by Jennie Marts
“Her gums are pale, her pulse is weak, and her abdomen feels full, so my initial concern would be that she’s got some internal bleeding. I can do an X-ray, but the quickest way to check is to stick a needle in her.” He reached behind him and pulled a syringe from the drawer. Sticking the needle into the dog’s stomach, he pulled the plunger out and the vial filled with blood. “Damn. There shouldn’t be blood. That means we have to do surgery. But if we can identify and stop the source of the bleeding, she should be okay.”
“Do it,” Zane said.
He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and turned to see a small woman wearing pink scrubs with kittens on them enter the room. He caught the wince on her face and realized for the first time he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She must have seen the scars. Oh well, who gives a shit? All he could focus on was the dog.
Brody nodded to the woman. “This is Val. She’s the vet tech on duty. I called her and asked her to come in, just in case.”
Val had composed her features and offered Zane a sympathetic smile. “Doc told me your dog was hit by a car. I’m so sorry.”
“Val and I need about ten minutes to prep for surgery, then we’ll take her in. You all can stay with her while we get things ready.” Brody motioned the tech out of the room. “We’ve got some extra scrubs around here. I’ll have Val bring you both something dry to wear.”
Zane waved his concern away. “Just worry about the dog.” He turned and caught sight of Bryn shivering as she stood silently in the corner of the examining room. Her wet hair dripped onto her shoulders, and her arms were crossed over her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together. Shit. He hadn’t been thinking about how this was affecting Bryn. He wanted to hold out his arms, feel her against him as she stepped into them.
But he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to be held, to be comforted. This was all his fault.
“She’s gon-n-na be ok-kay,” Bryn said, her teeth chattering as she hugged herself tighter.
Val appeared with a set of scrubs for each of them. She set them on the counter and quietly backed out of the room. “We’re almost ready.”
Zane picked up the smaller set of scrubs and handed them to Bryn. He took the blue shirt of the other set and pulled it over his head. She did the same. Neither bothered messing with the pants.
He looked down at the dog, guilt settling like a rock in his gut. He should never have promised he would keep her safe. People—and apparently dogs—who loved him always ended up getting hurt. He was always the bad factor in the equation. And now this dog was going to suffer. He shouldn’t have fed the damn thing. He’d let her get too close. “I can’t do this…can’t stay here and wait for her to die. I’ve got to get out of here.”
He took a step toward the door, but Bryn pressed her hands to his chest and glared up at him. “No way, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to walk away. She is a good dog, a faithful companion. She loves you. Every time you’ve pushed her away, she’s stayed and loved you harder.”
“That’s not my fault. I didn’t ask for that.” He shook his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Where the hell did I lose my hat? Didn’t matter. His gut churned, and he eyed the sink, wondering if he was going to be sick. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I never wanted that damn dog in the first place. I never asked her to love me.” He never asked anyone to love him. Because this was what happened when he let love into his life. In his world, love and pain equaled the same emotion.
Bryn grabbed his hand, held him in place. In truth, her hand holding his at that moment was about all that tethered him to the ground. If she let go, he was afraid he might drift away. “You didn’t have to ask,” she told him. “That’s the thing about love. We don’t ask for it, but sometimes we get it anyway.”
Pull it together, man. Focus on the dog. He tried to shake it off, this feeling of helplessness, but a heavy dull pain filled his whole body. The constant burn in his throat had his voice sounding gruff and hoarse. “I can’t. I don’t know what to do to help her.”
She squeezed his palm. “You can give her a name. That’s what you can do. She already knows you love her, but she needs a name.”
His breath caught in his chest. This was why he didn’t let himself love people or things—because it hurt too much to lose them. And he always lost them. His mom. Sarah. Now this frickin’ dog. And he knew Bryn was next.
Stop it. He shook his head, only allowing himself to let in the grief of one loss at a time.
He reached out a hand and rested it gently on the side of the collie’s face. The dog stirred, pushing her nose gently against his palm and letting out the softest whimper. “Don’t die on me, you damn mutt.” He swallowed at the emotion burning his throat and blinked back whatever the hell was making his vision blurry.
“Fine, I’ll give the dog a name.” He leaned down and brushed his hand tenderly along her neck. “You’re a good dog. You’re a fighter. And you’re tough. You have to be to put up with a miserable cuss like me. I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole. You didn’t deserve that. You’re a good girl. And I need you to hang on. I’m not good at this kind of stuff, but I’m not giving up hope.” He blinked again, his chest tightening at the last word he’d spoken, and he knew that was it. “Hope? How about that for a name?” He peered up at Bryn and shrugged. “Is that a good one?”
“Yes, it’s a good name.” Bryn rested a warm hand on his shoulder. “It suits her.”
He shook his head, swallowing again as he peered down at the dog. “It’s sappy as hell, so I’m gonna need you to live just for the sheer spite of making me call you by it every day.”
Brody stepped into the exam room. “We’re ready for her.” He’d changed into scrubs, and he carefully eased his arms under the dog’s body to lift her. Hope let out a small whimper and turned her head, as if searching for Zane.
