FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Reid's long night just became a lot longer. He was free to go after the security footage was reviewed, and having his car and his background thoroughly searched for any incriminating evidence. When they found none, they settled for the witness report he voluntarily penned to cover his own tail, along with his willingness to supply them with the footage from the security cameras at the doghouse. By the time he made it out of the police station, it was almost midnight. His head ached from the blow, and his nose smarted, but he'd emphatically declined the repeated efforts by the police to get him to see a medic. He had too many bills as it was, he didn't need to pay exorbitant amounts of money to have someone fix something he'd learned to treat himself in the Boy Scouts.

It wasn't easy to process what he'd seen. Reid sat at home with the lights on, kicked back in his couch in a stiff posture, staring at the wall and watching the scenes from earlier replay over and over in his head. Awkward concert with Veronica. Watching Vance jump up on the bass like an acrobat and fall off with all the grace a drunken pit bull could muster. Watching that random guy get shot. The crack of the bullet's travel and the thump of its impact played themselves audibly in his thoughts, and he wondered how he would get to sleep tonight. He wouldn't. At least tomorrow was Sunday. He picked up the phone, and it lit with a call from Vance Gillis.

"Hey." He said, answering it immediately and catching the pit bull off guard.

"Hey, man. I didn't think you'd pick up. Thought you'd be too ashamed of me to even speak to me."

"You know me better than that." Reid smiled. On the other end of the line, so did Vance.

"Yeah. I do."

"So what's up?"

"I dunno. You want to come over? Baby's still at the in-laws'. I don't..." He paused for a long time, "...I don't really want to be alone tonight."

"Yeah. Me neither. Hey uh, there's some stuff we need to talk about."

***

Vance opened the door mere seconds after Reid knocked on it, beckoning the other dog in and shutting it gently behind them. Reid helped himself to some water from the refrigerator and gulped away at it, wetting his whistle for what he was about to say. He looked around. The ceiling fan in the living room was spinning on full blast, and a tower fan in the corner was oscillating slowly and quietly, pushing cold air around in the room. It was only then he noticed that Vance wasn't wearing a shirt. He blushed some, and pretended as if that was normal. Maybe it was, he didn't know. He didn't go over to Vance's that often.

"If you're too cold I can turn the fans off. I just like it cool, you know, trying to look on the bright side of Blaine not being around anymore. She was always complaining about how cold I like it to be."

"Yeah. Women, you know it?"

"Yeah. So what's going on?" Vance tipped the mouth of his beer bottle up to his lips, never taking his eyes off the heeler, who chewed his tongue with apprehension.

Reid wasn't one to hold back, "I just got back from the police station. I saw a man get killed tonight."

Vance went wide-eyed and nearly took a swallow down the windpipe.

"What? Jesus, Reid, where was that?"

"In our parking lot." He answered stiffly. Vance said nothing, only stared in disbelief, "I was dropping Veronica off after the concert since she rode with me. As soon as she left, I get busted upside the head and I go down to the concrete. Some big dude stands over me and starts demanding information, next thing I know, there's this _whizz-thump_sound and he just drops to the ground."

"What happened?"

"It was Paul, Vance. Paul shot the guy. With a sniper rifle, or something. I don't know."

"Wait a minute, Paul? How do you know it was Paul? We haven't seen him in months!"

"I know. He called me. Right after the guy hit the ground, within minutes, my phone rang. It was Paul. I heard him cock the gun over the line! He said he was going to do his best to watch over us, which brings me to what I need to talk to you about."

Reid could see the trepidation brewing in Vance's eyes, and he looked as though he were about to be sick, but it could very well have been from a combination of intoxication and embarrassment from the botched gig.

"Reid. What's going on?"

"Okay," Reid looked up at the ceiling and smoothed his shirt down with his hands, trying to figure out where to start, "Do you remember John?"

"I killed him, how could I forget?"

