“Sure, I’ll go up and grab my stuff. If you change your mind—”
Mac cut him off. “I won’t.”
“Okay.” Now it was Flynn who felt himself trembling a bit. He wanted to ask if he could at least put stuff away but had the feeling if he pressed Mac on anything, he’d explode. He tried to console himself as he headed back up the stairs to the bedroom. It’s not you. It’s not personal. He’s just had a horrible loss he wasn’t even expecting. Give him his space, but let him know you’re there for him.
The bed still looked warm and inviting, with slats of sunlight falling across the white sheets. Flynn stared mournfully at it, thinking how life could change in an instant. He dressed quickly and went back downstairs.
In the kitchen he found Mac on the floor, holding Barley close and stroking his head. He didn’t think Mac heard him, because he didn’t look up as Flynn looked on from the kitchen archway. Mac softly wept into the dog’s fur.