Page 30 of Always You

“We’ll talk later,” I said.At the AA meeting, six at the church down the street, where I’ll face the end of yet another day as a recovering addict.

“After work,” she agreed.I’ll be there to listen.

As she moved away to do what she was good at, negotiating and networking with the vet, I couldn’t help but steal a glance back at Jazz. He was still petting Bugsy, but this time when he looked up, he met my gaze.

“Where to start?” I began. “Uhm… so that is the front office.” I pointed back at the first room we’d come into, and realized I was blocking his view and, also, acting like an idiot hovering in the hallway. I went into the room, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the blankets, my back to the wall. Bugsy lifted his snout and sniffed the air, flopped to his side for water, still mostly resting on Jazz, then he stretched and turned twice on the blankets, curling into a tight ball, pressed up to Jazz’s side. “We run adoption drives, work on finances, organize… everything. It all happens in there.”

He peered past me at the small room with its desk and two chairs. The one at Guardian Hall was better. This space was the bare minimum, but it worked for Abbie and the crew of volunteers she ran.

“Okay.”

What next? I’d sat through a ton of these orientations, yet somehow, everything escaped me.

“So, I said we’re a no-kill shelter, and we will only euthanize on the advice of an expert, and only when we’ve tried everything we can, and only if the animal is suffering. We re-home puppies right through to senior dogs who may only have a few weeksleft. We have cats, kittens, rabbits, and even had a box full of hamsters left outside last summer.”

“A menagerie,” Jazz murmured, as he stroked Bugsy.

“We don’t turn away any animal in need, and this place is a vital part of the Guardian Hall rehab program for as long as we can fund it.”

He raised his eyebrows at that. “Seems like someone as rich as you could throw their own money at it, or are you still buying cars and drinking it all away?” He winced as the sarcasm spilled out, and some dark part of me twisted in self-hatred. I deserved that. “Shit,” Jazz said, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… what you do with your life is nothing to do with me.”

He was so wrong, sitting there, stoic, shoulders back. I wanted to cradle his beautiful face, press a kiss to his lips, and tell him everything I did had a connection to him, but I didn’t have the right to do that.

“Every dollar I have is in this program,” I said, remaining calm, focused, and not wanting to cry.Not at all.“I, uhm… I was in rehab… for some time when you were first out there… yeah.” Fuck. Words evaded me.

Jazz stared down at Bugsy. For a moment, I thought we would have to call an end to this as soon as it had started. Only, he sighed again and shifted so he leaned on the opposite wall next to a cat climbing tree.

“I’m glad you did that,” he offered. “Rehab, I mean.” I caught his serious expression when he glanced up. “I’m happy you’re alive.”

We stared at each other.

“I’m happyyou’realive,” I whispered.

And somewhere deep in my chest, the knot of anxiety eased.

Just a little.

Chapter Fifteen

JAZZ

It had beena month since I’d first walked through the doors of Guardian Hall. The days, sometimes long and filled with hurt, other times filled with small victories like getting Bugsy to trust me, blended into one. I hadn’t made any friends here, not like people usually do in life. There was camaraderie, yes, but it was the kind that came with shared spaces and shared silences, not from deep connection.

I felt weird when Raj moved on, with Tom following, but other than that, I was happy in my head, with my emails to Harper, medical chats with Marcus, counseling sessions with Dr. Whitman—Elena—and the odd, stilted conversation with Alex.

Alex and I had circled back into each other’s orbit, but we hadn’t chatted about our past. Instead, we had chosen safer topics like the animals at the sanctuary. It was easier that way, less fraught with the weight of history and the jagged edges of old wounds.

Talking about the animals brought peace, a neutral ground where we could stand without the past looming over us. I looked forward to those conversations, to hearing about the stray dog that had found a forever home or the new litter of kittens justopening their eyes. It was comforting, and it made being around Alex easier.

Or rather it was making it easier for him to be around me.

I saw glimpses of the old Alex in his smile when he talked about a successful adoption or his eyes lighting up when he recounted the recovery of a sick animal.

Yet, despite this tentative ease, I remained guarded, steeling myself against the possibility of slipping back into old patterns. Though our conversations were frequent, they still avoided anything too deep.

I often wondered if I was making any progress at all until Tyler arrived at Guardian Hall.

He’d turned up ten or so days ago. Another soldier, burn scars on his neck and face, so damn young, broken, a shell of a man who, like me, had been trained to survive the worst of human conflicts and who’d lost everything.

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