I stopped walking.
“Surprise, asshole,” he said, into the phone and to my face at the same time.
I dropped my phone to my side. “You son of a bitch.”
He pocketed his and came toward me. He looked good, his brown hair a little longer on top than whenever I’d seen him last. He still moved with the easy confidence that made him the first person anyone noticed in a room. But he was favoring his left side, and when I pulled him into a hug, he drew back from the pressure on his ribs.
“You’re hurt worse than you let on.”
“I’m healing. There’s a difference.” He held me at arm’s length and looked at me carefully. “You look better. You look like you’re actually sleeping.”
“I am. Most nights now.”
“That’s progress.” He squeezed my shoulder once and let go, then looked down at Tova, who had planted herself at my feet and was studying him with the steady, assessing gaze of a dog who took her job seriously. “And who is this?”
“Tova. She’s mine.” The words still felt new in my mouth, even now. “Long story. Helps me with nightmares.”
The passenger door opened.
This had to be Fallon. She stepped out, and the first thing I registered was the deliberateness. Every movement was chosen, each step placed with precision, and underneath the control was a stiffness I recognized from being around enough injured people to know what managed pain looked like.
She was slender, black hair pulled up, and when her gaze landed on me, I understood what Isaac hadn’t been able to put into words on the phone. Her eyes were gray and direct andarresting, and they took in the entire property in one sweep before settling on me. She didn’t offer a smile; she assessed.
“Logan, this is Fallon.” Isaac’s voice went quiet when he said her name. “Fallon, the brother I told you about.”
Her handshake was brief and firm. “He talks about you.”
“Don’t believe any of it.”
She gave a half smile. “Oh, I know how untrustworthy this one is.”
She was already looking past me toward the barn. Her whole body had oriented toward the sound of Lark’s voice carrying from the training ring, and I watched the shift happen in real time. Whatever polite interest she’d had in me was gone.
The connection landed. They were here for Gimbal, the hEDS service dog Lark had been training. Fallon had hEDS. Isaac had arranged the service dog for her after our text messages.
I looked at him. He met my eyes and gave a small nod.
“You could have told me,” I said.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Lark came around the corner of the barn with Gimbal at her side. The standard poodle moved with the clean, attentive gait of a dog who knew she was working, her dark curly coat catching the light, her head up and her focus matched to Lark’s pace. Lark had her clipboard tucked under one arm and a pen behind her ear, and she was already smiling before she reached us.
She shook Fallon’s hand and then Isaac’s, warm and easy, and I watched her clock Fallon’s careful movement without making a thing of it: no hovering, no fuss, no concerned tilt of the head. She went straight to the dog.
“This is Gimbal,” Lark said and knelt beside the poodle. “She’s been waiting for you. Let me show you what she can do.”
They moved into the training ring together, and Isaac and I followed to watch. I hooked my arms over the paddock fence.Isaac settled in beside me. Tova lay down in the shade near our feet.
Lark walked Fallon through Gimbal’s training with the ease of someone who had done this dozens of times but had never once treated it as routine. The brace command came first. Lark gave Fallon a gentle push at the shoulder, and Gimbal pressed her body against Fallon’s leg, solid and immediate, a living support to lean into when her joints wouldn’t hold.
“Do it again,” Fallon said, voice surprised.
Lark pushed her harder. Gimbal braced, absorbing the shift in Fallon’s weight without moving an inch. Fallon looked down at the dog, and her hand went to Gimbal’s head, brief and testing.
“She knew I was going down before I caught myself,” Fallon said. It wasn’t a question.
“That’s the whole point.” Lark’s voice was warm and matter-of-fact. “She’s reading your body faster than you can. By the time you feel the instability, she’s already there.”
