It was already one in the morning by the time Ethan got Eleanor back from her shot.
Biscuit had buried his head deep into his dog bed, rump pointed squarely at the world, pretending to be asleep like the guilt-ridden furball he was.
He clearly knew he'd messed up.
The moment Ethan saw him, the frustration bubbled up—he really, really wanted to throttle that dog.
Eleanor clung to Ethan's sleeve, still woozy from the shot. She'd had way too many injections recently, which had left her a little traumatized. Even just going in for a rabies vaccine earlier had been a whole mental struggle.
Seeing Ethan ready to lose it on Biscuit freaked her out—she latched onto him like a koala, her voice low and soft, "Martin, don't hit Biscuit... I already cleaned the bedroom."
Her breath
