<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">She had moved behind the tree when she heard a car pull up on the street. It had felt too open to sit and face the street, so Gen had crawled around to the far side of the tree, then drew her knees up to bury her face between her knees and wait for Oliver to come. Beside her, his big body pressed firmly against hers as if needing to touch her to make sure she was safe, Dunkin tensed and a low growl rumbled in the dog’s chest. It was so foreign and odd to hear the normally goofy, lovable dog make such a sound and Genevieve sat up to look over the animal in alarm. His face and ears were turned toward the street, making her worry they’d been found. Before she could peek around the tree to see if their attackers had discovered them, her phone buzzed in her hand. It was at her ear instantly, Oliver’s demanding voice both in her ear and not far behind her.<br/>
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Genevieve opened her mouth to answer him, but Dunkin suddenly surged forward with a loud growl and snap of his jaw. The dog was fully prepared to defend once more, though Genevieve scrambled up and after him, scared he might go after Oliver. Both dog and his mistress streaked around the tree, with Dunkin heading the way with horrible snarls emitting from him, every instinct in his body demanding he protect.<br/>
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“Dunkin, no!” Genevieve called out, but the dog was already changing its demeanor when he realized it was Oliver. He’d known him longer than Gen after all; it was hard to get past that and the memory of his master’s best friend was stronger than the training to protect. The flattened ears perked, the menacing teeth hid away, and the tail wagged. His hair still stood on end, needing to be flattened by a gentle hand, but the dog greeted Oliver as he always did, with excited yips and a quivering body.<br/>
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Genevieve didn’t stop however. She was already at a jog to try to catch up with her dog, and she simply continued on. She dodged around the dog, her dark eyes filled with worry and fear though dried from the sobs Oliver had had to deal with over the phone. She was done crying about it; she was steadily heading toward wanting to do something about being attacked. It didn’t mean she was strong enough to not need some consoling however, and she slammed against her dead boyfriend’s best friend, arms wrapping around his neck tightly as the length of her body pushed against his own. “Oliver,” she breathed his name in a whisper, the singular word filled with relief. She was bruised from the attack in her home, her curls unruly and falling out of her ponytail, her body sweaty and trembling from running for her life, her mind reeling with the reality of her situation, but none of it mattered. Help had arrived.<br/>
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For a brief few moments, she took solace in being near Oliver, in feeling safe. She’d never felt as violated and exposed as she had during the last hour of her life, and it left her shaky and uncertain about the world. When she pulled back enough to look up at Oliver without stepping away, her face was pale and distressed. Then her lips parted and her words tumbled out, one on top of the other in rushed, broken sentences, “These two men…they were in my house when we got home from our run…and I’ve seen them before…but they attacked me and asked for a flashdrive. And then…” Pausing, Genevieve leaned away from him to look down at Dunkin, who had decided Oliver’s shoes were the greatest objects in the world to sniff. When her eyes sought his out once more, the dark brown hues were owlish. “Dunkin…he attacked them, Oliver. He bit both of them and I think he would have killed one of them if I hadn’t called him off.” Her hands slid down from around Oliver’s neck and beneath his arms so they could grip his back and allow her closer to the warmth of his chest. Her forehead closed the distance between it and his shoulder and she pressed in with a shaky shudder of breath, “It was…I’ve never been so scared.”</span>