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I think for a moment. "My neighbor, LeMarcus. He dog-sits when I'm on the road. But this is different. This is medical."

"The vet staff will handle the medical part. LeMarcus just needs to be with him, right? Keep him company while he recovers?"

"Maybe." I scrub a hand over my face. "I could ask him."

"Good. Do that." She squeezes my knee. "Let's finish the paperwork and go home."

Somehow, Lena manages to handle everything. She’s calm and assertive, and I stare in wonder as they teach her how to give my dog his pain medication.

He wags his tail weakly and licks her hand, and I almost pass out from relief. I press my forehead against his, whispering promises I intend to keep about toys and treats and never ignoring him again.

It's nearly ten by the time we leave the clinic. I text LeMarcus on the drive home, and he immediately responds that he'll be happy to Gordie-sit tomorrow. Small mercies.

I cradle Gordie in my arms like a baby after Lena parks. She unlocks the door and smiles at me as I pass, walking directly to my room and placing Gordie on my bed where he belongs.

When I stand to take off my shirt and prepare to climb into bed with my dog, I see Lena in the doorway. She studies a bag of pre-filled syringes and arranges them up on my dresser.

I stare at her, this woman who spent her day off paddling rivers and swinging on playgrounds with me, who recognized Gordie's distress when I dismissed it, who drove us to the emergency vet and handled the paperwork when I could barely function.

"Stay with me," I beg, the words escaping before I can second-guess them. "In my room, I mean. The bed's plenty big enough, and—" I falter, unsure how to express the hollow ache in my chest that I know will expand the moment I'm alone.

Lena studies my face for a long moment. "Okay," she says finally. "But just sleeping. I'm not taking advantage of your emotional state."

A startled laugh escapes me. "Wasn't planning to seduce you while worrying about my dog's surgery, but thanks for clarifying."

She smiles, the tension breaking slightly. "Just setting boundaries. Something we're supposedly getting better at."

"Supposedly," I agree, climbing beneath the sheets, shirt on.

Lena disappears to change and brush her teeth, returning in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. She smiles and climbs into the bed on the other side of Gordie, the two of us flanking him.

I turn off the light, and we both lie there, stroking his fur as he snores.

"Thank you," I say finally. "For today. All of it."

"Anyone would have done the same."

"No, they wouldn't." I look at her silhouette in the darkness. "Most people would have just told me to calm down and call a vet in the morning. You recognized it was serious. You took charge when I couldn't."

She's quiet for a moment. "I care about Gordie too, you know."

"I know." And I do know, suddenly and with complete certainty. "That's kind of amazing."

We lapse into silence again, but it's more comfortable now. The knot of tension in my chest slowly unravels as exhaustion takes over. Just as I'm drifting off, Lena's hand finds mine under the covers, her fingers tangling with mine in a loose hold.

"He's going to be okay," she murmurs, her voice thick with approaching sleep.

"Yeah," I whisper back. "Yeah, he is."

My phone rings at 4:17 AM, jolting me from sleep. Disoriented, I fumble for it and nearly drop it in my haste to answer when I see the vet clinic's number.

"Hello? This is Alder Stag."

"Mr. Stag, this is Amanda from Pittsburgh Emergency Veterinary Clinic. We've had a schedule change and have an opening for Gordie's surgery at 6:30 this morning. Can you come in by 5 to complete the pre-surgical paperwork?"

"Yes," I say immediately, sitting up. "Yes, we'll be there."

I end the call and turn to find Lena already awake and watching me with concern.

"They can take Gordie at 6:30," I explain, already climbing out of bed. "We need to be there by 5.”

She glances at the clock and immediately pushes back the covers. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

We move with urgent efficiency, brushing teeth and throwing on clothes, checking on Gordie with choreographed precision as if we've been sharing mornings for years instead of weeks. Lena gives him a shot of something like it’s no big deal and then showers my dog with kisses.

I’m profoundly grateful for her silent understanding of the situation and the way she matches my pace without question.

"I texted LeMarcus," I tell her as we head for her car. "He'll meet us at the clinic around noon after the surgery."

She nods, sliding into the passenger seat this time. " Perfect. That should give us plenty of time to get ready for the wedding."

I start the car, then pause, turning to look at her. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, she's wearing yesterday's clothes, and there are pillow creases on her cheek. She looks exhausted, worried, and utterly beautiful.

"You really don't have to come to the wedding," I say. "After all this, I'd understand if you'd rather skip it."

She gives me a look that's equal parts exasperation and affection. "Alder Stag, I'm going to your brother's wedding. Now drive, or we're going to be late for Gordie's surgery."

I drive, trying to focus on the road rather than the strange, wonderful feeling expanding in my chest—a feeling that has nothing to do with relief about Gordie's care and everything to do with the woman beside me.

The woman who, against all probability and maybe good sense, has become essential to my life in ways I'm only beginning to understand.