"All right, well, as I learned from Paul, John was the son of an old friend of his from decades ago. A friend who is the leader of an outlaw motorcycle club in So Cal. They call themselves the 'Bitten'."

"And let me guess, they're out for revenge?" Vance asked, his voice dripping with fear. Reid hated to answer it, but he had to admit, it made breaking the news to him a lot easier. He placed his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor.

"Yeah."

"Well, that's just fucking great! That's exactly what I need right now!" He got up and started to pace across the room into the kitchen, where he grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator and snapped the cap off on the edge of the granite countertop, carelessly chipping it, "My wife just left me to become a transient hippie, I missed out on one of the biggest gigs of my musical career, and now I've got a bloodthirsty biker gang after my head! How could things possibly get any worse?"

"You keep drinking like that, and they _will_get worse!" Reid crossed the room in a few long strides and snatched the brew from the pit bull and upended it in the sink. "Didn't you learn anything from watching me?"

Reid felt his heart sink when he looked up at his friend. Vance's face was twisting into the kind of pained expression one often makes before bursting into tears, which is exactly what he did. The pit bull buried his face in his hands and wept uncontrollably, his whole muscular frame shaking as he sobbed. Reid stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the weeping dog, pulled him in tight and caressed him on the back in an attempt to comfort him. This continued for several minutes until Vance finally managed to collect himself, pulling back, obviously embarrassed by his sudden outpouring.

"Listen, everything is going to be okay. I'm going to make sure of that, and so is Paul. He's keeping an eye on things for us. But right now, it's just best that we keep a low profile. At least until this all gets resolved."

"Well, when will we know? Are the police getting involved?"

"I don't know. Paul has sort of taken the matter into his own hands. He's convinced that the bikers are responsible for Randal's death. And you know Terri left him over it, too. I hate to say it but I think Paul's gone off the deep end."

Vance blew out a sigh and wiped his eyes, "Can't say I blame him."

"You've still got a lot left to lose, buddy. Don't give up yet. Look at me; it took this for me to realize just how precious life is." Reid grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up just enough to show a scar, the result of his liver transplant surgery. No fur grew along its length, but the fur above it was long enough to cover it at least somewhat.

"You don't need to worry about me. There's only one thing I need to keep my will to live, and that's Kaitlin. I can't even tell you how important it is to me to be there for her and be the father she deserves." He breathed in audibly through his nose, "It's just hard to cope."

Reid sat down at the kitchen table and rested his forehead in a palm, "I guess we're both a little shaken up tonight, huh?"

"Yeah. If you hadn't quit drinking, I'd suggest we go to a bar and have a couple of rounds. I need to get out of this house for a minute."

"If Kaitlin's over at the in-laws', you want to come over to my place?"

"Sure."

***

Vance awoke thankful that Reid didn't have any alcohol at his house, lest his hangover could have been far worse. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and threw the throw blanket off. Wrinkled, light-wash blue jeans clothed his form, and his white T-shirt clung to his torso with the sweat of a night spent sleeping on a leather upholstered couch. Bare feet came into contact with the hardwood floor, and Vance padded into the kitchen, where he took a seat at the bar counter in front of the stove, resting his forehead on the edge of the cool granite. He would be swiping through photographs of Blaine in his phone by the time Reid came downstairs.

"Hey. Sleep all right?"

"So-so." The pit bull sighed and turned the phone off, setting it gently down on the counter. Reid produced a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and poured a glass for Vance, then one for himself. Reid sipped, and Vance gulped, emptying the glass in a matter of a few seconds, wiping his mouth on his shoulder.

"You need to go pick up the baby?"

Vance nodded, "Hoyt's going to be dropping her off later on, so I need to be home around eleven. What time is it now?" He glanced at the clock on the stove, which read just after eight o'clock.

"Mm." Reid took another sip, "So, what did Hoyt have to say about the whole thing?"

