**BOOK THREE**
Still grieving the loss of his mate, twenty-four-year-old Tatum Knowles isolated himself from the rest of his pack. With the strength of both his pack and himself being questioned by those around them, the last thing Tatum planned to...
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I unlocked the front door, and immediately, Nixon walked over to me with a goofy grin taking over his face. His arms wrapped around my neck before he pulled me toward him and kissed me.
"Hello to you, too," I smiled. "Did you miss me that much?"
Nixon rolled his eyes, but his smile said it all. "No, Goob and Stitch have been keeping me company."
As if on cue, the black pit bull came racing into the living room and forcing his way between Nixon and me. His whole body shook with excitement as he darted between my legs and filled the house with the sound of his barking.
"Hello to you too, Goob," I said as I kneeled down to pet him. However, one pet wasn't enough. Goob immediately forced his way into my arms and began to cover me in dog kisses. I shook my head and glanced back up at Nixon. "Remember when this house used to be relatively quiet?"
From around the corner, a cat emerged and brushed against Nixon's leg. He immediately bent down to pick it up and said, "Quiet is overrated. What would you do without Goob and Stitch?"
I snorted, but he was right. It'd been a month since Nixon and Eli joined the pack. The two fit in well. There were a few issues, but with a bit of communication and compromising, we managed to make it work.
Not long after their arrival, Nixon and I had been out on a run when a black pit bull came racing through the pack lands, followed by warriors who were trying to catch it. After many failed attempts, the warriors, Nixon, and I finally managed to catch it. The dog had no collar, but the friendly behavior hinted that someone at some point must have owned it. So a few days later, Nixon and I loaded it up into the car and drove toward the human territory to ask around. Within a few hours, we managed to track down the owner, who told us they didn't want the dog anymore and to take it to the pound.
Seeing the way people looked at him with fear or distrust when we were walking by was enough to tell Nixon and me that if we took him to the pound, then it would likely be his grave, so we did what we thought would be best: we went to the nearest pet store; bought a large back of food, toys, a dog bed, and more; then we loaded the pit bull back up in the car and took him home with us. Goob—short for Yagoobian, the antagonist in Meet the Robinsons—immediately found a place in our family. He was almost always by one of our sides, and, with a little convincing, Nixon managed to get me to agree to get a cat who he named Stitch.
Pets weren't something I ever planned to have, but Nixon was right; I wouldn't trade either of the furballs away for anything.
"You're right," I agreed. "We're stuck with them."
"More like they're stuck with us," Nixon retorted as Stitched mewled.
"So, are you ready for tomorrow?" I switched the subject and petted Goob one last time before standing up.
Nixon smiled, but he didn't look up at me. "Ready as I'll ever be."
