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There were only so many potholes to be patched.

Vance sighed. The front door of his house loomed ahead of him like the executioner's door. Blaine had seen the receipt, she knew exactly how much he'd paid for that new turbocharger, and he would soon pay dearly for that extra boost. The events of the day weighed heavily on his shoulders, and all he really wanted to do was go inside and go to bed. Unfortunately, his girlfriend likely had other ideas in mind.

He opened the door to a dark, cold, and eerily quiet house. Dishes from breakfast were still sitting in the sink. Blaine had probably gone to her mother's, as she usually did when disagreement reared its ugly head between them. He unloaded his pockets onto the faux granite countertop, checking his phone one more time for any missed text messages. Maybe the guys were going out to the club. Maybe he'd forgo sleep and join them, get a little alcohol in his system and feel all right.

Vance found himself lost in thought for a moment while he piled all of his daily carried items together. Cell phone, keys, wallet, pocketknife, sometimes a pack of gum if he was feeling something garlicky for lunch that day. A dim light illuminated his periphery with a beckoning glow, pulling him towards the bedroom, and once he got there, all was right with the world again.

Blaine's outfit - if it could even be called one - left none of her intentions to the imagination. A royal blue silk and black lace garter belt encircled her trim waist, extending down to lace-topped, black stockings. She hadn't bothered to wear the matching panties - they were just one more thing to get in the way. A corset wrapped her torso in silken opulence, and ended just under her bust in a shelf bra that pushed her perky breasts up, her nipples and the silver piercings in them pointed upward. Her strawberry blonde locks cascaded down her back, and whirled when she was scooped up with a giddy squeal and tossed onto the bed.

Vance didn't have to be told twice. Blaine bit her lower lip seductively, watching him unbutton his work shirt and slide it from his powerful shoulders, his deltoids and biceps bulging beneath his ruddy fur. An impressive erection was distending the dog's underwear by the time the rest of his clothes had been discarded to the floor, and Blaine wasted no time in getting those off, flinging them blindly off behind her.

She huffed and moaned softly when his hot breath tickled the fur on her neck. Lips on her ear intensified the feeling, and her hand traveled south to curl around his erection, stiff, hot, and dripping. Hips instinctively bucked the shaft into her petite hand, those lithe fingers teasing the flesh, making him groan, his breathing choppy and abbreviated. Supporting himself with one hand, Vance reached over and pulled the drawer open on the nightstand, groping for a condom. Blaine grabbed his arm and pulled it back towards her.

"Not tonight..." She whispered in his ear, leaning in to pinch the thin flesh between her teeth and nibbling gently on it. He shuddered with ecstasy - she definitely knew his sweet spots. He gripped his penis by the base of the shaft and pressed the rounded tip into her entrance, wet enough to allow that much entry, at least. Blaine's head fell back into the pillow and she gasped audibly, his tip an appetizer for the entrée she was about to receive. A half minute's worth of gentle thrusting later, her juices had lubricated them enough that the pit bull could slide his member fully into her, the girth of it stretching her wide open. Her mouth hung open, but no sound came out. Her toes curled to the point of cramping. Her passage was stinging, but after a moment or two, it faded and she was free to revel in the pleasure she was getting from having the thick, rock-hard erection inside of her.

Their bodies clapped together as Vance began to buck his hips, pushing in, pulling out, and gritting his teeth through the battle he was fighting against his orgasm, threatening to finish him off far too soon in lieu of not wearing protection. The silkiness of her walls gripped him tight, but given his size, they didn't have much of a choice. He bottomed out inside of her, at least one inch of his length unused while he bumped into her cervix, trying his best to be gentle about it.

It never took Blaine long to climax with Vance inside of her like he was, his strong arms wrapped around her, his muzzle against her neck, and his sack tapping against her ass. Crying out, she tightened up, wincing as she came, her pussy suddenly far more slick for the dog's pounding.

Watching her move on the bed under him, watching her breasts bounce in that bra that covered nothing, it was all too much for him. Vance's jaw dropped, his tongue lolled out of his muzzle, and his eyes took on a glassy appearance. Blaine knew exactly what that meant, and so she brought her legs up, wrapping them around his waist and trapping him inside of her. He teetered on the edge of orgasm, and giggling, Blaine squeezed. That alone was enough to tip him over, and he let fly with a moan that he was certain the neighbors heard.

