Page 89 of Claimed by my Bestie's Dad

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”

The next few minutes feel like an eternity. Samson is still whimpering softly, his eyes drooping, and the sight of him like this is breaking my heart. I keep my hands on him, stroking his fur gently, especially his stomach and back where there is no blood. I whisper soothing words I’m not even sure he can hear. All the while, the fear of how much this is going to cost gnaws at the back of my mind. I’m already stretched thin financially. What if I can’t afford to help him? What if the vet looks at him and says he can’t help because my credit card is maxed out?

But then Ethan bursts through the front door, and everything else fades into the background.

“Okay, where is he hurt?”

I point to the gaping wound on his neck, then the smaller wound on his feet.

Ethan drops to his knees beside us, his gaze sharp as he takes in Samson’s condition. “Hey, buddy. You’re gonna be okay, all right? We’re gonna get you fixed up.”

“It’s pretty serious, right?”

Ethan nods. He puts an arm around my shoulders as he surveys Samson. “We need to take him to the vet. Do you have one you prefer?”

I name a vet on the south side of the island. I can barely speak for the lump of tears in my throat. My whole body is shaking.

Ethan scoops Samson up in his arms, careful not to jostle him too much. He turns to me, his expression determined.

“Let me get him settled in my car. Do you want to sit in the backseat with him?”

“Yes, yes, I… I need…my purse. Hold on… Let me…” My mind is scattered as I brush tears off my cheeks and try to think clearly. I’m able to get my things and my keys and hurry out to Ethan’s car. I settle in the backseat, and Ethan lays Samson in the backseat with his head in my lap. Samson tries to get up and start exploring the new space, but I pull him back down onto my lap so that his wound is facing up.

Ethan tosses me a towel. “Press this onto his neck if he’ll let you. It should help stop the flow of blood.”

I don’t question. I just do. Samson is submissive, doing exactly what I need and not moving a lot.

As we pull into the parking lot, I have to say something. Ethan can give me a loan maybe. I’ll pay him back. He’s already given me too much.

“Ethan, I—I don’t know how much this is going to cost. I don’t have enough to?—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, relief, guilt, and something else swirling inside me. I open my mouth to protest. “I’ll pay you back, of course. I’ll just need time. I don’t?—”

“You don’t need to pay me back.”

“But I don’t want?—”

“Madison, I’m paying. That’s final. We’re not arguing about this right now. Just focus on Samson, okay?”

I swallow hard, nodding even though the guilt is still gnawing at me. I hate this feeling—being helpless, being ina position where I need someone else’s help. But I push it down, focusing on Samson, stroking his fur and murmuring soft words to him as Ethan pulls into a parking spot.

When we finally arrive, Ethan is out of the car in an instant, lifting Samson gently and carrying him inside. The staff takes one look at him and rushes us into an exam room. I follow quickly as Samson’s pitiful whines seem to get louder.

The doctor appears in a moment and surveys him. “We’ll need to do surgery right away. I’ll have to ask you to leave for it.”

A nurse steps up and sticks a needle in Samson’s hindquarters. He jerks and whines as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

“We’ve just given him a sedative. It’s pretty fast-acting. He should be out in fifteen minutes. That will give me time to prep my team. You’re welcome to stay with him until he falls asleep. Try to keep him as still as possible.”

“Okay, okay. Thank you.” I stroke Samson’s side. It’s heaving as though he’s having trouble breathing. The thought that I might actually lose him hits me, and I can’t stop the tears then.

Ethan touches my shoulder, but my attention is fully on Samson. He doesn’t fight the sedative. He just drifts gently to sleep.

“Samson? Samson?” I ask, touching him. He doesn’t even stir. “He’s out. I should tell the doctor. Oh, I can’t believe he needs surgery. What happens if…”

“Let’s tell the doctor that he’s out, then we’ll sit in the waiting room, okay?”

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