there was a chance I’d actually like this present.

Pretty pageant dresses, shoes, makeup, and hair stuff quickly lost their luster when all a little girl wanted was a damn American Girl doll and a Nerf gun.

Tearing the shiny paper away, I looked at… well, at myself. The framed picture was of me playing with Mr. Worldwide in the shelter’s outside dog run. Mister looked as if he was smiling up at me, and in profile, you could see I was smiling right back at him.

A genuine smile, too, which made the photo rare.

Maybe even one of a kind, since I absolutely loathed having my picture taken. Having it taken without my approval was even worse—and slightly creepy—but Mister’s cute face made it hard to be upset.

Actually, the picture as a whole made it hard to be upset. With the backdrop of pretty trees and stretching land that housed the random livestock we rescued, it was gorgeous.

Other than the fact I was holding a pooper-scooper and a bag filled with said scooped poop.

If she was going to stalk me for a candid photo, she could’ve at least waited until I wasn’t holding shit.

The longer I looked at it, the more I decided I liked it as is. It wasn’t the most glamorous, but it added to the genuineness.

Removing the envelope tucked into the frame, I pulled out the folded note printed on the framer’s letterhead.

Some might not think this is much. Some might say it’s not a career or a real job. That it’s a hobby and nothing more. Or even a waste.

But you do it best, Briar.

Well that’s… nice?

If it were anyone other than Sue who’d sent it, I might have been insulted. But I took the note as a compliment because I knew the shelter was the one place I made a difference. To the running of the rescue, to Sue, and, most importantly, to the animals.

Carefully sliding the picture behind my catchall table so I didn’t break the glass before I could hang it, I pulled the plant in next. There was another note attached to a little plastic pitchfork stuck in the dirt.

Briar,

For your new apartment and for all you do.

-Sue and everyone at Redmond Rescue

That was much better.

Pushing it to the side, I grabbed the thick stack of mail. There was so much, the carrier must’ve decided to forgo my mailbox. I didn’t bother to look through the catalogs as I shoved them to the side to deal with later.

Flashes of red on the regular envelopes caught my eye, making my stomach drop.

Past due

Past due

Final warning!

Envelope after envelope, all stamped with some variation of the same ominous and threatening message.

I knew I wasn’t late on any payments. All my bills were set to autopay, and it may have left me with a few coins and cobwebs in my account, but I always paid on time. Owing money and being late both tapped into my issues with letting people down.

Logically I knew all that, my anxiety also wouldn’t let me leave until I’d opened every last envelope. With shaking fingers, I tore at them to find nothing but junk. Credit card offers. Credit consolidation, which would come in handy should I sign