Vance collapsed on top of her as he came, pinning her down into the mattress and pressing his lips into hers. For no less than ten seconds he released, emptying everything he had into her while he panted hard and fast with sweat rolling down his forehead. For a moment, they lay there in silence peppered with their staccato breathing. He pulled his swollen, wet, and dripping cock out of her, the remnants of his load drooling out of her entrance and puddling underneath her on the sheets.

He rolled over and flopped onto his back, watching the fan and waiting for her to say something, anything.

"I thought...I thought that we might as well just skip to the make-up sex." She said between pants, giggling tiredly and putting her hand on his arm, feeling his warmth.

"I think that's a good idea. Can we do that every time?" He asked with a puppy's enthusiasm. Blaine laughed.

"I don't see why not. Just don't spend that kind of money without telling me again unless it's something for me, hm?" She went quiet, "We're supposed to be saving for a future, remember?"

"I remember."

"I want you to be happy, Vance. If that car part is something that you wanted and it makes you happy, then by all means I want you to have it. But I want to know that I make you happy, too."

"You do." He replied concernedly, turning onto his side to face her, "You make me happy in ways that cars and parts can't. But you know me; you know I've got a passion for this stuff. I don't _want_to compromise on that, but if I have to, then...y'know, I will."

"I guess it's not so much of a problem for now that you can't have a little fun. But in the future, just try to be a little wiser with your expenditures."

"Sure thing, babe." Vance said, kissing her and rolling back onto his back. It was then that he realized it was only barely seven o'clock in the evening, and he was hungry.

"We should probably clean up."

"Probably."

"What's for dinner?"

Blaine hit him with a pillow.

***

Reid poured his morning coffee into his favorite to-go cup. There wasn't much time to hang out in the break room for AM chit-chat, since Chris and Frank were getting ready to throw the Chevelle on the dyno. Projects of that caliber usually stopped all other operations when they were in the limelight, something that frustrated Paul, but he couldn't help but admire the passion of his employees. It was nothing the old bear hadn't seen before, so he sat in his office, composing the e-mail newsletter, which would inform customers and fans alike of the coming events.

The Chevelle was already running by the time the heeler made it into the bay, and everyone had gathered around the dynamometer. The hood had not yet been installed, and so loud were the cam lope and the exhaust that they had to shout over it to be heard. Reid could feel it in his chest. Frank shot a thumbs-up once he was done with the restraints and computer hookups.

"Here we go..."

Chris stepped on the accelerator, and the wheels began to spin on the dyno's roller. The throttle bodies opened, the engine breathed deep, and a belt wide enough to strop a straight razor on spun the supercharger's pulley, forcing air into the cylinders, slamming the pistons down and turning the crankshaft. The Chevelle jerked violently against the restraints as the lizard stepped on the clutch and pulled the Hurst shifter into second. The RPM's climbed. Reid set down his coffee cup and folded his arms.

"That's one bad bitch!" Hector shouted over the roar of the big-block V8. The lizard threw it in third and the rear wheels spun. Even on the dyno, the speed was just short of terrifying, but they lived for that kind of thing. Grinning like an idiot, Chris clutched, threw it in fourth and sent it home. The Hoosier drag tires spun on the cylinder beneath them. The engine roared with fervor that left ears ringing, then quickly died down.

"We're hitting eleven-fifty to the crank; I think I can get a little bit more if I tune the air fuel ratio!" Frank called over the sound of the engine as it died down. Reid shot him a thumbs-up. He didn't know anyone who would be disappointed with those kinds of numbers, but they were going to wring as much power out of that engine as they could manage, for fun if not for customer satisfaction.

"Reid, you gonna race come track day?" Hector asked as the crowd dispersed.

"I'm thinking I might."

"You gonna race the Mustang?"

"Probably not. I don't want to put any unnecessary wear on my daily. I'm thinking I may use the Nova if Paul's all right with it."

"I don't see why he wouldn't be."

An engine turned over on the other side of the bay with queer noises aplenty. Vance could be heard swearing on his way out of the driver's seat, storming around to the front of the hood to open it. Within minutes, he was chewing out a recalcitrant John, who had slipped a few teeth when reinstalling the timing chain in the car they were working on, resulting in the pistons smashing into the valves on every stroke.

"I can't turn my back on you for more than a couple of minutes without you screwing something up!"

"How am I ever going to get good at this if you don't give me the opportunity to learn?"

Vance placed bladed hands on either side of his face and pressed them out towards the cougar in an attempt to get his point across.

"I'm trying to teach you. This is not the kind of business that you can go into not knowing what you're doing!"

