“Hey…” I drop to my knees immediately, lowering myself, making myself small. Safe. “Hey, buddy…it’s okay…”
He looks at me and for a second, I think I’ve got him.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Let’s go inside. I’ll get you a treat, yeah? Your favorite one?—”
Headlights bloom in the distance. Too bright. Too fast again.
“Marbles,” I yell, unable to keep the fear from my voice.
He moves. Darts forward. Time fractures. A sharp, sickening whine cuts through the night and everything inside me just…drops.
“No, no, no, no.”
The car jerks to a stop. A door slams. Someone’s saying something—apologizing—but I can’t hear it over the roar in my ears as I run.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see him?—”
“It’s not your fault,” I choke out, even as my voice breaks. “I scared him—he ran—this is on me?—”
This is on me.
I drop to the ground. Marbles lies too still on the pavement, and my stomach turns so hard I think I might be sick.
“Hey…hey, little guy…” My voice is barely there now, shaking apart as I inch closer to him. “C’mon…you’re okay…”
His eyes blink open. Air rushes back into my lungs so fast it hurts.
“Yeah,” I breathe, hands trembling as I hover over him, afraid to touch, afraid not to. “Yeah, that’s it…”
I shine the light, searching—blood, broken bones, anything—but I can’t tell. I can’t tell anything except that he’s breathing. He starts to purr.
“You need to get him to a vet,” the driver says, his voice urgent. “Do you want me to take him?”
Right.
Yes.
Move.
“No, I’ll take him,” I say quickly. “I’ve got him.”
My hands are clumsy as I shrug out of my coat, laying it on the ground, trying to be gentle—so damn gentle—as I slide him onto it, wrapping him up carefully.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. “I’ve got you, buddy…”
I carry him to the car like he’s the most important thing in the world. Because he is. Fifteen minutes later, I’m pushing through the vet’s doors, my heart still somewhere back on the road. Everything blurs—voices, questions, paperwork. I answer what I can. Miss half of it.
Then they take him. And just like that, I’m alone.
I sink into the waiting room chair, my hands still shaking, my pulse refusing to slow. My phone feels heavy in my grip when I pick it up.
Maria.
The game.
Josh.
The realization hits like a punch to the chest. I glance at the time. It’s starting soon.