Zane took a step forward to help, then shrank back against the wall. There was nothing he could do. It was up to Brody now.
“Is there anything else we can do?” Bryn asked.
“She may need some blood. There’s a good chance she’ll need a transfusion, so we may need one of your dogs. Not sure the mama you just rescued is strong enough, but if you want to run home and grab Lucky, it couldn’t hurt to have him here, just in case.”
Bryn nodded. “I’ll go get him now.”
Damn. Now Bryn’s dog would also get hurt because of him.
“You have time,” Brody told her. “The surgery will probably take an hour or two.”
“Okay. We’ll be here.” Bryn reached out a hand and gently scratched the dog’s ears. “And she does have a name. Her name is Hope.”
Brody glanced up at Zane and gave a slight nod. “We’ll take good care of her.” He carried the dog away then, the door of the exam room shutting softly behind him.
Zane balled his hands into fists. He wanted to punch something, to lash out, to tear something apart. He needed to run, to torture his body, to feel some other kind of pain than the anguish that was ripping through his heart.
And it wasn’t just about the dog. He ached for the dog, but he ached for Bryn too. Because the dog getting hurt sealed the deal. He had to walk away. He was a wreck. He could barely stand the grief of seeing the dog get hurt; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to Bryn too.
He’d made a promise to the dog that he would protect her, and he’d failed. Just like he knew he would fail at all the promises he’d been silently making to Bryn the last few days with each heartfelt gaze and passion-filled kiss.
Panic rose in him like floodwater rising over the banks of the river and rushing down the street. He had to get out of there. He pushed away from the wall, knocking into a display of pamphlets addressing a dog’s dental health as he tried to escape the room. The pamphlets scattered to the floor like confetti in a parade. He didn’t care. “I thought I could
do this, but I can’t. I gotta go.”
He charged through the lobby and pushed out the front door. Inhaling great gulps of air, he bent forward and braced his hands on his knees. The rain had stopped, but it was fully dark now, the sky an inky black that matched his mood.
He shivered as Bryn’s hand touched his back. “Zane. It’s okay. She’s gonna be okay.”
He stood. “No. She’s not. Not if she stays with me. She’s your dog now. I’m giving her to you.”
“Giving her to me? What the heck are you talking about? You’re not giving her to me.”
“Yes. I am. I have to. If I want her to be okay, she can’t stay with me. She has to go with you. And I can’t stay here.”
“You can’t leave.”
“I have to. If I stay—with her, with you—then someone else is going to get hurt.”
She jerked her head back. “You’re not making any sense. That’s just stupid.”
“You’re right. It is stupid. Because I’m stupid. I know it. You know it. Hell, my dad’s been telling me I’m a dumbass my entire life.”
She shook her head as if the conversation baffled her. “What are you talking about?”
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But it’s the truth. People who love me always end up getting hurt. That’s why I have to give the dog away. And why I have to break this off with you. It was selfish of me to let things get this far.”
“Break things off with me?” Her mouth opened, then closed. “How did this turn into breaking things off with me?”
“Because I can’t let you care about me. I’m not good for you. You need to get away from me. You need to be with someone else. Someone who can make you happy. Someone who won’t hurt you.”
She arched her eyebrows as she planted her hands on her hips. “So you’re just going to make that choice for me? Because you know what’s best for everyone else? Well, Zane Taylor, you really are a dumbass. Because I don’t just care about you.” She raised her hands and made air quotes around the word care. “I’ve fallen in love with you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Her words hit him like a splash of cold water to the chest. He couldn’t breathe.
“Did you hear me?” she asked, raising her voice as she pressed a hand to his chest. “I love you.”
He shrank back, as if the touch of her palm burned his skin. Raising his hand, he took hers and firmly pushed it away from him. “Don’t.”
Her mouth gaped as she let out an exasperated gasp. “Don’t? What the hell does that mean? Don’t what?”
“Don’t love me.”
He turned his back and walked away.
He made it about five steps before she yelled his name. Keep walking. Don’t turn around. She called his name one more time; this time she didn’t yell it. It came out as a whisper, and it nearly broke him. He turned back.
She launched herself at him. Ran toward him and threw herself into his arms. “I’m not letting you leave. Not until you tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me why you believe that the people you love end up getting hurt.”
“Because they do.”
She reached up and cupped his face, the tips of her fingers grazing the jagged skin of his scar. “Tell me.”
The scar burned, the skin tightening against her touch. “I got that scar the night she died.”
“Who died?”
“Sarah.” His throat burned, and his voice came out hoarse just trying to say her name. “It was the first time I ever stood up to my dad. He was punching me, and I didn’t care what happened to me, so I punched him back.” He let out a harsh laugh at the memory. “Man, was he pissed. He busted a beer bottle on the side of my head, and the broken glass sliced my face open. But I didn’t care. Sarah was dead, and I didn’t care. I left that night—went into the military and volunteered to go to Afghanistan. Then I got shot, and they sent me home. So I did the only thing I knew how to do. Logan’s dad, Hamilton, had taught me. I went to work on a ranch, spent my time herding cattle and breaking horses. My dad and I eventually made peace, and I came home when he had his heart attack last Thanksgiving. That’s when I started working with Logan and spending time with you. This is the longest I’ve been in Creedence in years.”