John folded his arms across his chest and stared down his muzzle at the pit bull, though he was shorter, so he really stared up it.

"This is not trial and error here, John! We don't have room for error; we're dealing with tens of thousands of dollars in equipment here! Is any of this getting through to you?"

"You know something, don't talk to me like I'm fucking retarded, you know?"

"Do you get what I'm saying, though?" Vance asked again, too taken aback to get any angrier at the cat. In fact, he was downright flabbergasted by the new hire's consistent refusal to listen. It made him wish he had stuck with his original plan for a degree in psychology. Across the bay, Hector couldn't help but laugh. Reid just stood there, coffee in hand, shaking his head and ready to step in if it came to it.

The rest of the morning progressed swimmingly once John had been ordered to sweep the shop and clean the restrooms. In the office, Reid and Vance convened with Paul, campaigning for the cougar's dismissal.

"Guys, it's only his second day here. Try to understand, he just wants to be one of the guys. It's never easy trying to train a new guy with little to no experience in this industry."

"Paul, novice I can understand, but he can't even follow simple instructions! I turn my back for two minutes and he's reinstalled the timing chain wrong."

"You'll just have to keep a closer eye on him, then." Paul suggested, going back to pecking at his keyboard, an eye-twitchingly slow process to watch. Vance just nodded and turned to exit the office, Reid in tow.

"Hey. How'd things go with Blaine last night?" The cattle dog dared to prod.

"Pretty good, actually. Skipped the entire argument! I damn near popped the question right then and there, but, well, it just wasn't the right time. I was all dirty from work, and she was in this...just, this..." Vance nodded slowly and made swooping motions with his hands up and down his torso, his face contorted into a classic 'oh yeah' mug. Reid just laughed and shook his head.

"Say no more."

"I've just really got to start watching how much I spend on mods. I got off easy this time, but I don't think it'll happen again." Vance laughed, and shot a glance over his shoulder through the bay window. John was loitering around the car, his arms folded in vexation.

"Seems like he's finally caught on that he's not going to gain any experience in the field patching potholes and sweeping the floor." Reid joked.

"I don't think he's going to last." Vance started, "The way things are going now; it's only a matter of time before he _really_fucks something up. Then it's my ass, you know?"

Reid waved his hand and made a dismissing noise, "Ah, you know Paul. He'd get rid of that little putz before he'd ever get rid of you. You're an asset to our team. He knows that. Trust me; I've made sure of it."

"Thanks, bro." Vance smiled and clapped the heeler on the shoulder, then slipped back into the bay. Reid sighed and glanced at his watch - Aiden's Omega Speedmaster '57 Model. It was almost time for his appointment with Dr. Soto, but before he could get out the door, John came bursting into the lobby, heading straight for him.

"Can you please get me on my own car? I can't work with that dude; he keeps throwing off my concentration!"

"Look, relax. You've been here for two days. You're still in training around here, and every new hire goes through a probationary period for their first 90 days. It's nothing personal; it's just business, okay?"

"Yeah, but I don't need training! I know what I'm doing."

"Really? Tell me, what was the correct ignition timing on that car you were working on this morning?"

"I don't know what the factory specification is, but I put a witness mark on the chain so that I could put it back where it was. I must have rubbed it off on accident, but it was an honest mistake! It could have happened to anyone."

"You know working on a Humvee and working on a performance racing vehicle are two very different things, right?"

"It's all the same at its core."

"Yeah, but this isn't just about the 'core', John. This is about the intricacies of high performance engines and how their parts interact with each other. Fine lines, you see. There isn't much of a margin for error here. Sooner you understand that, the better off you'll be." Reid winked at the cat, and turned on his heel, pushing his way through the door out into the bright California sunlight.

***

"How's work treating you today?"

Dr. Ning Soto sat pleasantly in a tufted leather chair in her warm and welcoming office, smiling at a tense Reid. She'd been recommended to him by Dr. Hamad as a bit of extra insurance for keeping him off the sauce. Dr. Soto was of Chinese and Spanish ancestry, though the décor in her office was decidedly Eastern in origin. Her first name was Chinese for peace, or tranquility - fitting for her profession. Reid sat hunched over on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, his gaze cast into the hypnotizing designs of the rug on the floor.

"Pretty good. Pretty good, we're making a few strides here and there with the business lately, we're going to be hosting some events for people to come out and race."

"Is that something you've done before?"

"Me or the shop?"

"The shop."

