Page 37 of Insta [FAM]

MIKA

While Elliot bandages Lola’s leg — which is notoriously difficult on something as small as a bunny — I check on Dion. The guy who showed up with her is still here, and as irrational as it is, I don’t like it. Or the fact that he’s comforting her. I clear my throat, and they both stand. He’s nothing more than a kid, really. A good-looking one, too. I can’t help but wonder if he’s the reason Dion’s been ignoring my texts since Sunday night. I knew she was spooked after what happened in the shower, I watched her pull away from everything while we had dinner, but then she kissed me goodnight and I — wrongfully — assumed everything was fine. But then my texts went unanswered, and I had no requests for a play date. She was also noticeably absent from Instagram, and I only know that because my sister pointed out there has been no InstaFam videos since the last one Dion posted almost a week ago. It’s all so odd, but I can’t afford to ruminate on it, because in this context, I’m a veterinarian, and my responsibility is to Lola, and not Dion.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I tell the guy standing next to Dion. He looks like an advertisement for Abercrombie & Fitch, Biker Edition, with his designer jeans, leather jacket (which looks real, too) and dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. I take an immense amount of pleasure in knowing that regardless of how good looking he is, if we were to whip out our dicks and measure them, I’d win. At his side, Dion looks small, and exhausted, her clothes misshapen and askew. Exactly how I like her. Unfortunately.

“Asher,” he replies. “I’m the one who hit the bunny.”

“Right.” I cross my arms across my chest, knowing the shirt I’m in stretches at the seams because of my build. Because I’m only working half-days while Mum and Dad are here, I was at home when Dion called me, and she can thank Nyree I’m even here. Elliot is more than capable of doing a surgery like this on his own, but Dion refused to allow anyone else treat Lola, however flawed her reasoning may be.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Asher asks, narrowing his eyes. “You look really familiar.”

“You a rugby fan?” I don’t normally indulge anyone who may recognize me, but Dion is mighty uncomfortable watching our exchange, so I decide to pull the thread a little. Childish? Perhaps. But I don’t care. Not yet.

“Actually, yeah, I am. Wait…” He snaps his fingers. “Mikaere King, you played for the New Zealand All Blacks, so did your old man. I’m a huge fan.”

I stare at him, but as it often is with punks like him, his confidence is like a bad smell that makes him incapable of reading social cues. Like irritation, for example. I don’t care that he’s a fucking fan, I want him out my clinic.

“I’ll send you a signed jersey from me and my old man if you get the fuck out my clinic.”

“Mika,” Dion chastises, her cheeks reddening from embarrassment. I ignore her.

“Uh, t-thanks, I think, but I came with her.” He points to Dion.

“Call an Uber,” I tell him. “You’re no relation to my patient or her owner, you don’t need to be here.”

“O-kay,” he chuckles, shaking his head. See? His confidence is bulletproof, like his stupidity. “Can I get your number?” he asks Dion. “My helmet is in your car.”

She pulls her phone out, and I grit my teeth while I watch them exchange numbers. Logistical purposes, of course, so he can get his helmet back, but all I can see is her making those absurd InstaFam videos about her new situation-ship with a younger guy, and it grates my last nerve. I unlock the clinic’s front door for him, and lock it again once he’s left, only to find Dion glaring at me. “Did you have to be so rude?” she snaps. “You had no reason to be threatened by him, Mika.”

I step closer, completely aware that, emotionally, Dion is hanging on by her fingernails, and a nudge too far will send her off the edge. “I’m not threatened, Dion. And if I were, it would be irrelevant. Elliot is busy bandaging Lola’s leg.” Dion’s lips start to tremble, and I’m torn between allowing her to cry some more, and comforting her. In the end, it’s my baser instinct to not only comfort, but to protect, that wins. She steps into my arms as soon as I open them to her, and I’m rubbing my hand down her back while she cries. She sniffles and looks up at me. “I-is she o-okay?” She hiccups, and her expression is on par with what I saw on Sunday, after the shelter fire. I can’t lie to her, and if given the choice, I won’t.

Letting out a breath, I reply, “It can be really tricky with bunnies, Dion. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. She’s quite badly injured, but the good news is that only one leg was broken, and we didn’t have to amputate.”

“Oh, God,” she cries, her body shaking. “She’s not going to die, is she?”

“We don’t have reason to believe she will, but it’s going to be a long night. Elliot is monitoring her now, to make sure there are no adverse reactions to the anesthesia, and she’ll be recovering for a while. She’ll need to be here for a few days before you can take her home, and even then, you’ll have to be really careful with her.”

Dion steps away and I immediately miss the warmth of her body. She wipes her face. “Can I see her?”

I nod, and escort her to the recovery room. Elliot looks up, and his expression softens when he sees Dion. “She’s waking up,” he tells her quietly. “But she’ll be groggy, and a little out of it. We’ve given her something for the pain, too.” He opens the cage, which is eye-level with Dion, and allows her to touch Lola.

“I’ve got it from here,” I tell him. “Thanks for your help, man.”

He nods. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah. I called one of the nurses from the shelter to stay with Lola for the night and keep an eye on her.”

Once we’re alone, Dion starts whispering to Lola, and when Dion yawns, I step closer. “You can go home, if you want.” Though, I hope she doesn’t drive in the state she’s in. “Or you can lie down on the couch in my office. I need to stay in here for a while, until Lola’s completely out of the woods. I have a nurse who’s on her way now to take over watching her.”

Dion swallows, looking at Lola. “I won’t leave her.”

I grab a small blanket and get Dion comfortable in my office before checking on Lola. I didn’t go into detail about her surgery, knowing it will upset Dion, but we had to use pins, and plates, and on an animal Lola’s size, it can be a challenge. She may never gain proper mobility in the broken leg, but we’ll only know for sure once she’s started recovering, and a lot will depend on how seriously Dion takes care of her at home. By the time I’m walking back into my office, Dion is sound asleep. She exhausted herself, and who could blame her? She had a very human reaction to the possibility of her pet dying, and for all the complaining she does about Lola, it’s obvious Dion loves the little fluff-demon, as she affectionately refers to her. Sitting on the couch beside her, I notice her phone flashing. Texts from her sister, Amelia, and missed calls from her son, Zach. I’m going to have to call them. I call Amelia first, taking her number from Dion’s phone and tapping it into mine. She picks up immediately.

“Hello?”

“Amelia,” I clear my throat. “It’s Mika.”

“Oh, shit,” she replies. “That fuckhead on the bike killed Lola, didn’t he!” Her shriek gives away her state of distress, and I’m quick to temper it. “No, Lola is recovering from surgery. She had a broken leg, but luckily that’s all. It could have been worse.”