Chapter 11 #2
She stepped out into the parking lot just as Anchor began dictating their plan.
Tobin admired the younger woman’s mettle, and the way in which she commanded the chaos without raising her voice.
Anchor might have been reserved, but she wasn’t timid.
When it came to her rescues, she was a force of nature.
“Divide and conquer. Let’s get to work.” Anchor called, already unloading the first dog from the van.
Over the next several hours, dogs were shuttled from the van to the baths, to the infirmary for inspection, and finally to their new temporary homes. Tobin was coated in fur from head to toe. She smelled like wet dog—and some other scents she didn’t want to investigate.
She was exhausted, starving, and more than ready for a shower. It was just after five, and her body was low on fuel and emotion. But she’d managed to keep her mind blessedly clear of Grier—her thoughts replaced by the immediate, persistent needs of the dogs around her.
“One dog left,” Anchor said, bumping her shoulder against Tobin’s as she joined her by the van. “There’s a light at the end of this tunnel.”
“It’s been a day, hasn’t it?” Tobin said, taking a moment to catch her breath before helping Anchor lift the final kennel from the vehicle.
“I can’t remember the last time I smelled this bad after a rescue,” Anchor laughed.
“When we got to Barking Lot’s kennels, I was shocked.
They must’ve been struggling way longer than anyone realized.
The whole place was chaos—and reeked of dog waste.
” She shuddered. “I’m surprised more of the dogs didn’t have mange…
I don’t want to imagine what another week would’ve looked like over there. ”
“Why didn’t they reach out sooner? We could’ve taken some of the dogs.” Tobin’s tone carried more disbelief than anger, though the fatigue in her shoulders made it difficult to discern the difference.
“Pride, if I had to guess. The dog rescue business is, unfortunately, still a business. No one wants to fail—especially when it means failing these defenseless furballs all over again. And there’s little profit.
I’m not exactly walking around in Louboutins or driving off in a Bugatti.
Fetch a Friend typically runs with a month or less of future funding, and I’m living paycheck to paycheck right along with it.
I couldn’t dream of closing my doors as long as I have a single dollar to my name—but I’d be lying if I said I slept well at night. ”
Tobin looked at her, disbelieving what she was hearing. “Damn, Anchor. I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize it was dire. Don’t the fundraisers and adoption festivals help? Dog sponsorships too?”
“Everything helps. But nothing is permanent. We adopt one dog out, and the next day we rescue two more. It’s a never-ending cycle.”
Tobin followed Anchor to the van as she shifted the final kennel to the edge, ready to lift.
Together they wrangled it through the doors into the bathing area.
The volunteers were still busy with the other dogs, and every tub basin was full.
Anchor nodded toward an open patch of floor between the tubs and dryers where they could wait for an open tub.
They maneuvered carefully, Tobin walking backward, fingertips gripping the side of the kennel, moving in sync with Anchor as the dog inside whimpered softly.
Tobin’s left heel slipped on a puddle of water she couldn’t see beneath the kennel.
She tightened her core, bracing her torso and trying to regain control as both feet struggled for purchase on the slick floor.
The kennel shifted in her fingers, the dog inside letting out an anxious whine as its center of gravity abruptly shifted.
The bark that followed was sharp and frustrated, forceful enough that the dog lifted its paws into the air.
As the paws landed back on the bottom of the kennel, Tobin’s already precarious footing gave way to the lack of friction, and gravity became the only force her body recognized.
Her legs split, splaying as she crashed to the floor—her low back exploded with a rush of searing heat that stole her breath.
Tobin yelled out, sweat immediately beading along her face and spine. She felt the burn of a white-hot poker in her butt, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Her vision swam with bursts of black dots.
“Fuck!”
“Tobin!” Anchor crawled over, having also gone down in the chaos. “Where does it hurt? Oh my god, oh my god! What can I do?”
“Don’t touch me! Just… give me a minute,” Tobin said through gritted teeth, fighting through the pain. Lying flat on the wet floor, her chest heaved as she drew in tightly controlled breaths, careful not to move anything that might trigger another spasm in her back.
When her vision began to clear, she risked a deeper breath to steady herself. She wiggled her toes on both feet, and was relieved to feel the nervous connection between brain and foot working, with limited pain along the leg. She flexed her left ankle, also successfully.