"We've done it once or twice, it's just expensive, which is why we don't do it every year. It's good advertisement, if nothing else. I'd like to, though. Racing's a good way to blow off steam and get some adrenaline pumping."

"I see. And have you been keeping up with your medication and relaxation techniques?"

"I have. My cholesterol is down, so I've stopped taking the fish oil. I'm maintaining it with a healthy diet and exercise now. I still take the Lisinopril. Sometimes I think if it weren't for work, I wouldn't need to." He added with a laugh and sat up a little straighter.

"Is work becoming a stressor?"

"Not so much. Occasionally it gets a little repetitive, or I'll have to deal with a customer issue, or a part won't want to work just right, nothing major. We've got this new guy, now. He's driving my assistant manager crazy."

"And that comes up to your level?"

"Occasionally it does. We're a small operation, there're only six of us, counting the new guy. It's not so much that he's, pardon my muzzle, an asshole, it's just that he's ignorant. He refuses to listen, and he can't take criticism. I've never had to deal with someone like him before save for Billy, but at least Billy knew what he was doing. I'm not sure how to handle him, honestly."

"Remember who you are. Self-actualization. Self-affirmation. You're the senior member at work. You've put in long, hard hours every week for nearly two decades now. You're the General Manager. You're in charge. He's not. You've known Paul for years. He hasn't. It's on him to listen to _you_and anyone else appointed over him. If he doesn't, Paul will support you, not him."

"I know. He definitely knows which side his bread is buttered on; it's just that he hired the kid to do a favor for an old friend of his. There's a certain...nepotistic undertone about the whole thing. It's a little unlike Paul, but for all the times he's stood behind me, I'm going to do the same for him."

"It's good that you understand the importance of friendship in your life."

"Well, if it weren't for my friends, I wouldn't have anyone. Far be it from me to complain, but I wish I had someone to be, y'know, more than a friend. I want to find someone that I can spend my years with before I run out of 'em."

"Have you made any attempts to reach out to other people? In person, or perhaps online?"

"Yeah. I've done the whole online dating thing; it's just so laden with pretense and every conversation just feels so..."

"Contrived?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good word for it. But it's not just that, it's that I haven't been able to connect with anyone I've met. I might find them visually attractive, or they have a great personality, and sometimes even both! But no matter what, it just seems like there's always something missing."

"They're not Aiden." Dr. Soto said calmly, a haze of compassion in her eyes.

"Yeah."

"You're still having trouble with letting go?"

"How can I? I dream about him all the time, and more often than not it's a recurring nightmare about how he got killed. One of his major organs is in my body, right now."

"You still wear his watch."

"I do." He replied softly.

"Reid, you have the benefit of having a lost loved one's physical presence with you as much as their memory is. I say benefit, because I don't want you to look at it as a curse. You have more than you would had you simply ended the relationship and gone your separate ways, and you have your health because of it. You can be happy, and you can find someone. You only have to allow yourself to be. He's with you. He'll always be with you. He gave you the gift of life when he died; do him justice by living that life to the fullest."

Reid grinned, "You always know how to make me feel better."

"No, you always felt this good. You just didn't know it." Dr. Soto said, smiling at him, "Reid, you're still young. You're not even forty yet. You keep doing what you've been doing and you'll live for a long, long time."

"I hope so."

***

"So your buddy, Reid." John said back at the shop, leaning against the lift with arms folded and watching Vance work.

"What about him?"

"He doesn't drink?" He asked with disbelief in his voice. The pit bull glanced down momentarily, then back up into the undercarriage.

"No."

"Why? What is he, Mormon or something?"

"No, he just chooses not to drink. It's his choice and it's his business, you're well-advised to stay out of it."

"Pfft. All I did was offer to buy him a round yesterday. I may not want to now, especially after he winked at me out front there a while ago."

"Okay."

"S'he gay or something? I don't care what it's about, any dude winks at another dude is fuckin' gay."

Vance sneered as the socket slipped off the head of the bolt, fortunate, as he now had something to point at the cougar.

"You're out of line."

John opened his smart mouth, but before any vitriol could issue, Frank could be heard cursing up a storm over by the dynamometer. Both turned to look, only to see the rat striding up to them with a conical air filter in his hand.

"Did you oil this thing?" He asked, presenting it to John, who affirmed that he did. Frank pushed it into his hands, "You can't put that much oil on it! It gums up the MAF sensor and I can't get an accurate reading on the dyno."

"I put the same amount I put on my air filter."

Frank shook his head.

"You're an idiot!"

"Better'n bein' a faggot..."

