That One Ride

14. Fixing The Future

Toothless barked as the doorbell rang, and Hunter moved his gaze from the TV to the direction of the front door. He stood up, rubbing Toothless' head in the process.

"Easy bud, it's just the door. Probably the mail man or something." Toothless barked one more time, setting his head back on the couch. He walked over, his bare feet slapping as they hit the tile floor. He was still in his sweatpants that he put on earlier for Toothless' walk, and he was too lazy to change, so he just stayed in them. He unlocked the door and opened them, expecting to see the mail man or even some girl scouts, but he was left completely speechless.

Ashley.

Ashley was standing at his door. She was the last person he thought would be standing in front of his house. She was right there, a foot away, hair spilling down her shoulders, one he noticed was bare. He saw the leash in one of her hands, looking down he noticed she had a dog with her, a husky. From the looks of it, she was out for a walk, or was before she came here. Which begged the obvious question.

"What are you doing here?" he winced at how icily he asked, and cursed himself for not at least offering a civil 'hello'. She seemed to have recoiled at his greeting, which he doesn't blame her for, but she recovered from it, straightening her shoulders in the all too familiar way, her eyes steeling themselves in the exact same manner he witnessed a thousand times. God, she wore glasses now. They only seemed to enhance how sharp and intelligent her eyes were. Not to mention how they were still the most beau-

"We need to talk." She cut off his train of thought, which was probably for the best anyway. His mind caught up with what she said, and their previous talk flashed before his eyes. Everything she said five days ago returned with a vengeful burn in his chest, and he couldn't help but rise to his full six feet, crossing his arms with his head held high.

"That didn't go so well the first time, last I recall." He said, not able to stop the least bit of sarcasm to slip through his lips. Her eyes sharpened at that, and they became icier than before, and he could almost feel the cold radiating from them.

"I-Look, can I come inside? I really don't want to have this conversation standing on your doorstep."

He hated how quickly he opened the door to let her in, not even thinking it over before his arm automatically moved the door and she slipped pass him. He noticed her try to make the least bit of contact, though his heart rate quickened when her shoulder brushed his chest. Toothless must've heard the commotion or smelled another dog, for he came to inspect and immediately went to socialize.

The two dogs sniffed each other curiously, both getting to know one another. They seemed to like each other, which was good, since their dogs not getting along was something they didn't need, considering the situation between their owners.

"I didn't know you had a dog." Hunter blurted out before he could stop himself, bending down to pet her dog in a way to try to brush it off casually.

"Yeah, got her a few weeks ago. Someone left her on the street." He rubbed the husky as she talked, looking at the collar as he did.

"Stormfly." He read out-loud. He smirked at the name. "That's an unusual name." she scoffed, easing her hold on the leash.

"Look who's talking. Who names their dog Toothless?" she asked and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Me I guess." He replied.

"You're the only person I know who would be crazy enough to actually do it." She said and a small smile spread across her face, though it was involuntary. She watched as he rubbed both dogs at the same time, and it was as if she was back in his living room in her junior year, playing with Toothless as a puppy on the carpet, nestled between his legs and leaning her back against his chest, sucking the warmth of his body like a leach. She shook the memory off, reminding herself why she was there. She wasn't there to reminisce the past, covered in cobweb of pain and dust full of guilt filled angst. She was there to try and fix the present, to try and add oil to the creaky old machine that used to be them, to make it function in at least a passable way. She didn't have hopes that it would run smoothly, there was no chance, since the fuel it used to run on has dried up. But there was a chance it could be fooled and converted into functioning on a new kind of fuel; one filled with seven years of burning rage and unsaid statements of remorse, yes, but that didn't mean that it couldn't be made into a gritty liquid of unstable acquaintances.