"Well, Hoyt's always been cryptic. Somehow, I think he always knew that his daughter was a little, y'know, off, but maybe he figured that being married to me would level her out some. I dunno."

"Yeah." Reid said quietly. He took another sip of orange juice, "Hey, I've got some good news. Something to take the edge off."

"What's that?"

"Remember that storage unit I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, the one Aiden had?"

"Mhmm. Guess what I found in it?"

"I'm going to guess a car of some kind?"

"A 1964 Ford Galaxie 500. Dude, this thing is in perfect condition. We're talking flawless. There's just one problem."

Vance looked at him with a single, silently responding eyebrow.

"It doesn't have an engine right now. Some guy on Craigslist has a 429 Ford for cheap, I'm thinking I can pick that one up and re-build it. Make that puppy into one bad bitch."

Vance smiled. It was a tired smile, but at least it wasn't a forced one. Progress, Reid thought. The heeler finished his drink and picked up both glasses, setting them in the sink before walking into the living room, where he turned on the news.

"Following an update on a current situation in the greater Los Angeles area, a serial sniper is still on the loose. Two more victims were found last night, and three more are still reported missing. All victims have been affiliated with a local outlaw motorcycle club known as the 'Bitten', and authorities are questioning whether this is a gang-related matter."

_ _

_ _ Vance stood up and walked over.

_"One such scene unfolded right here in the parking lot of Doghouse Performance Engineering, a popular auto shop here in Los Angeles. The owner of the shop is not currently a suspect, and is assisting police in the ongoing investigation." _

_ _

"You're not going to turn Paul in, are you?"

"Of course not. Paul and I are practically blood. It doesn't mean I'm not going to try and stop this madness before it gets any worse, though."

Reid went quiet, and the television cut to a commercial for some kind of product claiming to make one's fur more lustrous and soft. Vance had his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze affixed on the floor.

"You need to freshen up?" Reid asked.

"No, I'm good." He said and picked up his shirt from the concert the previous night, "I'll wash up when I get home. I want to at least try to look like I've got my shit together when Hoyt comes over with the baby."

"All right." Reid nodded, "Can I make you anything to eat?"

As much as Vance didn't want to impose, he hadn't eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours, save for the liquid bread he consumed in excess before the concert. Moments later, he was freshening up in the bathroom while the heeler prepared breakfast for them.

Bloodshot eyes gazed back at him from the mirror. He lifted a towel and patted his face dry, and when he was done, a picture hanging on the mirror caught his eye. It was a picture of Aiden sitting against the hood of his Mustang somewhere on what appeared to be one of the sparser sections of Mulholland Drive. The lab wasn't wearing a shirt, and his jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped only slightly in lewd display of his underwear, which shone a bright green out from the faded denim of the blue jeans he wore. Vance actually felt himself blush as he tore his gaze away.

"I guess you know something about loss, too." He whispered.

Downstairs, sumptuous smells were wafting up in the cartoonish way that beckons an upstairs dweller to the kitchen. As such, Vance descended the steps in his jeans, sneakers, and work shirt to the kind of breakfast a Texan would make; a hearty spread of bacon, eggs, hash browns, grits, and sausage.

"Blaine couldn't even cook this good." He mumbled through a mouthful while they sat at the table together.

"Well," Reid swallowed, "You got me onto it way back when you started me on the whole health-nut thing. Sometimes I just get the craving for greasy breakfast food."

Vance laughed, "Yeah, I remember. How's it working out for you?"

"Pretty good. Last doctor's visit wasn't too shabby. My cholesterol is way down. Body fat percentage is down; overall I guess I'm doing all right." Reid took another bite, and instantly felt bad about what he'd just said. Vance was going through one of the toughest times of his life, and he was bragging about all the things that were going right with his. He cleared his throat.

"What have you got planned for the rest of the day?"

The pit bull just shrugged, picking at a piece of egg with his fork, "I don't know. I might practice a little for this new album we're trying to put out, but with the baby and all I can't have the amps up too loud."