Then she tried to extend her knee. The immediate pull along the back of her thigh sent a warning burn to the surface. She growled in frustration.
“I don’t fucking need this right now!”
“Tobin, I’m so sorry. Please tell me what I can do!” Anchor’s voice trembled as she hovered behind her, momentarily forgotten during Tobin’s self-assessment.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Tobin managed, her voice tight.
“I’ve got an old compression fracture from my accident, and I think I just royally pissed off the nerves near it.
I can feel everything— which is good—but I feel too much.
My back, ass, and thigh are on fire. Throbbing and tight. I need some help getting up.”
Anchor scrambled to her feet, grabbing some towels to mop up the water around them before anyone else could take a spill. “Eli, can you get her other side? Maybe we can lift her into the chair?”
Tobin nodded. “Yes, hang on, though. Let me see if I can sit up on my own first. I think it’ll be less painful than if you move me.”
She slowly tested her movements, shifting carefully to gauge what her body could handle.
Leaning left sent pain spiking through her spine, but leaning right brought a tolerable ache—a deep stretch rather than a burn.
Cautiously. she used her arms to brace and ease herself upright.
Her breathing stayed ragged but controlled, and the black dots in her vision finally receded.
Eli and Anchor lifted her slowly and eased her into the chair, then Anchor went to find the first aid kit. She clenched her jaw, swallowing the string of curses pressing against her tongue.
How am I going to get home? The thought hit hard, worry and fear colliding with pain as anxiety began to simmer under the surface.
“Here’s an icepack and some ibuprofen,” Anchor said, returning from her office down the hall.
Tobin accepted both silently. The ice dulled the heat and softened the ache, but the throbbing was persistent. Every shift, every breath sent a bolt of lightning searing down her ass and thigh.
“Tobin? Can I call someone for you? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” Anchor’s voice trembled, her anxiety rising with each question.
Tobin shook her head. She didn’t need a hospital. She needed to take the pressure off her spine and coax her muscles into releasing their chokehold on her sciatic nerve.
Images flooded her brain—Grier’s confident fingers kneading into her forearm, reducing the tension to nil. Her body spasmed as she fought the memory, fought the sharp edge of both her pain and longing. We’re not friends. I can’t just erase the last week.
She’d spent days forcing Grier from her thoughts, combating the urge to retract her decision. She couldn’t crawl back—literally—and ask for her help now. Not like this. This was a moment of weakness. She could recover without Grier. She just needed to get home.
“Can you hand me my phone, please?” Tobin asked quietly. “I’ll call my sister.”
Harrow dutifully retrieved her at the rescue center, taking a ride-share out so she could drive Tobin’s SUV home.
They agreed it would be the safer vehicle—Harrow’s small sedan would have required Tobin to contort her less than willing body into the seat.
Anchor helped Tobin step up into the passenger side and offered her umpteenth apology before closing the door.
No sooner had the door shut than Tobin felt Harrow’s eyes on her. “Don’t even think it, let alone say it,” Tobin bristled.
“I said nothing.” Harrow raised her hands in mock surrender. “I can hear the gears churning in that head of yours. Stop
scheming.”
Harrow rolled her lips in, shrugged, and started the ignition.
They drove in silence until the end of the driveway, where a speed bump discouraged drivers from cruising through the entrance.
Harrow slowed, but couldn’t completely avoid the jarring nature of the bump.
Tobin jostled in her seat and muttered, “Shit! Fuck! Gah!” as a bright spasm of pain shot through her, forcing her to inhale sharply.
“Do we need to stop and get anything?” Harrow asked gently, easing the vehicle onto the road.
“No, just get me home. I want to take an Epsom salt bath—see if it’ll calm this down. I’m gonna need your help upstairs, though.” And then, quieter, “And maybe out of my clothes.”
She was embarrassed, which only added to the tumultuous emotions swirling inside her. It wasn’t the nudity that bothered her— it was the weakness, the reliance. Her pride was hurt, and that made her feel vulnerable in ways she didn’t care to address.
“You’ve got some muscle relaxers, right? I don’t think a bath and ibuprofen are going to cut it, T. I can see the sweat on your brow, and your color’s off. You’re minimizing your pain.”