The pit bull was awake but drowsy. Dr. Sullivan had finished suturing her wounds, and she wore a cone around her head to keep her from licking the stitches. Ryan disconnected the IV pole, and Grayson lifted the dog carefully from the table. She was heavier than she looked, but he didn’t seem to struggle.
“This way,” Ryan said and led him to the recovery area at the back of the clinic.
The kennels were clean and spacious, each one lined with soft bedding. Ryan opened the door to the largest one, and Grayson laid the dog down gently. She curled up immediately, tucking her nose under her tail.
“She'll sleep for a while,” Ryan said. “We'll monitor her overnight.”
Grayson backed out of the kennel, and Ryan latched the door. They stood there for a moment, looking at the dog through the wire door. Her ribs expanded and contracted with each breath. Alive. Safe.
“Thank you for what you did,” Ryan said. “Rescuing them.”
“Someone had to.”
“Still… It matters.”
Grayson turned to look at him. Up close, Ryan could see the exhaustion in his face. The lines around his eyes. Whatever he’d done to get these dogs out, it had cost him something.
“Do you need help with the other two?” Grayson asked.
Ryan should say no. Should tell him to go home and rest. But instead he heard himself say, “If you don't mind. There's still a lot to do.”
“I don't mind.”
They returned to room four together. The mastiff was still sleeping peacefully, so Ryan moved to the next room where the third dog waited. This one—a scarred male with one milky eye—watched them enter with visible wariness. Dr. Sullivan had already treated the worst of his injuries, but he needed a full exam and monitoring.
“Hey, buddy,” Ryan said softly. He approached slowly, letting the dog see his hands. “You’re safe now. I know you don't believe me yet, but you are.”
The dog's good eye tracked him. Grayson stayed near the door, giving the animal space.
“Can you hand me that stethoscope?” Ryan asked, pointing to the counter.
Grayson moved quietly and placed it in Ryan’s outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed again. Ryan’s pulse jumped.
He pressed the stethoscope to the dog's side and listened. Heartbeat steady. Lungs clear. All good signs. The dog tolerated the examination without protest, though every muscle in his body stayed taut and ready.
“You’re going to be okay,” Ryan told him. “All of you are.”
He spent the next twenty minutes completing the exam, documenting everything in the chart, making sure the dog had food and water available. Grayson helped when asked and otherwise stayed out of the way, but his presence made everything feel different. Made Ryan more aware of his own movements, the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when it slipped from the scrunchie, the softness in his voice when he spoke to the frightened animals.
By the time all three dogs were settled in recovery kennels, Ryan’s feet ached and his scrubs had collected a variety of stains. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them in the waste bin then washed his hands at the sink. The water ran hot and soapy over his fingers.
“You should take a break,” Dr. Sullivan said, appearing in the doorway. “You've been going nonstop for two hours.”
Ryan dried his hands on a paper towel. “Yeah, okay. Just fifteen minutes.”
“Take thirty. You've earned it.”
The break room was small and cluttered, with a coffee maker that perpetually dripped, a microwave that only worked if you held the door shut, and a table covered in veterinary supply catalogs. Ryan grabbed his water bottle from the fridge and collapsed into one of the plastic chairs. His legs thanked him immediately.
The door opened behind him. He turned, expecting Dr. Sullivan or maybe Janet from the front desk, but it was Grayson. He paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Ryan’s heart skipped a few beats. “Sure. Yeah.”
Grayson walked to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup from the pot that had probably been sitting there since they’d opened that morning. He didn’t add cream or sugar, just lifted it to his lips and drank it black. Ryan watched him over the rim of his water bottle.
“Long morning,” Grayson said, pulling out the chair across from Ryan.