"Yeah."

"You know, in spite of everything, I think things are going to fall into place."

"Hey, there you go, positive attitude, I like it."

"I was thinking last night, if I had known that this was going to happen, I probably would not have married Blaine in the first place. But if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have Kaitlin. For all the bad things that have happened, I gotta say, I think I've already found the silver lining."

"It's always there." Reid smiled at his friend, "You just have to find it."

***

Monday morning found Reid in front of the shop, speechless, shocked, and with a sinking feeling with which he was all too familiar. Someone had vandalized the front of the shop with the words Si Vis pacem, para bellum. Red spray paint canvassed the windows in the front, the drips from the letters running down to the brick exterior of the building.

"It means 'if you seek peace, prepare for war'. Or something like that." Chris spoke up at last, breaking the silence they all shared.

"Go inside, guys." Reid ordered, and once everyone was out of earshot, he pulled out his phone. Scrolling to Paul's name, he tapped the screen and waited for the estranged ursine to pick up.

"We're sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected, or is no longer in service. If you'd-"

_ _

_ _ Reid swore under his breath. Things were getting ugly, and fast. He held his phone up in the air and pointed to it, just in case Paul was somewhere watching, like some kind of vigilante guardian angel. He ran a hand back through his hair and turned back to face the graffiti. It'd take some acetone and elbow grease to get that off, but the tagging was the least of his worries.

Inside, anxiety rumbled in Vance's gut, the kind of extreme apprehension that usually results in nausea and a consequent trip to the bathroom. Coffee was probably the last thing he needed at that moment, but it would give him something to do with trembling hands. He'd been walking on eggshells since last night, counting each step as if it were his last, as if a trip wire waited in the wings to blow him to bits.

"Hi Vance." Veronica said coolly, leaning against the counter as she stirred creamer into her coffee. The pit bull looked up at her, but only for a moment before he poured himself a cup.

"Good morning."

"That was an interesting concert the other night."

Vance closed his eyes, "Yes, well..."

"I'd sure like to see you play sober, sometime." She giggled. She wasn't trying to be rude, only to make light of a situation that she was sure the pit bull must have been pretty embarrassed over.

"It's a lot better of a show, I'll tell you that." He mumbled, dumping way too much sugar into the steaming abyss of a beverage.

Vance had enough experience to know from the combination of words, inflection, and posture that Veronica was flirting with him, but his mind was in no place to be concerned with sating his loins. He'd been pushing Blaine out of his head all morning, and Kaitlin had her usual front row seat. Work was in there somewhere too, but he was still trying to find it.

"How long have you been playing the guitar?"

"About twenty years."

"Oh wow, I bet you're really good then. Maybe you could teach me to play, sometime." She grinned. Vance smiled. _Yeah, you'd spend three minutes with a guitar before you realized your claws are too long for the fretboard and your ulterior motive would come shining through,_he thought silently to himself. But he couldn't say that. Not at work. So he just nodded, agreed, and left the break room for the solace of the bays.

In the bays, Reid was grabbing some rags and a container of acetone. Lucy wasn't due in for another hour yet, but she'd shown up a little early to work on her Chevelle a little more. Hector was deep into a Cadillac sedan, detailing it. Chris was setting up the dyno. In spite of all the craziness, everything seemed so normal. It was comforting in a way. So he got to work. It cleared his head, and as much as he would have liked to have simply worked through lunch and avoided eating altogether, Reid wasn't about to allow it.

By the time lunch rolled around, the front of the building was devoid of graffiti, and Vance was hard at work making his hands devoid of axle grease and anti-seize. On his way out, he popped his head into the break room.

"I'm going to the sandwich shack, anyone want anything?"

Veronica spoke up, "Yeah, could you get me a turkey club?" she pulled a five dollar bill out of her jean pocket and handed it to the pit bull with eyes that suggested she wanted much more than just a sandwich.

"Sure."

