My eyelids were heavy as they fluttered open, the blackness slowly lifting, revealing a dimly lit hospital room with glass paneled walls looking out onto a bright nurses’ station. I blinked a few times as the memories came back to me in flickering images: lifting the gardening shears off the worktable in my garage; rounding the fence that separated my property from Laurel’s; a behemoth walking out of Laurel’s backyard and pulling a gun on me.

Then, nothing.

Oh, fuck. Where’s Boomer?

The machine I was hooked up to beeped loudly as my heart rate soared. A nurse with dark hair pulled into a tight bun ran into my room, her eyes widening as she raced toward me.

“Where’s my dog?” I shouted. “I need my dog!”

I reached for the railing on the left side of the bed, but the nurse grabbed my hand and pinned it to the mattress.

“Your dog is fine,” she said, pushing my shoulder back as I tried to sit up. “Your friend Dylan left a message. He’s taking good care of your dog. Your dog is fine.”

“I need my dog. He can’t be alone,” I pleaded with her, no longer shouting.

She nodded as she held down both my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I know, sweetie. Your dog is in good hands. I promise.”

I clenched my jaw as I realized she knew. She knew it wasn’t Boomer who couldn’t be left alone. It wasn’t Boomer who needed me. It was I who needed him.

She slowly let go of my shoulders and kept a close eye on me as she pressed buttons on the IV machine. Mere seconds passed before I drifted off, thoughts of Boomer and Laurel vanishing in a black haze of morphine.

The second time I woke, I thought I was dreaming. My mother and father stood at the foot of the bed facing each other, my mother consoling my father, who was in tears. I had only seen my father cry once, from about fifty yards away, as I hid behind a tree, so no one would see me at my twin brother Dane’s funeral.

A sharp, female gasp made me turn my heavy head toward the sound.

“He’s awake,” Nicole said, my ex-fiancée’s green eyes wide with shock. Her gaze locked on mine as she stood from the hospital chair.

My nostrils flared as I stared at the toddler in her arms, his blond, sleepy head resting on her slender shoulder.

My mother rushed to my bedside. “Isaac!” she cried. “Honey, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Oh, God.” She clapped her hand over her mouth as she began to sob. “I’ve missed your voice.”

My father’s jaw clenched as he remained at the foot of my bed. “We’ve been worried sick about you, son.”

Nicole slowly made her way to the other side of the bed as my nephew lifted his head from her shoulder. “We got here as soon as we could.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why are you here, Nicole?”

Her brown eyebrows screwed up as if she was in physical pain. “I was worried about you.”

“Sweetheart, please don’t be upset. We’ve all been very worried about you,” my mother begged as she reached for my hand.

I pulled my hand away. “Getting shot doesn’t change anything,” I said, looking at my mom so I wouldn’t have to look at my nephew and see myself in his blond hair and wide hazel eyes. “I don’t want her here.”

My mother nodded at Nicole and I closed my eyes as I listened to the soft tap of her footsteps leaving the hospital room. When I opened my eyes, my father was at my bedside, the whites of his eyes still red, but the tears were gone. He was not pleased.

“I expected better of you.”

My mother gasped. “Bill! Don’t say that. He needs our support. He doesn’t need that.”

My father nodded. “I’m sorry, but Nicole has been a good mother to that boy. She’s as much a part of this family as you are, son. You need to forgive her, sooner rather than later. And not for me or her. Do it for yourself.”

I closed my eyes as the dull ache in my right thigh began to throb and the shame of not being good enough for my father rolled back into my life like an ocean tide. “I’m sorry I… I need help. I need someone to get my dog.” I took a few breaths and opened my eyes again, keeping my gaze focused on my mom’s round face and shoulder-length blonde hair. “The nurse said my friend Dylan is taking care of my dog, but I don’t know where he lives. Can you ask the nurse for the address and go pick him up? He’ll… He needs me.”

I had no idea how Boomer, my PTSD service dog, was getting along with Dylan. Boomer worked as a bomb detection dog in Afghanistan with one of my buddies. Then, he was retired and I brought him home with me when I returned from my third and final deployment. We’d spent the last few years glued to each other’s sides. He was probably more attached to me than I was to him. No matter how good Dylan was treating Boomer, my best canine friend probably wouldn’t rest easy until he saw me and knew I was okay.

My mom nodded. “Is…” She stopped herself mid-sentence, looking up at my father as if asking for permission, then she decided to continue. “Is it all right if Emily comes to visit you? She’s quite worried.”

I scrunched my eyebrows together in confusion. Emily was not part of the family. She wasn’t even a friend of mine. In fact, I’d never seen her face or spoken a word to her. But I knew her voice. I knew it well.

Emily had been leaving me voicemails, a few per week, for the last two years. Messages from my mother and my VA case worker were relayed to me in Emily’s crisp, melodic voice. Sometimes, when something was funny, she’d laugh, and I’d listen to those messages more than once.

But she was still a stranger. She might feel as if she knew me, but I knew nothing about her.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to meet her,” my mother continued. “But she feels… Well, I’ll let you think about it and you can let me know later.”

I nodded because I didn’t know what to say. Then, a nurse entered the room, saving me the trouble of rummaging through the rubble of my mind for the right words.