“She was fine yesterday,” Reagan protests.

“She wasn’t,” the vet says, shaking her head. “She has a mass in her abdomen. It’s really big, and it’s so big that it has ruptured, so she’s bleeding into her belly. I’m very sorry.”

Reagan looks at me, her eyes gleaming with hope. “So, you take the mass out, right?”

The vet shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t something that we can fix. I recommend that you put her to sleep.”

“When?” Reagan asks. She thinks Maggie still has time.

“Now,” she says. “Making her wait isn’t humane.”

A strangled noise comes out of Reagan’s mouth, and I pull her to me, but she shoves me away and walks to stand in the corner of the room. She paces back and forth. Then she stops. “There’s nothing you can do?” she asks, her voice small.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing.” The vet is being as sympathetic as possible. “Do you want me to go to get her so that you can say good-bye?”

Tears roll down Reagan’s face, and I catch Matt wiping one of his own. He doesn’t even know the f**king dog and Reagan has him crying over her. But that’s Matt. “Yes, please,” Reagan whispers.

A few minutes later, they bring Maggie back, strapped to a board, and she’s lying there quietly. She doesn’t look unhappy at all, but looks can be deceiving.

“Can I have a minute with her?” Reagan asks.

We all go into the hallway and wait. After about five minutes of murmuring behind the closed door, Reagan comes out and nods. She’s ready.

The vet and an assistant come into the room. “We’re going to give her a little sedative, and then we’ll give her a shot that will stop her heart.”

Reagan’s eyes are puffy and red, and her cheeks are wet. She swipes at them, but it doesn’t matter. The vet tech gives Maggie the sedative, and Maggie lays her head down. Her eyes are wide open, and her breaths are soft. “Now we’ll give her the shot,” the vet warns.

Reagan lays a hand on Maggie’s side, but she doesn’t come closer. She already said her good-byes, I’d wager. Maggie struggles when they stick the needle into her back leg, and Reagan starts to sob. Matt reaches out and covers her hand with his, and I lean down close to Maggie’s head. Maggie’s fighting it, so I lean forward and whisper into her ear. Maggie’s eyes go wide, and then she relaxes. Her breaths slow, and then they stop. I watch her chest, and my gut clenches when I realize it’s not moving. Reagan is wrecked, and I stand up, grab Reagan, and pull her to me. She wraps herself up in my arms and lets me absorb her sobs in my shirt. I coo at her and hold her, and I don’t know what else I can do. I hear Matt making arrangements for the cremation, and they take Maggie’s collar off and hand it to Reagan before they take Maggie from the room.

Reagan sobs as Maggie leaves, and she cries in my arms until it dissolves into soft hiccups. I just hold her. There’s nothing else I can do. “Better now?” I ask.

She nods. “I thought we were just going to get some vitamins.”

I brush her hair back from her face. It’s wet and stuck to her lips. “I’m sorry,” I say.

Reagan catches my shirt in her fists and holds me, looking into my eyes. “What did you whisper to her?” she asks.

I cough into my fist because there’s a lump the size of an apple in my throat. “It doesn’t matter,” I say.

“Tell me,” she protests.

I take a deep breath and steel myself. I clear my throat. “I thanked her for protecting you all these years and told her how much I appreciate it. But that she could go ahead and leave because I got you from here on out. I told her I’d take over where she leaves off.”

Reagan falls against me and cries even more. And Matt passes me a tissue so I can blot my eyes. But he nods subtly and claps a hand on my shoulder. He squeezes my nape tightly, and I absorb it, because this is what my brothers do for me. Every single time. Reagan lets me go and hugs Matt really quickly. He squeezes her, and I think I see him drop a kiss near her hair. Damn. She’s part of the family now. No doubt.

Reagan

Pete takes my keys from Matt, who must have pocketed them when we got out at the vet’s office. I don’t complain. I can barely put one foot in front of the other, much less drive. Pete slides behind the wheel, adjusts the seat and the mirrors, and looks over at me. “You want me to call your dad for you?”

I shake my head. “I can do it.” I do need to call my parents. But I know I’ll be a sobbing mess if I try to do it now. Pete looks at the clock and swears. “What?” I ask.

“I’m supposed to be at the youth center for group at eleven,” he says. He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’ll call and tell them I can’t go.”

“No,” I protest. I don’t want him to change his plans. My dog is dead. Him not going to help those boys isn’t going to bring her back. “You should go.” I turn around and look at Matt. “Do you want to go to the hospital and see your friend this morning?”

He looks into my eyes. “You’ve had enough sadness today.” His eyes start to dart around the car, and I can tell he’s upset.

“She’s going to die, Matt,” I say quietly. “You need to see her.”

Pete sits up tall so he can look at Matt in the rearview mirror. He’s curious about why I know so much about Matt. I should have told him that we talked last night, but I kind of feel like it was between me and Matt. “Who’s dying?” Pete asks.