Page 14 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)
Chapter Fourteen
Alex
The shelter received most of its funding from the Guardian coffers—what remained of my inheritance—but after the whole my-family-hates-me legal mess cost me nearly everything I had left; I didn’t have an endless amount of money anymore. So, we raised the rest for this satellite to Guardian Hall through fundraising. The shelter was my baby and, although it was rare for me to step away from the administrative side of Guardian Hall, to immerse myself in the hands-on work at the shelter, when I did, it was the best kind of day.
Something about being with the animals brought me peace. Each dog, cat, bird, or occasional rabbit that came through the doors carried a story. Those animals had faced abandonment, hardship, and, sometimes, abuse. They were survivors—much like the veterans we tried to help at Guardian Hall.
“… we’ve had so many success stories, seeing an animal go from scared and skittish, to loving and loved in their new forever home,” Abbie explained as she led Bugsy over to what we called the welcome room. Like the one Jazz had started in at Guardian Hall, this welcome room was a safe place for a new arrival, although this one came with worn blankets, squeaky toys, tennis balls, and dark corners for the animals to hide in. Bugsy wasn’t happy about going inside, but Jazz went past him, then sat on the floor next to the blankets and held out a hand.
“Come on, Bugsy, come say hi,” he murmured.
My heart expanded at the sound of his soft but deep voice. He’d always been a gentle soul, great with animals, and not a typical soldier type, despite the weight of parental expectations. I wanted to see my gentle former friend move back into the world unharmed.
I was desperate to see him safe.
Bugsy whined, all nervous energy, a small, wiry mutt with a gaze that darted around as if expecting the world to collapse at any moment. His coat was a patchwork of browns and blacks, scruffy but clean, suggesting a life that had had the comforts of a loving home. But trust was not a concept he was familiar with as he tugged against the leash. The welcome room might as well have been a minefield in his eyes.
Jazz seemed to understand Bugsy’s hesitance, not making any sudden movements that might spook the already terrified dog,. Abbie cursed under her breath and pulled out a vibrating cell, and Bugsy cowered.
“I need to take this call,” she whispered, and I waved her away. Fuck—Abbie would leave me in the shit here. She knew all about Jazz and what he meant to me and how I’d fucked everything up—hell; she was my freaking sponsor, and she knew all my deep dark secrets alongside saving my life.
“No worries, I’ve got this.” I haven’t got this at all.
Jazz spoke in low, soothing tones, words that were more about the calm they conveyed than any actual meaning. Bugsy, for his part, stayed just out of reach, his body language torn between curiosity and fear.
I watched as Jazz extended his hand a little further, palm up and open, an offering of peace and friendship to the little dog. Bugsy eyed it warily, inching closer before retreating again—a dance of uncertainty. Finally, he took a tentative step forward, then another, until he was close enough for Jazz to stroke his head again. It was a minor victory, but a significant one. Jazz’s face lit up with a smile, a genuine expression of joy that I’d missed, and the ghost of the young man I’d known and loved was sitting in front of me.
So strong, his skin soft, healthy, his hair neat, his expression calmer for the first time since he’d arrived.
And the smile? That was everything.
“What happens to Bugsy now?” Jazz asked me.
I cleared my throat. “First, we’ll try to track down who left him. Sometimes, we get lucky, if he’s chipped; and sometimes, we could put some money in place for the family if they left him with us because they were struggling somehow. Then, if that fails, we’ll find him a new home.”
He nodded, then crooned, “Come on, Bugsy, let’s be friends.” One moment at a time, he coaxed Bugsy into the welcome room, encouraging him with soft words and gentle gestures until the dog crossed the threshold. Once inside, Bugsy’s transformation was remarkable. Though still nervous, he explored a little, sniffing at the edge of the blankets and nosing at toys scattered around the room, but it wasn’t long before he curled up next to Jazz, his head finding a resting place in Jazz’s lap.
“Everything okay?” I asked Abbie as she came back to my side, not liking the frown she was wearing.
Jazz glanced up at us, his gaze flicking to me, but then focusing on Abbie.
“Normally, I’d do the orientation,” Abbie said, then sighed with great drama as she waggled her phone, “but I can’t today.”
Jazz’s smile vanished, and he quickly stared down at Bugsy, his shoulders dropping a little.
“What’s up?” I asked for clarification.
“I’ve finally pinned down Joseph’s son, Levi, to visit String Bean and the pups, and he’s reluctantly agreed to be here in thirty.” She rolled her eyes. “Probably too busy being a concierge veterinarian, fixing designer dogs and bowing to their rich owners too much to actually care about volunteer work.” Then, she pressed a hand to my arm and looked stricken. “I wouldn’t ask, but…” She inclined her head at Jazz. “Can you do the orientation while I charm this asshole into not charging us the earth?” I understood why she was asking. After all, we’d lost Joseph when he retired and, so far, his son was reluctant to get involved. Abbie’s “charm” was a tactful way of saying we needed to secure the best for our animals without straining our always-tight budget. She glanced at Jazz, then back at me and bit her lip. “Or we could do another day.”
“Sure,” Jazz said immediately, but when he tried to stand, Bugsy burrowed deeper and whined.
“I can’t,” I blurted. “I mean, Jazz might not want me to do it.”
“I’m okay,” Jazz said after a pause.
“Are you sure?” I tried to gauge his reaction, giving him an out. After all, he’d insisted Marcus be his contact back at the Hall. He avoided talking to me and told me outright that he didn’t want to be friends.
He paused, a trace of indecision in him. He only met my eyes again after a moment that stretched out longer than I’d expected.
“I’m sure,” he said, and it seemed as if he was giving more than just his assent for me leading the orientation. There was a hint of connection there, a silent agreement he would be okay with me in his space.
“Thanks, Alex. I appreciate it,” Abbie said. “So Jazz, you’ll be in expert hands with Alex, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I met her gaze, and we had a silent conversation that ended with me sighing and her throwing me a half-smile.
“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 weeks left. 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 happy you’re alive,” I whispered.
And somewhere deep in my chest, the knot of anxiety eased.
Just a little.