LEVI
Rex has decided that his bow tie is a personal insult.
“Hold still,” Dean grunts, one arm wrapped around his German Shepherd’s chest while the other tries to clip the offending accessory to his collar. “It’s just for a few hours.”
Rex disagrees, loudly, with teeth.
I’m standing in the doorway of an upstairs room at Hensley House, watching my brother wrestle his dog in what is supposed to be a dignified pre-wedding moment. Dean is in his dress pants and undershirt, his actual shirt hanging on a hook to avoid dog hair contamination. It’s not working. There’s already fur on his pants, his arms, and somehow in his hair.
“Need help?” I ask.
“I need a sedative. For me or the dog, I’m not picky.”
Asher appears behind me, looking polished and calm in his groomsman suit. “He was fine at the rehearsal.”
“He wasn’t wearing the bow tie at the rehearsal!” Dean’s voice has reached a pitch I’ve never heard from him before. It’s almost funny. Almost.
The bow tie goes flying. Rex looks triumphant.
“Maybe he doesn’t need the bow tie?” Asher suggests.
Dean fixes him with a glare that could curdle milk. “Jo picked out the bow tie. Jo wants the bow tie. Rex is wearing the bow tie.”
“Fair enough.” Asher pulls something from his pocket. “Mads gave me these. The good treats. From that fancy pet bakery in Beaufort.”
Rex’s ears perk up, nose twitching.
“You’re kidding me,” Dean says flatly.
“Worth a shot.”
Asher kneels down, treat extended. Rex abandons his defensive position and trots over, tail wagging, dignity apparently for sale at the right price. While the dog is distracted by organic peanut butter biscuits, Dean swoops in withthe bow tie.
Click.
Rex freezes, looks down at his collar, then looks up at Dean with an expression of profound betrayal.
“It’s done,” Dean says, stepping back. “Nobody make any sudden movements.”
Rex sits down heavily, the picture of canine suffering. The bow tie is slightly crooked, but it’s on, and that’s all that matters.
“I’ll take him downstairs,” Asher says, grabbing the leash. “Give you two a minute.”
He leads Rex out, and suddenly it’s just me and Dean, standing in a room full of afternoon sunlight and the distant sound of guests arriving below.
Dean runs a hand through his hair, dislodging a tuft of dog fur. “I’m getting married in twenty minutes and I just wrestled a German Shepherd.”
“Dad would’ve loved this.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. But Dean doesn’t flinch. He just nods, something soft crossing his face.
“Yeah. He would’ve.”
We stand there for a moment, brothers in a sunlit room, thinking about the man who raised us both.
“Thanks,” Dean says finally. “For going after her. Delilah.”
“You’d have done the same.”