Vance and Frank exchanged glances.

***

John cursed the hot, midday sun that beat down on his back, plastering his work shirt to his fur while he toiled on the track, tamping patching compound into a pothole the size of a basketball. The asphalt track definitely did not have a surplus of shade, and the two water bottles he'd brought with him had since been rendered bone dry. He grimaced as he stood up and stretched his back out, only to see a black Supra making the turnaround at the far end of the track. Vance pulled up, staring coolly at him from the driver's seat. His eyes flicked down to the pothole, then back up to the glowering cougar.

"You ready to listen?"

"Yeah." John spat.

"No more talking shit?"

"Yeah..."

"No more fucking with shit you don't know how to work on?"

He just huffed in reply, breaking eye contact.

"I'll take that as a yes. Here..." Vance presented a cold bottle of water, which the cat ungraciously accepted. "Paul wants to see you. Report to his office in ten."

"All right." John re-capped the water bottle and turned to walk around behind the car so that he could get in. Once he was behind the car, the brake lights dimmed, and the pit bull sped off, blowing tire smoke and exhaust into the cougar's face and leaving him to walk the half mile back to the shop.

When he arrived at the bay doors, his sweat-drenched, grey work shirt was now several shades darker and sticking to his form. His hands flexed in and out of tight fists, and he looked ready to kill someone. The cougar spoke not a word to anyone on his way through the bay, but everyone watched in curious silence as his disappeared through the double doors.

"You think Paul's gonna let him go?" Hector asked after a few moments. Vance shook his head.

"Doubt it. If I know Paul, he's just going to give the kid a talking-to, maybe a warning of some sort. If we're lucky, he'll get a written reprimand. Fat lot of good that'll do."

"Yeah..." Hector said with disappointment in his voice. Quietly, the two parted and headed back to their respective vehicles to resume work.

Vance was halfway to the CTS-V he'd been working on when he heard the crash.

He thought nothing of it at first. People dropped things or knocked things over around there all the time, especially Frank. But this sound didn't come from Frank. It didn't even come from the bay. And when he heard the shouting, he knew the time to act was now.

He grabbed a long-handle torque wrench and took off in a sprint towards the front. Double doors parted rudely, smacking into their adjacent walls as the pit bull burst through them, rounding the corner into the office. The computer monitor had been upset onto the floor, along with a few other items. John had pushed Paul back into his chair, and the bear was now holding his hands up in self-defense while the younger, more agile cougar rained blows down onto him.

"You can't fire me!" John shrieked and raised his fist to hit him again.

Vance swung the wrench like a baseball bat, and hit a home run fit for the Hall of Fame. The weighty tool connected with John's skull, tearing a yawning gash into his flesh and ringing out against bone with a sickening, hollow crack. John spun on one foot, his unfocused, expressionless eyes catching Vance's for a fleeting moment before he fell to the office floor, bleeding profusely from his wound and right ear.

In the chair, Paul's chest was heaving and he appeared to be having trouble breathing. A tiny bit of blood ran from his lip, staining the graying fur on his chin. He looked up at Vance, who dropped the wrench and stepped over John to tend to him.

"Paul. Paul. Look at me. Are you all right? Paul!"

The stress of the assault was too much for the old bear's heart. Paul winced sharply and clutched at his chest, gritting his teeth and slinking out of the chair, falling to his knees while the pit bull tried to help him up.

"Shit..." He reached over and grabbed the phone off the desk, then frantically dialed 911. Paul reached for a desk drawer, pulling it open and groping around for a bottle of Aspirin inside. Vance gave the call center the address while he opened the pill bottle, and gave some to Paul, who then proceeded to chew on them.

Reid was just pulling back into the parking lot when he saw two ambulances leave.

***

Reid, by this point, was familiar enough with the layout of the hospital that it took him no time at all to find the room where Paul was staying. He didn't want to tell the bear that he'd closed the store early to get there, but after they'd lost three men to the cougar's little episode, none of them had enough of their wits about them to continue working.

His boot heels thudded against the linoleum, and he pushed his way through the door, every head in the room turning to face a red heeler in a dirty work shirt and python hide cowboy boots.

"Hi, Reid."

"Hello Terri." He replied, crossing the room and hugging Paul's wife, "Randal." He said, and offered a handshake to a middle aged bear, sitting quietly off to the side in a business suit and horn-rimmed glasses. Paul's son was rarely mentioned around the shop. They weren't close, but they were family.

