Page 49 of Bodybuilders for the BBW

“For how long?” I opened up a new client file and started taking notes.

“Just today.”

My fingers relaxed. He’d done the right thing, calling the vets. A change in appetite was worth checking out, but unlikely to be an emergency without other factors in play.

“Has he eaten or drunk anything he shouldn’t have?” I asked. “Sometimes dogs get in rubbish or eat a dead rat and that can put them off their food.”

“No, he hasn’t drunk anything either.”

That had my fingers moving, writing down what we’d just talked about. Dogs could survive for a day or two without food, but water was a whole other thing.

“Do you know when he last drank something?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. We picked him up from the shelter yesterday?—”

“Rhett?”

I recognised the voice with a jolt.

“Katie? Shit… I wasn’t supposed to call you. Look, I’ll try another vets.”

“Is Bronson’s nose dry?” I asked, not waiting for an answer. “Is he listless or non responsive? Is he panting heavily?”

“None of those things,” he told me. “He’s just lying under the bed, not doing much.”

“He may be drinking when you’re out of the room.” I eyed the clock. “Give me an hour or two,” I told him. “I’ll come by and see how he’s doing, and if he isn’t OK, I know which vets are open for emergencies.”

“Alright.” He let out a long sigh. “Thanks. I’ll see you when you get here.”

Chapter26

Rhett

“How is he?” Garrett asked the minute he walked in the door.

This was his dog. He was the one who was supposed to take a few days off work to help the poor bastard adjust, but the flu season had nurses calling in sick left and right, and, as one of the few guys left standing, he got rostered on. Instead, I stayed home to keep an eye on the little guy.

“Hasn’t eaten,” I said, biting off each word. “Hasn’t drunk anything.”

“No water?” He stared at me like somehow I was responsible for that fact, which had my jaw clenching tight. I shook my head sharply. “Shit.” He dropped down onto his knees and peered under the bed. “How we doing, fella?” But when he reached under the bed, the dog did the same thing he did for me, shuffling back. “Is his nose dry? Has he been panting a lot?”

Too loud, that’s what I wanted to tell him. When he and Rhys went to work and left me at home, the place felt too big, too empty. The sound of the dog’s pants were a rhythmic soundtrack to the memories my mind seemed intent on replaying over and over all day. Walking in and seeing Katie sitting there and thinking for just a second that she was here for me. That she had come around because she decided she was ready to give things a go.

Trouble is, I wasn’t the only one.

“Some,” I admitted. “I called the vet.”

“Can they fit him in?” Garrett looked at his phone. “Maybe I should call the shelter and see what they think?”

“Call the shelter?” Rhys walked in with his gym bag over his shoulder. “What happened? Bronson?”

Suddenly, all three of us were on the damn floor, all talking at once to the dog. Big amber eyes viewed each one of us with something akin to anxiety, and I hated that. It was too damn similar to the look on Katie’s face. I’d had a long time to fantasise how things were going to go when she finally left Dave in the dirt, but it wasn’t like this.

“I’ve been reading up on dog training,” Rhys said. “The articles said that using high-pitched, kinda cutesy voices with a dog can help build a bond and make him more attentive.”

“What, like this?” Garrett asked, before turning back to Bronson. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy? Yes, you are. Yes, you are!”

Rhys stared at me and couldn’t help but let out a snort.

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