Page 101 of Don't Shoot Me Santa
“Petty vengeance from the psych doc, eh? God, your cruelty turns me all the way on.”
“Strategic pressure. He’ll start to unravel if we don’t blink.”
Aaron held up a hand. “Wait. Christmas miracle’s just happened. I’m hard again.”
Kenny chuckled, leaning in closer to his ear. “I can take care of that, too.”
Aaron angled his head towards the far path. “We’ll go round the back, then. In case he’s inside.”
Kenny followed, quiet footsteps matching his. They took the long path around to the kennels, boots crunching over frost and gravel. As they reached the back, the metallic tang of disinfectant and the wet-stale smell of dog fur filled Aaron’s nose. Barking greeted them. Sharp, echoing off concrete and chain-link.
Jonathon was inside already, mop in hand, dealing with the usual chaos. In a Christmas jumper too. Bright red, oversized, flecked with dog hair and bleach stains. He smiled for Aaron, but the way his eyes slid past Kenny was off. Unsettling. No one at the shelter had met Kenny personally. They saw his car. Him from a distance. Knew about the age gap thing. But it often took people by surprise when they met him. All straight laced and buttoned up restraint beside Aaron’s ferality.
And, also, Aaron wasn’t meant to be there right then.
So fair enough.
“Aaron?” Jonathon leaned on the top of his mop. “Didn’t think you were in today.”
“Officially, I’m not.” He nodded towards Kenny. “This is Kenny. My boyfriend. Significant other. Codependent lifer.” He waved towards Jonathon. “Kenny, meet Jonathon. The one the dogs only tolerate on a good day.”
Jonathon snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t I know it.” He shook Kenny’s hand, then wiped his palm on the back of his trousers.
“I’m here to see Lucky. She eaten?”
“No. Vet came by earlier. Said if she doesn’t eat by tomorrow, Blackwell reckons it’s more cost effective to put her down.”
Aaron bristled. “That’s not happening.” He then scanned the shelter. “Blackwell here?”
“Nah.” Jonathon began mopping the floor again. “He’s probably getting a bollocking from his misses.”
Aaron flicked his gaze up to Kenny. Kenny winked.Prick.
“I came in early,” Jonathon said, “before the snow got bad knowing this lot would need feeding. Blackwell was still here. Slumped on his desk. Been drinking. Looked like hell. I checked the CCTV, he’d been in his office all night. Passed out. His wife picked him up about seven. Raging. Apparently, he missed his daughter’s nativity.”
Aaron shot a glance at Kenny. “Guess that’s his alibi.”
Kenny’s smirk said it all. Bastard.
Aaron turned back to Jonathon. “There CCTV in the kennels, too?”
Jonathon nodded. “Yeah. But don’t tell the dogs. They hate being watched.”
Aaron wondered then how much Jonathon saw through CCTV. But for now, his focus had to be elsewhere.
“I’ll go see Lucky.” He then walked the length of the corridor, Kenny trailing silently behind him.
The barking eased off as they passed each pen, Aaron’s presence familiar. Calming. Lucky’s kennel was at the far end, still shadowed, quiet. Aaron could already feel her trembling before he stepped inside.
He paused at the door, glancing back. “Stay there, yeah?”
Kenny nodded, shifting to lean against the wall, one ankle hooked over the other, arms crossed loosely. He watched. And that look? That steady, warm, unflinching gaze? That was the one Aaron always half-dismissed. Sometimes didn’t trust was real. But now? It landed. Not because Kenny was assessing him or analysing some trauma response. But because hewasn’t.
He was seeinghim.
Transfixed by him.
Not the damage. Nor even the history. And not the wreckage trailing behind his name like a shadow. But Aaron. And in this quiet, unglamorous moment, coaxing a frightened dog to eat, Kenny saw someone else. Him. And it showed in every inch of how he tilted his neck, lips curving into a smile and those usually dark eyes brightening.
