Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Noah
Delivering puppies at midnight is something I've become used to. Dogs always seem to do it then. Maybe it's safer in the wild to give birth at night. But whatever the reason, I’m used to pushing past exhaustion.
Honey is awake, looking at me with sleepy eyes that can't quite work out what happened. I sit next to her, stroking her head. For weeks, my only real goal has been keeping her alive. Now that the fear of her delivery is over, I have to decide whether I want her to be mine.
Do I fight for what I want? Push past the little voice in my mind that says I don't deserve this. I don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve him.
Rhys.
The man who has only stayed here after the operation because I'm here.
He's going to be tired tomorrow. So am I, but I'm not as important as he is.
I should go to bed, if only to force him to follow, but I want to stay with Honey.
I want to help her realize her puppies are beside her, suckling. Even the runt.
I want Honey.
But I also want Rhys.
Or at least, I want him to want whatever this strange arrangement is between us.
I want to live and work with him, and hold his tape measure while he rewrites the world around me. But I can't do that while sitting here showing Honey her puppies.
“Do you want me to leave?” I whisper, catching him in a moment where neither Tree nor Laura are nearby.
“I like watching you,” he replies from the chair he’s gently rocking back and forth in.
“That’s… not creepy…at all.”
“Good. Some people think it is.”
That… backfired. I think it's a little creepy. Or at least slightly off-putting. In a way that makes me question my entire existence.
But if we are questioning existence, then I have a much more immediate candidate. Bunny. The runt. I shouldn’t be naming him after making such a big deal about letting everyone else do it. I was hoping Tree or Laura would suggest something, not open it up to the entire country.
“Honey!” Rhys declares.
“Yes, darling,” I joke, knowing full well he's talking to the dog.
He doesn't acknowledge my reply, just stands up and walks out.
I'm left alone with 12 puppies that can't keep warm and a dog who doesn't realize she needs to move carefully.
“Here we are.” Rhys returns with his hands full and sits against the wall by Honey's back legs. He lifts the top leg to see the puppies. “Where is it?”
“What?”
“The little one.”
“The runt?” I question, blushing slightly.
Rhys does a quick headcount. “Ten.”
He looks at me accusingly.
Yes, he can count. There are ten fuzzy burrito babies learning how to suckle from their mother. The other two are tucked away.
“They're the strongest.” I protest. “The biggest is 250g. That would be small even in a six-pup litter. Most of the others barely tip over 200g. Anything under 130g won't survive.”
“So you just got rid of them?” He frowns.
“Is that really so unthinkable for you, with your…hobbies?” I question sternly.
“No. It's a far more practical opinion than most of my staff manage, but with their birth being filmed on national television, it's a little more complicated.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’m just keeping them warm.” I lift the corner of my scrubs to reveal the two small pups tucked beside me. “Bunny is 120g, you know his odds, and Sunny is 140g, which isn't much better. These are the two I shouldn't be getting attached to.”
“Bunny and Sunny?”
“I… it's just those two I named. We can change it when the votes come in.”
Rhys reaches forward, his soft hand brushing against my bare skin as he picks up Sunny. He's after the pups, but the contact sends a burst of warmth through me.
“Honey,” he says, dabbing a little honey onto a Q-Tip, which he gently rubs against Sunny's lips. I copy him, frowning at how obvious it is.
“We're focusing on the little ones that need around the clock care just to reach Lumpy's birth weight.”
I am too used to naming them myself; it's automatic.
“You are only one man. One brilliant, organized man who works around the clock to give those dogs the best care he can. You also keep the puppies alive so that they thrive as best they can. You don't have the hours to devote to nursing one frail puppy.”
So Rhys does understand. Yet he is still giving one tiny pup more attention than the rest of the litter.
“But here, you are not one man. You are one man, one handsome veterinarian, two tired nurses, and a whole new shift arriving in two hours.”
“I’m two tired nurses and a handsome veterinarian?”
“And we are going to bed in two hours with no complaints.”
“Are we? Can I hold your tape measure?”
“That…never mind.”
“Damn it. I was hoping to see you blush for once,” I chuckle.
“You are a very strange person, Noah. I think that's why we get along so well.”
Aw, he thinks we're both strange.
Two minutes later the runts are warm, pink and licking their lips in a weak tucking motion.
“We could foster Lumpy and Bumpy onto Toffee. She has seven pups, four days older than these. They would have the same size disadvantage Bunny and Sunny have here, but they'd have free access to milk. There wouldn't be more mouths than teats.”
“Good idea, but…”
“I know, they need the colostrum milk first.”
“It still wouldn't work. Four days is too much. Those puppies would be stronger and just crush Lumpy and… er… which one is Bumpy?”
“But she can't nurse twelve, and you won't let me reduce the litter size,” I protest. “Even with ten, she'll need my help with feeding.”
“Stop thinking like a one-man-band.” His hand covers mine, cupping Bunny in a finger cocoon.
“If we help Bunny, I’ll get attached, and then I’ll be sad when he…”
“Give him a chance. This is the best place for them. Eight weeks of around the clock veterinary care, fully funded by the council and film crew.”
He's telling me to give them a chance. This man who butchers men in his secret basement has a soft spot for runts.
I smile for a moment before realizing what that makes me. He kills bullies and moves mountains for runts.
Honey lifts her head, her sad, soppy eyes finding me with more recognition this time. Her tail wags against the soft bedding.
“Hey. You have babies. Last time, so enjoy what you can of it.” Her nose follows my fingers, warm and damp against my skin, hoping for strokes, but she finds her little sausage-shaped pup at the end and instantly gives him a little lick.
The pup doesn't respond, kneading his little feet into her skin as he suckles.
“Right, Lumpy and Bumpy. Time’s up.” The two fat pups are gently removed from the back nipples, and I have a try at latching Bunny and Sunny in their places. “Sorry, tiny guys, but you have to share with your siblings.”
Bunny finds a nipple and latches on, giving a few small sucks, but then falls off. I move him back and leave my fingers under his butt to help him stay.
“I guess my fingers are stuck here until the backup team arrives.”
Rhys nods, accepting it without complaint.
So I stay where I am, holding the smallest puppy in the litter in place while he tries to drink.
And for once, no one tells me to hurry.