The Sandwich Shack, aptly named, sold - you guessed it - sandwiches. Whatever you could think of, they served it between two pieces of bread. It was a retro-styled place, simply a walk-up counter with a covered patio to eat on. Vance parked his Supra out front and sat in it for a moment before getting out. He twisted this way and that in the seat, looking around just to make sure no one was looking at him funny. Finally, he got out, and kept his head on a swivel all the way up to the counter, where owner Reggie was busy taking orders.

"Yo, V-Dog! What's good?"

"Not much, Reg." He turned around and looked over his shoulder again, "I'll have my usual, and a turkey club to go."

"You got it."

Vance usually liked to watch while they made the sandwiches; the way the kid behind the counter slapped corned beef and pastrami together between hoagie buns usually gave his appetite a little shot of nitrous, but this time, he leaned against the counter off to the side, his eyes scanning the horizon behind his Ray-Bans. All he could hope for was that this wouldn't last for long. Behind him, the bell rang, and he picked up his brown paper bag and booked it for his car.

Minutes later, Vance was back at the shop, sitting at a table in the break room with Veronica, who was enjoying her club sandwich. Hector finished his plate, balled it up and tossed it into the trash on his way out the door while Vance begged him silently to stay. He sighed, and waited for the cheetah to say something. She took a napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth after a bite, washed it down with some water from a bottle, and spoke up.

"So what are you doing later tonight?"

"Well, when I get off I'm going to go pick up my kid, and then we're going to go home, have dinner, and go to bed."

"Sounds...thrilling." She giggled.

"Well, that's being a single parent for you." He grumbled, stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and dusted his hands off. Veronica rocked in her seat a bit, studying him.

"You seem a little tense."

"That's an understatement."

"You know what you need?"

"No, what do I need?" The pit bull answered sarcastically, wadding up the sandwich wrapper. He turned and tossed it in the direction of the trash can, where it bounced off the rim and rolled across the floor.

"You need to get out! Relax a little bit, have some fun. Decompress, you know?" She said, and Vance felt his hackles rise. Lucy walked in and opened the refrigerator.

"And how do you know that?" He replied, his tone low and gravelly. The cheetah shrugged as though the answer should be plain as day.

"It's just our nature. It's how we are. See, you can I are the same kind of people, Vance. We're young...ish," She laughed, "we're good-looking, and we're both single. It doesn't do a body good to sit around at home moping all day."

"My clubbing days are over. I gave that up when I met my wife. My ex-wife as she is now I suppose. Maybe that's your thing. It was mine once, too. But it's exhausting. I don't have the time or the inclination these days to go to a club and put in the work it takes to gamble with getting laid or not." Vance stood up. Lucy looked both shocked and amused at the same time, and left the room without a word. Veronica's eyes flicked from the wolf to the pit bull and she grinned with no small amount of lust in her eyes.

"Would it be different if it were guaranteed?"

"Forget it. I don't consort with people from work. It never ends well."

"Oh, come on. Let's go on one date. We'll go out to eat, or go out for coffee, whatever's cool. We'll just get to know each other. And if by the end of it, you decide you want to take it further, we will. What do you say?"

Vance sighed, "It hasn't even been that much time since Blaine left."

"Well, I kinda doubt she's coming back." She laughed, sounding probably just a tad bit crueler than she'd intended to. Vance felt his blood simmer. He wanted to say something, but she was probably right. Blaine was gone. She was gone, and she wasn't coming back, save for a chance trip through LA.

"I know it's important to grieve over a loss, but you can only do it for so long. Otherwise, it just eats you. It'll eat you from the inside out. Maybe a date will help you ease that burden a little."

She wasn't going to relent.

"Fine. You've got yourself a date."

It wasn't until Vance had dropped the baby off at Hoyt and Darla's, returned home and showered and laid out an outfit that he realized just how on track he was to becoming his own father. He hadn't been to the gym in weeks, and while his stomach was still flat, his six-pack abs had all but disappeared. Like everything else about him, they'd gone soft.

