Page 56 of Wag More Bark Less

“So, you’re mad at me, too?”

That was a shame. I was getting used to Ellie appearing in my kitchen and crawling into my lap. But come to think of it, I hadn’t received a sock since the night I was going through old photos of Mom.

Ellie jumped up, paws against my hips, and grabbed the hem of my shirt with her teeth.

“What the actual hell?”

When I didn’t move, she dropped to all fours and ran two circles around me before biting into my pant leg. She dug her back legs into the ground and tugged. Hard.

“Ellie, what are—wait, is something wrong?”

I lifted my gaze to the deck, and realized there was no sign of Maggie. Surely, if Ellie was barking up a storm, Maggie would’ve come out by now? Even if she’d been in the shower—fuck. What if she fell in the shower and was hurt?

The second I started running toward the deck, Ellie released my pant leg and sprinted in front of me.

The sliding door was pulled open, only wide enough for Ellie to fit through, and I knocked on the doorframe loudly as the pup darted inside.

“Maggie? Are you in here?”

Some strangled version of here sounded faintly from inside.

“I’m coming in,” I hollered, yanking the door open wider. I was rushing toward the bathroom when Ellie started barking again, directing me to the smaller bedroom.

I ran to the doorway and froze.

Maggie sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a sea of satin and tulle.

I gripped the doorframe as I fought through the nightmare that assaulted me from every conceivable direction. It was as though each and every minute of that awful day played out at once in double time—the wedding dress hanging off-kilter, the ring on top of a note, the cake I punched a fist through, the church full of people I had to tell, the empty closet in my bedroom.

“Luke!” Maggie’s voice sounded strangled, and it pulled me far enough back to reality to focus.

“Are you hurt?”

“Ca—can—bree.” She held her neck, and I realized she couldn’t breathe.

“Did you choke on something?”

She shook her head, motioning to her back. “Dress.”

I knelt behind her, thankful as hell I only had a zipper to contend with. But when I yanked it down, my hand slipped.

Maggie whimpered, swaying. Fuck, she was going to pass out. I tugged harder, but the damn thing was stuck.

“I don’t want to break it,” I said, trying and failing a third time.

“Cut.”

“What?”

She patted my upper thigh, then my ass.

“Maggie—”

“Cut,” she said, pulling my pocketknife free from my back pocket.

“You want me to cut you out of this dress?”

“Yes!” she practically cried, and it was then I saw the tears in her eyes. She could scream at me later for ruining her dress. Right now, the only thing that mattered was air returning to her lungs.