"Paul, what happened back there?" The cattle dog inquired once he turned around to face the bedridden bear. Fortunately, he was in good enough spirits despite his recent predicament. He even seemed more engrossed in the sitcom playing on TV than in what Reid was asking him.

"Well, I pulled John into the office to discuss some things with him regarding his behavior around the shop, and he just lost his cool. I wasn't even going to fire him! I suppose he thought I was going to, because he just came right over the desk and hit me. He looked like he was going to give me the beating of a lifetime, but Vance popped in with a long-handled torque wrench and busted 'im upside the head."

"Shit. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Paul dismissed the question. Terri had a dissenting opinion on the matter, and not one to keep her mouth shut, she stepped in.

"You're_not_ fine, Paul." She turned to the dog, "Paul started having a heart attack at the shop after that boy attacked him. The ambulance was able to get there in time, thankfully."

"So what's the situation here, are you going to be out of here today?"

"No." Paul answered, annoyed, "They're running some tests on me. They're saying I might have coronary artery disease. You and I are rowing the same boat, I've got high cholesterol, high blood pressure, my gout's flaring up and I've got gas." Terri rolled her eyes. Reid started to laugh and shook his head. Old Paul. Always a joker.

"They're going to have a look. If my arteries are too clogged up, they're going to have to go in and clean 'em out. I'll need you to run the shop in the meantime. Think you're up to the task?"

"Oh, you know me; I'm more than up to it."

"Rhetorical question son, I know you are."

"Dad, why don't you put some more thought into retirement?" Randal suggested. He removed his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. Paul snorted.

"And then what? Sit at home all day and waste away playing solitaire on the computer?"

Solitaire was the only computer game Paul knew how to play.

"No, you could take up a hobby. You could go on vacation with Mom. You two could take a cruise, or go to Hawaii, or Europe. You've worked hard all your life. You've earned it." He gestured to Reid, "I have no interest in cars, but you've got a man here who's built his life around them and is more than capable of running the shop. Once you get released, why don't you let me send you and Mom somewhere nice, like on a cruise?"

Paul turned and looked at Reid.

"What do you think?"

Reid shrugged, "I think that sounds like a good idea. You haven't been on vacation in years."

"I'll pay for it. The whole thing. Airfare, lodging, the cruise, whatever. Doesn't matter where, you pick." Randal offered. Paul was silent.

"I just want you to have a taste of what retirement is like, and to strongly consider going that route. Lots of retirees live very fulfilling lives."

"Yeah. Welcome to Wal-Mart!" Paul quipped. He joked about the matter, but he couldn't deny that retirement was something he'd been considering for some time. Doghouse Performance Engineering was as much his baby as Randal was, but he'd arguably put more work into cultivating the former. He wasn't going to sell nearly three decades of hard work to some schmuck, so it was exceedingly important to him that whoever owned the business after him would take care of it. He turned to look at his flesh and blood.

"Do you want Doghouse?" He asked clearly and quietly.

Randal looked at the floor, then back up at him, "Dad, I just don't have the passion, and even if I did, I don't have the time or the energy to invest in it." His gaze was apologetic. Paul sighed, but did not appear disappointed.

"Then it's settled." He turned to Reid, "If you want it, it's yours."

Reid almost shit where he stood.

"What? Paul, wait a minute. Now, let's talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm not making a hasty decision here guys, to be honest with you; this is something I've been thinking about for a while. It's tough work around there, and with my bad knee, I just don't get around quite as well as I used to. Plus, I'm just not good with all that fancy computer crap that everything's going to these days. It's frustrating, y'know? Randal's right, I need to hang it up. I'm an old man now, I've earned it." He smiled.

"Paul, I don't think I can afford to buy Doghouse from you. My credit isn't all that great, I probably wouldn't even get approved for the loan. I practically had to fight a war just to get my house."

"Who said anything about buying it? I don't need any more money. I've got a couple million in savings and retirement funds, and I might live another ten years if I'm lucky."

"So...you're just going to give it to me?"

"I think you've earned it."

Reid trembled where he stood. Any minute now, he was going to wake up. He bit his tongue until it hurt just for good measure, and he brought his hands up to his face and covered his muzzle. Terri smiled at him, and Paul chuckled.

"Oh my God, Paul...I don't know what to say! Thank you." Reid choked out, his eyes glassing over with tears of pure joy.

That day was an occasion of momentous proportion for Reid Travis. On that day, when the papers were signed transferring the company and its assets into his name, he became the new owner of Doghouse Performance Engineering, LLC, Los Angeles, California.