Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
River
We wait in the lobby of the vet clinic for what feels like an eternity, me sitting in the chair, Thorn pacing back and forth.
His tension radiates off him, fills the room.
Making it hard to breathe. To think. To hope.
Come on, Violet, I pray. Fight, little one. Fight.
But my mind is spinning through the details—pale gums, weak and quiet and so damned lethargic.
She didn’t fight going into the carrier, didn’t fight the vet examining her…which the doctor only did for all of a minute before rushing Violet into the back with the promise of providing an estimate.
At which point Thorn said, “Fuck the cost. Just save her.”
There was no missing the seriousness in his words, so the vet just nodded and went to work on Violet.
And now we’re here.
Me alternating between watching Thorn pace and willing the door to the back of the clinic to open and good news to be given.
But time ticks by. No news is passed along. Thorn keeps pacing.
And the door stays closed…until it doesn’t.
“Mr. Wilkenson?” the vet calls.
I jump to my feet, move to Thorn’s side, and slip my hand into his. He flinches, as though surprised at the contact, but his fingers tighten around mine, so I don’t draw back.
“Violet’s stabilized,” she says softly, and the tension bleeds out of his frame in a rush.
“She’ll need to stay here for a few days while we work out exactly what’s happened…
” She keeps talking, mentioning anemia and liver values and a probable viral infection.
“The good news is that her kidneys are functioning and we’ve brought her temperature up.
She’ll just need a little more time in the Kitty Spa to get her back on her paws. ”
I almost laugh at the light words.
Almost.
“She was fine yesterday,” Thorn rasps.
The vet nods. “I’m sure she was. She’s young and tiny, and sometimes these kinds of things come on quickly.”
“She was a little subdued last night,” I say, suddenly realizing it.
Two pairs of eyes shift toward me.
“I had some friends over, and she played with them for a bit, but then she crashed on the couch and slept most of the night.”
Thorn frowns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Something twists in my chest.
Because that sounds decidedly…accusatory.
“I, uh, just thought she was tired. I—” I bite my lip as he slips his hand from mine. “I didn’t realize…”
“Any chance she ate anything she shouldn’t have?” the vet asks.
I shake my head.
“Grapes or chocolate? Onions, garlic, alcohol?”
I shake my head again. “All of that was around but we were all careful with our plates because of Mia. My friend’s baby,” I explain when her eyebrows lift in question. “She’s in a grabbing stage so we were careful.”
The vet nods. “Onions or garlic can cause anemia, so we’ll keep an eye on that, but my guess is that it’s just a really bad bug she’s picked up.” She touches my arm. “It’ll be okay. She’s got fluids in her and has perked up already.”
“Right,” I whisper.
“Can I see her?”
My head whips to Thorn…and that muscle twitching in his cheek.
“Just for a few minutes,” the vet says, leading us through the door. “Then you guys should go home and rest. I’ll call you with updates.”
“Meow?” we hear when we get into the back and relief sweeps through me.
Violet’s eyes are open and though she’s got an IV in and purple wrap on her other leg, she starts purring when Thorn gentle strokes her under her chin.
I release a shaky breath.
“Meow.”
He chuckles softly and keeps scratching. I lightly rub her back, scratch the spot behind her ears that she likes.
We stay like that for a few minutes before some blood work comes back and they need to get back to work.
“Get better, little one,” he tells her. His eyes flick with mine. “I’ll check in with the front desk, make sure they have the right information.” Then he turns and walks out.
Unsettled, I give Violet one more scratch.
Then follow him.
He’s pocketing his wallet by the time I join him and a moment later, we’re walking out to his car.
“I’ll pay you back,” I whisper.
He stops, looks down at me. “What are you talking about?”
“I…” I bite my lip. “I didn’t see her eat anything, but it must have happened last night while the girls were over, so I’ll pay—”
He reaches in front of me, opens the passenger side door. “I’m a billionaire, River. I can afford vet bills.”
“But—”
He shuts the door, cutting off the flow of my words, and I watch as he rounds the hood and opens the driver’s side.
“Thorn,” I begin when he sits down and starts up the car.
“River,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair, exasperation lacing his tone. “Can we just not?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Then…I just nod.
He backs out of the spot, drives us back to his apartment, and the silence grows heavier with every mile that passes.
It settles on my shoulders, sits on my lungs.
And by the time we’re riding up the elevator to his apartment, it’s stifling.
He disappears down the hall the moment we’re inside, and I stand in the entryway for a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s going on, to figure out the next steps I should take.
Obviously this is a stressful situation, and I feel awful for whatever part I’ve played in it.
But I don’t know what’s going on in his head.
Is he mad? Does he blame me? Is he scared? Does he need me?
Turns out I don’t need to sort out the answer to any of those questions. Because by the time I start moving—determined to ask him to explain, even if I have to bribe him with a dozen sugar cookies—he’s already coming back out…
With my suitcase held in his hand.
And I don’t know if it’s the expression on his face or the suitcase itself or the brutal, heavy silence, but I know.
It’s over.
Done.
He’s done with me. He’s had enough. He’s going to do anything and everything to push me away, to make sure I never get to the soft center of him.
And…I can’t fight for someone who won’t do the same for me.
Or maybe…it’s that I won’t.
Never again.
I grab my jacket from the coat rack by the door, shrug it on. “I’ll call an Uber,” I say, reaching for my phone.
His phone.
Right. Something else to put on my to do list—buy my own phone and return his.
He stills for a second, a flurry of emotions passing over his face. There’s pain and anger, resignation and resistance, worry and determination. But he just nods and says,
“Good. I’ll pack up the rest of your things.”