Oblivion (Completed)

Ryan

Present Day

The morning sky is white and it's so damn cold I can't feel my feet. Wool socks do nothing for below zero wind chills, but I'm wearing them anyway. They're soft and thick and from Henley, which makes them the best damn pair of socks in the world, in case that wasn't clear. It's New Year's Day, and as my boots crunch a fresh pattern through the snow, I can't think of a more peaceful way to start the year.

I woke up with a dull headache, so I'm hoping the bitter cold will help kill this minor hangover. I did tear it up a bit, but didn't go overboard. A few shots and a few bottles of beers over the span of six hours had me buzzing pretty hard, but I haven't gotten completely trashed for awhile. I can think of one night in particular while Henley was in a coma, but the aftermath of it kept me from having more than a few beers for a long while. Henley, on the other hand, will probably be paying for the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Unlike me, she doesn't have a memory to tame her.

Don't get me wrong; I don't want her to hurt, but a girl's got to learn her limits somehow. I smile thinking of her warm little body wrapped in the many blankets on our bed. She barely budged when I slid out of bed to use the bathroom, or when I slipped on a pair of jeans and boots and headed outside. I'm not worried she'll wonder where I am when she does wake up; mornings have gotten pretty routine since last week. I actually have a reason to pull my ass out of bed early on the weekends. Besides, she's warm as a heater when I crawl back in bed and pull her back against me.

"Let's make it a short one today, okay?" I say and wait as if I expect a response. "I can already picture the look on her face when we do get back inside. She'll flip on her tablet and realize we're out here in negative temps and then we'll get the look," I warn him with a smile. I don't even feel ridiculous talking like this. Besides, he's gonna have to know what he's gotten himself into.

Next to my footprints are the tiny, unmistakeable prints of my new buddy, Diesel. It's safe to say Henley is awesome at hitting the mark with sentimental gifts. I've only been friends with our pup since Christmas, but I can already tell he's the best damn dog in the world. He's quickly falling into place as the companion she intended him to be, sleeping at the end of the bed and sporting a ridiculous dog jacket she insisted he wear when we go on our short winter walks.

"Yeah. See you do know the look. It's the one she flashed you as you tried to wiggle your way out of your snow gear," I remind him. "Get used to it, because it's not going away." I smile. Every given day is another confirmation that I have my wife back.

No dog of mine is wussy enough to need protection from the wind, but I wasn't about to take the thing off him after watching her struggle it on him for ten minutes. I nixed the boots though, because really. I stop as we approach a tree and smile as I watch my buddy circle it a good ten times before he finds the perfect spot to do his thing. The whole potty-training thing is a work in progress, so he could walk around here for hours and I'd be fine with it, as long as he's not pissing on my favorite chair.

Diesel's a cool guy because he's a lot like me. And I'm not just talking about our light hair. He looks pretty tough and I've seen him do a stupid thing or two, but he's got a soft spot for love. He's only been with us a short while, but his loyalty is evident. He's not a purebred anything, and he didn't come from a family who wanted puppies. He was picked up by a shelter when he was just a few weeks old, which means our home is the first real one he's ever had. And Henley moved up another few notches on the awesome meter for the fact that she took the shelter approach. I mean all dogs are deserving of a good home, but she could've gone for a pup from a breeder who was in perfect condition. Instead she chose Diesel, a little tough guy with a scar across his black nose, with no knowledge about him aside from the fact that mutts make good family dogs. And I have to believe she picked him because he reminded her of us - rebels out on the road. Wanderers.