“No. It isn’t.” With her blood pumping, barely, through my fingertips, I shake my head, alarmed with fear and other feelings I haven’t dared entertain for the longest time. I’m nearly overwhelmed with them, like a stampede takes a run at my heart, led strongly by guilt. “I fucked up, Marina. No matter what we do, every chance after this could go either way. But I promise I’ll be here as long as you need me, doing everything possible for you.”

With a shuddering breath, she says, “Okay, Grady.”

I clear my throat to fight my emotional surge and try to bring levity to our dire situation. “The dress is a goner, but it can’t be a white wedding with another man inside you, anyway.”

“Eep,” she blurts out in a pained laugh. “A dirty joke?”

Her sweet, bubbly laugh shocks me almost as much as the eep. Is that what the kids say these days? Twenty-somethings like her feel like an entirely different culture to me at thirty-six.

“Whatever gets you smiling.”

Her chest rises and falls in a sigh, and she smiles again at my words.

Putting her at ease clashes with my usual bedside manner. I don’t spout jokes (even bad ones) or offer comfort. I do my job, check off my obligations, and leave, desperate not to get involved. Aunt Elena calls me off-putting. My little sister Marigold fictionalized me as Shadow Man in her graphic novels.

But there’s truth in it. Two years ago, I left my life and have been living an out-of-body experience since. I work, deal with my family, and go home. The only things I look forward to are my dogs and my bed. Animals are much easier to tolerate than people.

But here, now, I don’t matter. There’s her. She needs me.

“You’re funny,” she breathes, her voice strained.

“No, I’m not.” Eyeing the blood still streaming through my fingers, I turn to Wade. “Find me a hemostat clamp—um, small scissors with flat tips that lock into place. I think there’s a second bleed.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” she mutters.

“Not really. I’m a vet.”

She smirks. “That explains the smell.”

I grimace, nose-blind to it. Still, in my overalls and t-shirt, it’s no wonder she notices I stink of horses. “Sorry. Long night.”

“No apologies. I like it. It’s gentle, earthy,” she whimpers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The guy who ran you off the road and ruined your wedding day? The man who maybe killed you?

“Yeah, um, me, too,” I say because, weirdly, it’s true.

“Triscuit’s been scratching her ears lately,” she sputters faintly.

“What’s Triscuit… besides a cracker?”

“A cat. I have three.” Pain etches her face, and her eyes flicker again.