Page 41 of Finding Gideon
I curled over my knees, shoulders shaking.
Chapter 13
Malcolm
I already knew it was Gideon on the other side of the shed wall—his voice had carried through earlier, the low, careful cadence of someone trying not to break while speaking to people who’d already decided he was the villain.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the sound that followed.
It wasn’t the restrained, brittle grief I’d heard from pet owners in my practice, that quiet ache you could cup in your hands. This was deeper, rawer—like something torn from the inside and let loose without permission.
It stopped me mid-step.
Not because I didn’t recognize it, but because I’d never heardhimsound like that before. In the weeks we’d worked side by side, I’d seen him tired, guarded, even sharp around the edges. But not like this. Never like this.
Dennis must have heard it too. He was inside earlier, but now his soft whine carried through the crack in the door, the kind of sound that could undo you if you weren’t careful.
Technically, Dennis was Gideon’s dog, but somewhere along the way, I’d started feeling like we were co-parents. Like we were both responsible for making sure he was fed, safe, loved.
I pushed the door open.
The hinges complained—too loud in the stillness—and I half-wished I’d stayed outside. But it was too late.
Gideon sat on the floor, folded in on himself, arms wrapped tight like he was trying to keep his insides from spilling out. His shoulders moved with uneven breaths, slow and labored. Dennis lay beside him, stretched across the packed earth like a silent guard, ears angled back but head resting close to Gideon’s knee.
I stayed by the door for a beat, letting the air settle. The hay’s dry sweetness hung faintly in the shed, but under it was something sharper—an invisible weight that pressed low against my ribs.
I moved in slowly, letting my steps be deliberate, no rush, no intrusion.
When I sank to the ground, I kept a careful distance. Close enough to be there, far enough that it was his choice to close the gap if he wanted.
Dennis lifted his head, then, with a small huff, set it on my thigh. My hand found the warm spot between his ears almost without thought.
The silence between us felt full—not the kind that begged to be broken, but the kind that asked to be witnessed.
“I heard…” The words slipped out rough.
I caught Gideon’s profile, eyes lowered, face drawn. He didn’t move.
“I didn’t mean to listen,” I said more quietly, “but I couldn’t walk away.”
Nothing. Just the faint hitch of breath that said he was holding something heavy.
He swiped at his face—not in anger, not even to hide—the tired motion of someone worn down past pretense.
I waited. He didn’t owe me words.
A tremor passed through him. Small, but enough to make my throat tighten.
“If you need me to go, I will. But I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see you hurting.” My voice felt thick in my mouth.
His hand drifted toward Dennis, fingers brushing fur, staying there like it anchored him.
For a heartbeat, I wanted to reach over, close the distance, let my hand rest against the tense line of his back. But the wanting wasn’t enough to override what I knew—this had to be his choice. So I kept my hands where they were, letting Dennis be the bridge between us.
“Garrett,” he said. Just that.
The name landed like a stone in the quiet. He’d said it before, but this was different—the ache behind it, the way his whole body bowed like it was carrying someone else’s weight—told me. This was more than memory. This was grief.
