Page 27 of Backed By You
Dr. Mason nods. “Briefly. He’s still coming out of anesthesia.”
I hang back to give them privacy as the vet leads Callie through the double doors. When they return fifteen minutes later,Callie’s eyes are red, but her expression is more at ease. “He recognized me,” she tells me as she sits beside me in the waiting area. “He wagged his tail a little when he saw me.”
I extend my arm behind her chair and she leans into me, taking the gesture as an open invitation. It wasn’t, but I’ll take it. “He’s a fighter. You have nothing to worry about.”
Dr. Mason returns to review the aftercare instructions with us. Strict rest for eight weeks, physical therapy, pain management. “He can go home tomorrow afternoon if all goes well tonight.”
Callie’s hand finds my thigh, and I fight my body not to react when her nails bite through my jeans. Her rapt gaze is on the good doctor.
“We’ll keep him comfortable tonight and give you a call around noon tomorrow with a pickup time,” she continues. “You should both go home and get some rest.”
Callie is dead silent as the vet gives her a kind smile and retreats to the back room once again. I stand and offer her my hand. She stares at it for an unblinking moment before gently placing her hand in mine. I help her into my truck, her steps awkward in the new boot she’s sporting. I close the passenger door and head to the driver’s side.
The ride to the cabin is silent, aside from Callie’s quiet sniffles. I should say something, reassure her that he’s okay and he’ll be home tomorrow, but I don’t.
When I finally pull in the driveway and park, killing the engine, it’s after one in the morning. I try like hell to find the right words to say and come up with, “Is there…anything I can do?”
Not bad. Could’ve been worse.
She breaks off into another fit of sobs, and my heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest.
All right. Maybe I could’ve done better there.
“Hulk isn’t just a PTSD service dog,” she confesses, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “He’s a fully trained police attack dog that my father pushed through certification for me a few years ago to keep as a…a guard dog, more or less.”
“A guard dog,” I repeat, brow furrowed.
What the hell would she need a guard dog for?
“Hulk,” she starts again, her voice shaking. “He watches my back so I’m not overwhelmed by this—this paranoid anxiety I have that somehow, no matter where I am, someone wants to hurt me. When I started taking Hulk everywhere with me, that feeling didn’t stop right away, but it slowed. Little things that would send me into a spiral before didn’t have the same effect. I felt lighter. He’s been my backup for the last five years.”
I stay silent as she speaks, taking in everything she’s willing to give me.
“He’s all I have. He’s been through everything with me,” she sniffles. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t even have a phone to call and check on him.”
“What do you mean?”
“My phone,” she gestures vaguely up the road toward the trail, “it was in my backpack. It must have fallen off my back during the fall. I didn’t even think about it when I gave the vet my information. And now they’ll call, and I won’t answer because I can’t.”
“We’ll go in the morning,” I say. “Get you a new phone and swing by the hospital to check on him. I’ll give the state park service a shout in the morning to let them know that trail needs to be closed. They may be able to recover your bag as well.”
Callie’s head falls back against the headrest with a sniffle. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she says, rolling her head to face me. “I haven’t even thanked you.”
“Don’t apologize,” I grunt, looking away from her sad eyes. Even in her current state, she’s damn near captivating. Herpresence alone is drawing me in, wanting to prolong this moment of simply sitting in my truck and talking.
“Where did you stay last night?”
Her question catches me off guard. My face heats ever so slightly.I can tell you where I shouldn’t have slept. “Here,” I admit. “The other rental is open tonight, though. So I’ll be there.” I tip my chin toward the larger of the two cabins just ahead.
“That’s good,” she says, nodding to herself as her gaze drifts to the cabin.
For a moment, we sit in silence, darkness wrapped around us. “Well,” I finally say, clearing my throat. “Let’s get you inside. I assume your keys were in your pack, too?”
She sighs. “Yeah.”
I come around to her side and help her out, offering my arm for support as she hobbles toward her cabin. The walking boot makes a dull thud against the wooden steps as we climb them to the front door.
I unlock the door and step aside as it opens with a creak. “Do you need anything before I go?” I don’t know why I ask, or keep hovering, but I do. I couldn’t force my legs to move away if I tried.