He’d been staring into the night behind her, but he stopped and looked down at her. “I stayed because I couldn’t get enough of you. So help me, I tried. But you were the first woman who made me feel anything since Sarah. I tried to ignore you, and my old foreman was beggin’ me to come back, but I couldn’t leave. Then you bought that damn horse. And I still tried to push you toward Brody. He’s the kind of man you deserve to be with.”
Bryn stared at him, her expression unyielding. “Tell me about Sarah.”
He swallowed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sarah was beautiful. She lived a few towns up the mountain from here, and we met at a party after one of my hockey games. It was our senior year, and I never went to stuff like that, but we’d won the game and I was feeling good. I somehow convinced myself I had a chance with this pretty blond, but I never really did. She was always too good for me. She was from a good family, had this nice sister. They all went to church together on Sunday mornings. Not like at our house, where the only thing Dad worshiped on Sundays was the football game and several cold beers.” He took a deep breath, fighting the memories that he tried so hard to keep at bay. “Sarah was a cheerleader and so smart. She got offered a full-ride scholarship to one of those Ivy League schools on the East Coast.”
“Did she go?” Bryn’s question was asked softly, but it was the right question. The question of the hour.
“Nope. She did not go. She should have gone. But I begged her to stay. We’d been together for close to a year and were crazy in love. Her parents hated me. They knew I was no good for their daughter. She deserved someone way better than me. I knew it too. But I was selfish. I wanted her to stay. She gave up the scholarship for me.”
“She must have really loved you.”
He shrugged. “She said she did. But I could tell it really hurt her to give up that scholarship. She always felt things too much, like she could go from insanely happy to desperately sad in the space of an hour. And the next few weeks, she seemed to spiral. We got in a fight, and I told her she should see a shrink and get some meds. And apparently she did. She told me she went to a therapist and got some medication. And it seemed to help. She was happy again, back to her old self. I don’t know what he gave her. Antidepressants or something. Whatever it was, taking half the bottle of it was enough to kill her.”
Bryn took his hand, held it tightly in hers. “I’m so sorry.”
He tried to clear the ache from his throat. “Me too. I was there the night she did it. We’d been watching a movie in her basement. Her parents were out, and I fell asleep on the couch. I found her when I woke up. I tried to save her. Stuck my finger down her throat to get her to puke ’em out. I tried mouth to mouth. Didn’t know what I was doing, but I was trying everything. I called an ambulance. But it was too late. It was all too late.”
He jerked his hand from Bryn’s and used the back of it to swipe at his cheeks. “Have I ever told you how my mom died? She died giving birth to me. Complications, they said. Or that’s all I ever heard. But according to my dad, she died because of me. That’s why he’s hated me my whole life. So don’t you see? My mom was the start of it. She loved me, gave up everything for me, and she died. Sarah loved me, and in my selfishness, I asked her to give up everything for me too. And she did. Then she died.” He jerked a thumb toward the vet clinic. “That damn dog decided she loved me, and now because of me, she might die too. That’s why you have to take her. Because if she’s yours, she at least has a chance to make it.”
“Zane,” she whispered and reached for his hand again.
But he pulled it away
and pointed at the scar on his face. “The night my dad gave me this, I knew I deserved the pain. And every day I look in the mirror, I know I deserved this scar that marks my face and reminds me every day what I did to her. And what I won’t do to you.”
He took a step away from Bryn—a single step but it was one of the hardest he’d ever had to take. “I don’t want you to love me, Bryn. Hell, I don’t even want you to like me. I want you to be happy. And that’s not going to happen with me.” He took another step back. “I also want you to leave. Go get your dog and do what you can to save that damn mutt in there. Focus on that. Focus on being happy. And forget about me.”
He turned his back to her and headed toward the road, pushing down the pain, the torment that was ripping his chest apart like the jaws of life tearing into a wrecked car. He forced one foot in front of the other.
This time she didn’t stop him. She just let him walk away.
* * *
Bryn felt like she couldn’t breathe, like all the air had been pulled from her lungs as she watched Zane walk away. She wanted to call his name again, run after him, demand that he listen to her, but she couldn’t. Because he was right about one thing. She had to go home. She had to get her dog and bring him back and do what she could to save Hope’s life.
Not for her. But for him—for Zane. To prove to him that his stupid theory wasn’t true. She would take care of Hope, but she wasn’t taking the dog. Hope was his—she belonged to him. And Bryn wasn’t going to let her die.
She ran to her car and sped out of the parking lot. The hour was late enough that the roads were fairly empty, and it took her less than ten minutes to make the drive home. Brody had said she had time, but she wanted to be ready if Hope needed her—or her dog’s—help.
She rushed up the porch steps and into the house. Grace and the puppies were curled in the dog bed in the corner of the living room, but Lucky came running to her. The dog had always been tuned in to her moods, and Lucky nuzzled his nose against her leg. She bent down and cuddled him to her, fighting to hold back the tears that burned her throat.