Page 24 of Finding Gideon
“You good to hold him while I listen?” His tone was quiet, deliberate.
“Yeah.” My voice was steady enough, though something in my chest still felt tight.
I held Thumper while Malcolm set the stethoscope against his belly, listening to each breath. He nodded once, then swapped for the otoscope, angling it toward the rabbit’s ear. “You can tip him a little this way—good. Now the other ear.”
When he was done, he leaned closer to check Thumper’s nose. “Clear. No discharge.”
Malcolm ran through his advice with Sadie: switching bedding, watching for dust, trying the sample hay he handed her in a small paper packet. She thanked us and carried Thumper back out into the morning light.
The door clicked shut behind her.
“Hey,” Malcolm said, glancing over while I wiped down the table. “Are you okay?”
I kept my focus on the spray bottle, the paper towel moving in slow circles. “That rabbit… looked just like one my brother and I had when we were kids.”
A beat passed. Malcolm didn’t look away, but he didn’t press either.
“You’ve mentioned him before,” he said quietly. “Your brother.”
“Garrett. We were twins. The Raines twins, people used to call us." My voice was steady, though it didn’t feel that way. “He was the adventurous one. I was… whatever the opposite of that is. We weren’t allowed pets, which was hell for two kids who loved animals. So we got creative. Garrett once turned our treehouse into an ‘emergency clinic’—old sheets for curtains, popsicle sticks for splints, and a flashlight for a surgical lamp. Every stuffed animal we owned ended up with a bandage or a cast before he decided we were ready for the real thing.”
Malcolm’s mouth curved faintly. “That actually sounds kind of amazing.”
I gave a short laugh. “It was a mess. We didn’t know what we were doing. Garrett just… wanted to save everything with four legs and a pulse. I followed his lead. He wanted to be a vet.”
“And you?”
“I didn’t know. Still don’t, really. I just knew I wanted to be around animals. And Garrett.”
Silence stretched between us—not awkward, just weighted.
“He died almost three years ago,” I said, voice low. “Hiking accident.”
Malcolm’s nod was slow, thoughtful. “That’s rough. Losing someone who’s part of your everyday… it changes the shape of everything.”
My throat felt tight. “Yeah.”
“You two were close.”
“Yeah. He was my anchor.”
Malcolm’s gaze held mine without pity. He shifted just enough that his hand rested on the counter, close to mine—close enough I could feel the warmth of it without touching. “Then I’d bet you made one hell of a team.”
The words landed somewhere deep, loosening something I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My chest felt a fraction lighter. Not fixed. Not healed. Just… less heavy. I let out a slow breath, and for a moment, it was enough.
The bell over the front door broke the quiet, its cheerful jingle chased by a quick burst of barking.
Malcolm straightened and stepped into the hall, his voice already carrying ahead of him. “Hey, hey—you made it.”
A wiry terrier mix satin a man’s arms, tail curled and eyes sharp with curiosity. The man had a roguish smile, scruffy jaw, and the kind of easy confidence that drew the room toward him. Beside him stood another man—clean-cut, part in his hair, bluebutton-up rolled to the elbows—who looked like a very well-dressed journalist on a weekend break.
They weren’t just standing together; they were angled toward each other in that unconscious way that made you think of shared keys and coffee mugs.
Malcolm waved them over. “Gideon, this is Theo and Ronan—and their troublemaker, Pip. Guys, this is Gideon. He’s helping me out at the clinic for now.”
“Nice to meet you,” Theo said, giving me an easy grin before glancing down at Pip. “She’s been limping a bit. Might be something in her paw.”
“Kept licking at it last night,” Ronan added.
