I look at him, really look at him. His eyes are locked on mine, his focus so absolute it’s like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s spinning apart. I find myself nodding, a jerky, involuntary motion.
He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us. The air crackles with tension. “I’m going to take your hand,” he says, his voice dropping even lower. “And I’m going to pull you in for a hug. Nod if you’re okay with that.”
My mind is screaming no. No, I don’t need his help. No, I don’t want his touch. But my body, my traitorous, trembling body, betrays me.
I nod again.
He moves. His hand closes around my good wrist, his touch warm and firm. He pulls me gently but inexorably toward him, and then I’m against his chest. His arms wrap around me, one hand pressing my head to his shoulder, the other spreading wide across my back, holding me together.
And I break.
I gasp, a huge, teary, shuddering sound that seems to come from the very depths of my soul. The tears come harder now, not just quiet streams but a torrent of grief and fear and rage. I’m soaking the front of his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just holds me, a solid, immovable anchor in the storm of my emotions.
His scent is everywhere. Rosemary, citrus, and cool mint. It’s the scent from my past, the scent from the rain, the scent from the shower. It’s calming. The hand on my back moves in slow, soothing circles, gradually slowing down the frantic beating of my heart.
Outside, I can see Jasper through the door watching the whole thing unfold with a curious expression. Knox must see him too, because he moves, kicking the door shut with a bang that blocks out the outside world completely.
“Got ’em,” Knox says from somewhere behind me. I hear the soft jingle of metal. “They were on the kitchen counter.”
I pull away from Boone, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving me feeling cold and exposed. I wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I have to go,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“No way you can drive in this condition,” Knox says, his tone firm. He tosses the keys.
“I’ll drive you,” Rhett says. He’s standing by the door, my keys dangling from his finger.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I will drive you,” he says, leaving no room for argument. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact.
“Okay,” I whisper, defeated.
I walk out to the car, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. Rhett opens the passenger door and waits for me to slide in before leaning over me to grab the seatbelt. His arm brushes against mine, and he clicks the belt into place with a soft, decisive click. Then he climbs in beside me, the engine turning over with a low rumble.
I look in front of us. Wellsy is running in frantic, happy circles around Blue, who is trying his best to herd the puppy. Knox and Boone are standing on the porch, watching us leave. They look concerned.
Rhett pulls a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. I take it, pressing the soft cloth to my wet cheeks.
“Ready?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He waits, his patience astounding.
Finally, I take a deep breath and nod.
“Let’s go,” he says, and puts the truck in drive.
The truck idles in front of the Sweetgrass Veterinary Clinic. The sign in the window is flipped to “Closed.” The blinds are drawn. There’s no light on inside. It looks deserted, sad.
“Try again,” Rhett says.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. My thumb, still trembling, presses the redial button on my phone. I hold my breath, listening to the ring.
“The person you have called is unavailable...”
The automated voice is a cold, digital rejection. I end the call with a frustrated stab of my finger. “I can’t reach her,” I tell him, the words thick with unshed tears. “It just goes to voicemail.”
Rhett curses under his breath. He runs a hand over his face, his jaw tight with frustration. “I can call one of her packmates,” he says, already reaching for his own phone. “Beau or Jake. One of them will answer.”
