Page 16 of A False Start
“He’s going to be okay.” My voice breaks as I swallow my emotions—something I’ve become adept at over the last couple of years. I gave up being the broken, angry little girl in favor of setting a nice, normal life up for myself. “But we’re going to operate. Mira says that hind leg is too damaged to keep.”
“Amputation?” The brim of his hat shadows his heavy brow and strong nose, making it hard to see his expression.
“Yeah.” I twiddle my hands in front of myself, like a nervous little schoolgirl, not sure what else to say. He’s so intense right now that he almost makes me nervous. Smoldering, I can handle. Silent treatment, got that too. But this guilt-ridden body language has me off-kilter. He looks like he could use a friend right now.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly as I come to crouch before him.
“Mhm.” He nods, dropping his head again as his calloused fingers knit together between his knees.
“Okay. Um… do you want me to call you when he’s done?”
He shakes his head without looking back up at me. “I’ll wait.”
I blink again, but this time it’s not to chase away the tears. It’s because I almost can’t believe my own ears. For some reason, I didn’t expect that reaction.
Without thinking, my palm falls over his hands. Like I just know he could use a gentle touch. God knows he’s not being gentle with himself right now. “Hey, we got this. He looks like he’s been on his own for a while. This isn’t on you. Accidents happen.”
He just grunts in response.
But he doesn’t shrug my touch away.
* * *
I walk upto the clinic with a smile on my face. The sun is out. The birds are chirping. Life is good. I’m tired from checking up on the dog throughout the night, but I have my coffee mug in hand. I bounce up the low-slung stairs to the wraparound porch that meets the front entryway.
Something moves, and I jump. Spilled coffee burns against my hand.
“Ah!” One hand thumps against my chest when Griffin unfolds his long limbs from one of the wicker chairs on the front porch. “You couldn’t have said hi before springing up on me like that?”
His lips flatten out and his eyes roll beneath the shadow of his brim.
“I saw that.” Moving past him and his wordless ways, I slide a key into the front door and almost miss the quiet, “Hi,” from behind me.
The alarm beeps as I enter the code and flick the lights on.
“How’s the dog?” Griffin’s boots thump on the floor as he follows behind me.
“Good. I’ve been checking on him all night. He seems groggy, but fine. Wanna see him?”
His hands shoved in his pockets, stance wide, he nods at me as I drop my stuff at the front desk.
“Come on back then.” I wave him along as he tails me. “Good morning, little pupper,” I coo toward the metal crate at the back of the exam space. He sits up unsteadily, little head quirking as we approach. And the closer we get, the more excited he becomes. He’s up and wagging, pressing a small black nose through the holes in the crate’s door.
“He’s bald,” Griffin’s rusty voice cuts through the room.
“Yeah. We had to shave him down. He was one big knot and crawling with fleas. Definitely has had no one taking care of him for a while.”
“He’s standing.” Griffin walks closer, staring at the little dog with concern etched on his face.
“Nothing gets by you, does it?” He glares at me, and I try not to laugh. “So, dogs don’t really feel sorry for themselves. Not how we do. They just make the best of their situation and carry on. Luckily, they rebound pretty quickly after losing a hind leg.”
Griffin grunts and steps next to me, my body humming with awareness as he draws close. He holds one hand up to the door of the crate, letting the excited dog lick at his skin.Don’t blame you, boy. Don’t blame you at all.
I smile at the sight. “He knows you saved him.”
“I didn’t save him. I hit him.”
I lift a shoulder. “You could look at it that way. Or you could look at it like he threw himself in your path because he needed help. And you helped him.”
