Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Viviana blew out a harsh exhale. “Demyan just got home from school five minutes ago. What are we supposed to tell him?”
“Papa made the choice that was best for Rocco,” Anton replied. “It had to be done and I’m sorry.”
“Well, that’s fucking fantastic of you to think you’re going to leave only me with the job of explaining to him why you’re killing his dog,” Viviana muttered.
“Vine—”
“I’m not telling him you’re killing his dog, Anton. Don’t make me the bad guy here. You can tell him yourself.”
Anton frowned, knowing his wife was right. Demyan was peculiar like that and chances were, he’d think his mother had given the okay for Rocco’s demise if she were the one who told him. After all, in Demyan’s world, Anton did no wrong. His papa was king of the universe. Anton wouldn’t put up with wrongly focused anger being thrown at his wife from their son. She sure as shit didn’t deserve it and she loved Demyan so fiercely, the boy’s anger would feel like it was killing her.
Anton’s fingers itched like nothing else to hold a cigarette just to soothe his nerves. Christ, it’d been years since he smoked a cigarette. Long before his son was born, anyway. Times like this, when his stress level was through the roof and being an adult just fucking sucked balls, Anton was reminded of why he used to smoke.
“I’ll talk to him once we’re done our conversation,” Anton said, not looking forward to fulfilling his promise. God knew he didn’t like it when Demyan was pissed off at him, either.
“What were you going to tell him about whatever you’re doing with Rocco after?”
Anton cringed. “I’m not sure.”
“He’s going to want to know, and you never lie to him, Anton. Don’t they have cremation?”
“No, the vet will hold the body until the service comes and picks it up to take it for cremation. It’s so much a day for every day they keep him on ice, but I don’t give a fuck, really. They’ll bill me the tab once he’s out of their storage and on his way.”
“Storage,” Viviana echoed, sounding perturbed. “That’s ... awful. It’s horrible to think he’s going to be reduced to something that just takes up space.”
Anton felt the same goddamn way. “Yeah, I know.”
The heavy weight resting on his shoulders increased. It had been steadily growing all day because regardless of whether he wanted to admit it or not, he knew Rocco wasn’t coming home with him when he left the house earlier.
“What about after he’s cremated?” Viviana asked. “I mean, do we have to go pick up his ashes?”
“We can pick them up or have them mailed. If we do cremation, we can have the ashes put in a small pine box, an urn, or just have them in a bag if we want to spread them somewhere. I think you can have the company do a plaque with his name engraved on it, too. Is that what you want? Maybe Demyan would feel like he had Rocco closer or ... something,” Anton finished lamely. “I don’t fucking know. He’s going to hate me either way.”
“What other options are there?” Viviana asked.
Anton cleared his throat, willing the thickness and rising emotions down. “Nothing particularly good. I can pay to have them dispose of him, or I have to take him with me when I go. Problem is, I don’t know what to do with him. Bylaws won’t let me bury him. Other than cremation, that’s it, baby.”
“Cremation, then?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s going to have to be it. Put Demyan on the phone and let me get this over with.”
“Be as nice as you can be about it,” Viviana said warningly. “He might be ten, but he’s still just a boy.”
“I will, Vine.”
Viviana yelled for their son. Not thirty seconds later, Demyan was on the phone. Unsurprisingly, he knew his pup was gone and that his father had something to do with it. “Where’s Rocco, Papa?”
“With me,” Anton said, the gruffness back in his voice. “He had another spell and fell down the stairs. Ma called me to come get him so he could get checked out at the vet.”
“Is he okay?”
Sometimes honesty hurt. Growing up fucking sucked. Nothing in the game of life was fair. It didn’t matter if you were a ten-year-old boy, or a nearly forty-year-old man, nothing was guaranteed. Not health, not love, and certainly not time. No amount of love and care would keep something with you if it was time for it to go. Anton hated his boy had to learn these kinds of lessons now—he was far too young.
But, when was the right time?
Never.
“No, he’s not. He’s sick, and medicine isn’t going to help him anymore. The best thing we can do for him is put him to sleep.” Before his son could lash out, Anton quickly added, “I’m sorry, Demyan, but he’s old. Three years older than you. By a dog’s standard, he’s lived a long time.”