Music played low over the surround sound speakers, something to distract him from his own anxiety while he pulled on his nicest pair of jeans, a super heavyweight denim number with just the right amount of fading. Atop that, he donned one of his old clubbing shirts, doffing it the moment he noticed the stains and remembered exactly how they'd gotten there that night with Billy and the two badger chicks. A new shirt replaced it, and he slipped his shoes on before standing in front of his bathroom mirror. He'd have stood in front of the full-length one, but it was taken by the hippies. He pined for the reflection he once had, virile, confident, and hot. He figured it was age, stress, or perhaps a combination of both, but if someone as pretty as Veronica wanted to go out with him, then that spoke some sort of volume. He just wasn't sure how much.

***

"So what do you like to do for fun? Other than play the guitar and work on cars, I mean." Veronica asked, picking up a fry from her plate and popping it into her short muzzle.

An old jukebox pumped out tunes from the 1950's, and the waitresses all looked as if they'd been plucked right out of the decade itself. It wasn't a small-town diner by any means - they prided themselves on the quality of their milkshakes, malts, and hamburgers, and truth be told it was another favorite amongst the guys at the Doghouse. Vance wasn't about to spend steakhouse money on a girl he wasn't even interested in.

"I mean you pretty much hit the nail on the head, right there. Those are the big two, I guess. But other than that, I guess I like to cook, I like to listen to music, things like that relax me."

"Oh, that's cool." Veronica responded with an inflection that suggested it wasn't, "What kind of music do you like?"

"Rockabilly, mainly. I listen to a lot of classic rock, eighties tunes, punk, metal, I'm pretty eclectic with my music choices."

"What's rockabilly?"

"It's like...rock and roll and surf rock and country music wrapped up into one genre. It's great music."

"Oh. Yeah, if it was made before like...a couple years ago, I don't listen to it. It just like clothes, you know? It goes out of style and you don't look back." She laughed.

Vance recoiled and looked at her with utter disgust, "What? Seriously? Music is a form of art! It's timeless, I mean look at The Beatles! They haven't been around for like forty-five years now and people still love their music!"

"Yeah,old people. Music isn't art, it's entertainment. A painting by Seurat or Monet, okay, that's art, even if it's boring."

I can't believe how stupid you are, Vance thought to himself as he stared at her across the table, his meal practically untouched, but he recanted the thought and decided instead that he could believe it after all. Veronica was just like all the women he used to pick up at the bars and clubs for almost all of his twenties. Vacuous. Dumb. Vain. Above all, ignorant.

"You know what the problem is with music these days? None of it has any soul. Nobody actually puts work into what they do anymore, and none of these new artists actually have any talent."

"I'm sure there are a lot of people who would disagree with you on that."

"And I promise you none of them are musicians. When you actually play music, you look at it differently. You develop an appreciation for the work, and the passion, and the dedication that goes into cultivating the talent that it takes to play a song from start to finish. It took me twenty years to learn to play the guitar as well as I do. Now that's longer than some of these modern hacks have even been alive and yet somehow they make tens of millions of dollars a year catering to people who don't even know what music is to begin with. Look at modern artists, most of them have one song that makes it to the charts, and it's the biggest piece of crap I've ever heard in my life. All electronically enhanced, and 'auto-tuned' or whatever it is they do these days. It's popular for a few months and the next thing you know, boom, nobody even remembers their fuckin' name. It's frustrating, because the artists who should be in the spotlight, like me, have to take a backseat as the underdog while talentless hacks get all the glory."

Vance sat back in his seat. The people at the table next to them returned to their meal, and Veronica stared in shock.

"Well, there definitely are a lot of one-hit wonders these days, but I don't think it's necessarily a strike for them in the talent department. They just need to write a new song and they'll be back in the game."

"They don't even write their own songs. Nothing is original anymore. It's just a bunch of regurgitated garbage that some sound guy mixed a little differently."

