“There might be another option.” Dr. Sullivan straightened up from Hercules, his gaze moving between Sonny and Reese. “Ryan lives with you.”
Reese made a sound that might have been agreement. Sonny had no idea who Ryan was, but his bunny perked up at the possibility being implied in Dr. Sullivan’s tone.
“If the dogs went home with you,” the vet continued, “and Ryan was there to monitor them, I could provide the medications and instructions for their care. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than leaving them here overnight if it’s going to cause this much distress.”
Hope flaring, Sonny turned to look at Reese, his mate’s ice-blue eyes already fixed on him. Something in the set of his shoulders suggested he was considering it.
“Ryan would do it.” Reese pulled out his phone and typed something with thumbs that seemed too large for the small screen. “He’s good with animals. Knows how to handle medical care.”
“I can write everything down.” The vet was already moving toward the cabinets, pulling out supplies. “Medication schedules, wound-care instructions, warning signs to watch for. You'll need to bring them back tomorrow for follow-up, but one night at home shouldn’t cause problems if they’re properly monitored.”
Sonny was unable to form words of gratitude. This stranger, this vet who had no reason to accommodate Sonny’s issues, was rearranging his treatment plan because Sonny couldn’t handle being separated from two traumatized dogs.
The kindness of it made a stinging lump form in his throat.
“Thank you,” Sonny murmured, voice rough. “I know this is asking a lot. I know I’m being difficult. But they’ve been through so much, and I just can’t—”
“You don’t have to explain.” Dr. Sullivan’s smile was warm, understanding in a way that suggested he’d seen this before. “I get it. These dogs are lucky to have someone who cares this much about their wellbeing.”
Reese’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and nodded once. “Ryan says he’ll handle it. He’s setting up a space for them now.”
The relief that flooded through Sonny made his knees weak. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand found Reese’s arm, the muscle solid and warm under his palm. His mate shifted slightly, moving closer, his presence a stability that Sonny leaned against.
Dr. Sullivan spent the next thirty minutes going over care instructions. He demonstrated how to administer the medications, how to check Delilah’s wound for signs of worsening infection, how to monitor Hercules for respiratory distress that might indicate his ribs had punctured something internal. Sonny absorbed every word, his brain filing away information with the same focus he’d used when learning to patch up fighting dogs in the first place.
The vet loaded them up with supplies. Antibiotics in pill and liquid form. Bandages and antiseptic. Pain medication that would help both dogs rest. A special food that was easier to digest for malnourished animals. The pile of items grew until Sonny wasn’t sure how they’d carry it all.
Reese handled that problem by scooping up most of the supplies in one trip. His mate moved with the same controlled efficiency he did everything else, loading the truck bed while Sonny helped Delilah and Hercules into the back seat.
The drive started in silence. Sonny turned around to check on the dogs every thirty seconds, his body refusing to relax, even though both animals had settled onto the seat. Delilah’s eyes were half closed, the pain medication Dr. Sullivan had administered already taking effect. Hercules had his head resting on her shoulder, his breathing even despite the damaged ribs.
Reese’s hands were steady on the wheel. The truck’s interior now smelled like leather and something cold and clean that reminded Sonny of winter mornings. His mate drove with a controlled power that suggested he could handle whatever came at them. The thought should’ve been comforting, but Sonny was still too wound up to fully accept safety.
“How far is your place?” Sonny’s voice was small in the quiet cab.
“Ten minutes.” Reese’s ice-blue eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, checking on the dogs. “Ryan’s getting everything set up. He’s good with animals. You don’t need to worry.”
Even though Reese wasn’t looking at him, Sonny nodded. His fingers twisted in the fabric of his jacket, finding the frayed edges and worrying at them. The adrenaline that had kept him moving for three days was starting to fade, leaving exhaustion in its wake. His body felt like it weighed a ton.
The truck drove through Crimson Hollow, the view changing as they passed through town. Streetlights created pools of amber glow on the pavement, a few people walking down the streets. Sonny watched them with something that felt uncomfortably close to envy. When was the last time his life had been normal? When was the last time he’d walked anywhere without looking over his shoulder?
“You’ve been running for days.” Reese’s voice cut through Sonny’s spiraling thoughts. “When did you last eat?”
The question took him by surprise. Sonny had to actually think about it, counting backward through the blur of gas stations and rest stops. “Yesterday morning. Maybe. I had some crackers from a vending machine.”
Reese’s jaw tightened, visible even in profile. “Ryan will have food ready.”
“I’m not hungry.” Sonny’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl loud enough that both of them could hear it. His face heated. “Okay, fine, I’m starving. But the dogs need to get settled first. They’re the priority.”
“You can’t take care of them if you collapse from exhaustion and malnutrition.” Reese turned onto a tree-lined street, the houses getting larger as they drove. “The dogs will be fine for the twenty minutes it takes you to eat something.”
Sonny wanted to argue, but his body was already betraying him. His hands were shaking, had been for the last hour, but he’d been too focused on the dogs to really notice how badly. His vision kept blurring at the edges. The exhaustion sat on him like a physical weight, pressing him down into the truck’s expensive leather seat.
A house appeared on their right, larger than the others on the long stretch of road. Two stories, a wraparound porch, and enough windows that someone clearly paid a fortune in heating bills. Lights blazed from multiple rooms. His mate pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.
“We’re here.” Reese was already opening his door. “Grab what you can carry from the supplies. I’ll get the dogs.”
Sonny climbed out of the truck on legs that felt wobbly. The cool evening air hit his face, clearing some of the fog from his brain. He moved to the truck bed and started gathering supplies, loading his arms with medication bottles and bandages. The pile was awkward, threatening to spill, but he managed to balance it.