"Well, different strokes for different folks, as they say." Veronica laughed, and Vance picked up his burger for the first time and bit into it. He shrugged, raising his eyebrows for a moment while he chewed and swallowed.

"I guess so. Kinda got up on my soapbox there for a while. Sorry. So, what do you do for fun?"

"Well, I like to go shopping. It's probably my favorite hobby really, even if I didn't plan on spending any money, I would just go down to the mall and try out different outfits, just to plan for future events and things. I'd get a day off from Schumer and I'd just be down there all day!" She laughed, and Vance occupied his mouth with another bite of his burger so as to avoid the impending sneer of disgust.

"Oh my God, I used to do this thing, I'm sure the people at some of these stores hated me for it! If I saw a top or a pair of jeans or leggings at a store, and something else that I thought would look really good with it at another store, I would just buy it and take it over there and try it on, then go back and return it if I didn't like it!"

Vance stopped chewing. Veronica gasped.

"Oh! You know what, I just thought of something! Someone should make an app that does that! It could like, pair outfits together and tell you what the total cost would be, and you could take a selfie in the mirror and it would superimpose the clothing picture over you so you could see how it would look!"

"I think something like that already exists. Blaine used to use it."

"Oh, well, yeah, but how many car rental apps are there? Point being, there's always room for innovation. You can always take something else someone did, and make it so much better!"

Vance was starting to wonder just how short he could cut the date without it being some kind of a faux pas. Just her voice was beginning to wear on him, and he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to tolerate it, let alone the words that were coming out of her mouth. It was hard to believe she actually had a Bachelor's degree. Finally, he excused himself to the restroom and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

"Hoyt. Hey, just checking up on Kaitlin."

"She's asleep, just put her down for bed. What's going on?"

"I need you to call me back in about five minutes, and give me a reason to get out of a situation."

"Oh, Lord have mercy. What did you get into this time?" He laughed.

"Nothing serious, just need to leave a...gathering of friends without looking like a jerk."

"So tell 'em you gotta go."

Vance cringed, "It's not that easy."

"Yeah it is. Just tell 'em you gotta go. It's as easy as that. Be a man about it."

_ _

_ _ "All right," The pit bull sighed, "Thanks. Give Kaitlin a kiss for me, I'll be there tomorrow."

"Will do, son. Have a good night."

Veronica was playing on her phone when Vance returned, probably tweeting about how terrible of a date he was, he assumed. Whatever, he thought, it was about to be over anyway.

They pulled to a stop in front of Veronica's condo, the drives of which were lined with Mercedes-Benz, BMW, and the like, making Vance's Supra seem a little out of place. He sighed as he parked it on the street, leaving the car running with its characteristic thrum while he stared straight ahead and debated on whether or not to go inside with her.

"So. You coming in?"

Vance turned off the car.

Veronica wasted no time in starting their little nighttime soiree; mere seconds after dropping her purse, she wheeled about and gathered Vance's face in her hands, pressed her lips up against his, and shoved her tongue into his mouth. He recoiled, but went along for the ride, figuring that at that point, he might as well. Nimble, mechanic's fingers went to work unbuttoning the pearloid buttons of her shirt while she made quick work of his belt and the button fly of his jeans.

Vance was not even getting hard. In fact, the kissing was so unpleasant that had he had an erection to begin with, it would have deflated the moment her short, feline tongue entered his muzzle. He was soft, but the cheetah was determined to fix that in short order. Finally, he pulled back from the kiss, knowing full well that he'd never get hard while their lips were locked. Veronica peeled her unbuttoned shirt back and shrugged it off, her sizeable breasts bouncing in a bra that matched the print of her fur. She pulled his pants down to his knees, and took his underwear with them, encircling the base of his limp member with her thumb and forefinger.

He wasn't even in the mood to have sex. In fact, all he wanted to do was go home and go to sleep, and maybe he would dream about Blaine and believe that things were all right. It had been happening more and more, and so vivid were those dreams that he would often awake in the morning believing for a few seconds that she was still there with him. He didn't even realize that Veronica had taken his half-assed erection into her mouth until it had been there for a few seconds, the sensation tantalizing enough that he was finally starting to swell. At least she was having fun, or so it sounded like anyway, given the fervor with which she was performing the act.

Veronica stood up and unbuttoned her jeans, pulled them down along with her panties and kicked them off, then unfastened her bra and tossed it into the pile. Once naked, she resumed fellatio with no small amount of enthusiasm. Vance had to admit - it felt good, but if his pockets were not down around his knees at that moment, he might have pulled out his phone and browsed the internet while the cheetah was getting her fill.

And getting her fill she was. Her petite muzzle was wrapped tightly around his cock, but she had no other choice. Vance's endowment filled her mouth such that she could not fit more than about half of it in, but she was making every effort she could. She caressed the pulsating length of his erection with her rough tongue, and moaned with every bob of her head, sending titillating vibrations down it. Vance sighed, nonplussed. He'd had better blowjobs in his day, but maybe it was only because he wanted those. A couple of years ago, he'd have Veronica's hair in his hands and he'd be bucking his hips, fucking her tight mouth until he filled it with his load. Now, he was just hoping he could spill it before she demanded that he have sex with her.

No such luck. In the bedroom, Vance stripped the rest of his clothing off, and Veronica climbed onto the bed on all fours, displaying her shapely, round ass to him with her tail raised high in the air. He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself at the entrance of her wet sex, and he wondered just how long it would take to get it over with. Too quick, and word would likely get out around the shop that he couldn't last in bed, but the longer he went, the longer he would have to put up with Veronica. Vance began to push, and Veronica let fly with an amorous gasp as his tip penetrated her, but he stopped short.

"Do you have any condoms?"

"No, don't worry about it, I'm safe."

"Yeah, it's nothing personal," He pulled out, "I'd just prefer not to take any kind of risk, you know?" Vance grabbed his jeans, his erection already starting to droop. Veronica was visibly displeased, but she sat up on the bed and brushed her hair back.

"All right. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He said quietly, pulling his underwear and jeans back on before going for his shirt, "But maybe it's for the best if we just...keep it at co-workers. Friends, if you want."

"Well," She reached into the drawer of her nightstand, "I hope you don't mind seeing yourself out, then. I'll be a little busy for the next few minutes."

"Not at all."

He exited the condo to the tune of a vibrator buzzing, and shut the door behind him. For a moment, he stopped outside in the muggy night air, rubbing his face with a final sigh before he started for his car, wishing he'd just stayed home.

***

Vance managed to hold it in for about as long as it took him to get home. There was no crying in the Supra. He unlocked his door with a shaking hand and pushed his way inside, lip quivering with the onset of tears. Silently, he wept alone in his house, seated on the edge of the couch, his face in his hands, tears dripping off the end of his nose.

How could he be a good father to Kaitlin when he worked full time and had a side gig as a musician? How could he raise a child as a single parent? Hoyt and Darla could only take care of her for so long. Eventually, he was going to have to come to terms with the fact that change was in order.

Vance wiped his tears away and walked down the hall to the spare bedroom, opened the door and looked at the boxes that he and Blaine had never even bothered to unpack when they'd first moved into the house. It was an ad interim storage unit, but he decided that soon it would be a pink-walled, fairytale bedroom for his little princess, complete with a four-poster bed and matching dresser. He was going to be the father Kaitlin needed. The daddy she deserved. He just didn't know if he could do it alone.

On top of one of the boxes sat a framed photo, a picture of he and Blaine on one of their earlier dates out in Santa Monica. He picked it up, gazed at it forlornly, then gently packed it away inside one of the cardboard sarcophagi, never to be seen again until it was time to throw it all away.

He was done lying to himself.