Page 44 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Kenny said nothing. Because he’d seen it too many times. Kids labelled as trouble, when all they’d done was try to survive in a system that had already failed them. He didn’t believe any teenager chose to sleep rough, to beg, to trade safety for risk, unless the alternative felt worse. And more often than not, it did.

That was the thing about runaways, rough sleepers, those dismissed as NEETs (Not in Education, Employment or Training). People were quick to blame their behaviour, their defiance, their ‘poor choices.’ But the truth was, most never had good ones to begin with. Bad behaviour in young people was often pain in disguise. Lashing out, shutting down, trying to be seen in a world that looked straight through them.

And Kenny had learned long ago: to understand a child,you didn’t start with what theydid. You started with what theysurvived.

Like Aaron.

Ms Harrow tucked her lanyard into her coat pocket. “Anyway. I won’t hold you up, but while I’ve got you…” She cleared her throat, then adjusted the strap on her bag. “When the police reached out, we took a moment to revisit your employment file. I’m afraid we may have been… a little swept up in the novelty of having a former university lecturer on staff. I can’t pretend we did our usual due diligence.”

Kenny felt the shift, the conversation turning.

She gave a tight-lipped smile. “There are a few vague references to your departure from Ryston. Nothing official. Nothing detailed. But… whispers, I suppose.”

Kenny waited.

“Were you asked to leave because of an inappropriate relationship with a student?”

He drew a breath. “Not exactly.”

“But not entirely untrue?”

“I left Ryston voluntarily.”

“Did you have a relationship with a student?”

“Aaron is now my partner. We moved here together.”

Her eyebrows lifted faintly. “Aaron?”

“Yes.”

A pause settled between them. She looked down at her hands, then back at him. “I’m not here to pass judgment, Dr Lyons. But I’m responsible for safeguarding. For reputational risks. And for understanding the people I’ve welcomed into this school.”

“Of course.”

She looked him over, as if seeing him for the first time. Not as the calm, competent psychologist who’d stepped in last-minute to save a failing course, but as the man withshadows in his paperwork and a personal life that didn’t fit neatly into HR protocol.

She composed herself when she said, “I appreciate your honesty. And I hope, for all our sakes, that this police involvement doesn’t turn into anything too… visible.”

Kenny gave a small nod. “So do I.”

She turned to go, then paused at the door. “Dr Lyons?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s keep the thing with your partner between us, eh?”

Kenny nodded. She left, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have expected that. The whispers were never far away. He’d left Ryston on his own terms. An agreement due to all the difficulties of keeping anything about Aaron out of the official record. But gossip travelled. In academia. In education. Even this far onto the island.

But right now, he had something else to tackle.

So he left, got in his car and drove to Newport.

* * * *

Aaron buzzed into Pawsitive Futures Dog Shelter with his keycard and shoved through the centre’s front doors with the bag of coins in his coat pocket.

The place stood like a crooked postcard scene on the edge of nowhere. Wooden fencing, faded signage, and Christmas lights blinking with stubborn optimism. Frost clung to the corners of every surface. The scent of wet dog, hay, and cheap pine cleaner wrapped around him as he crossed the threshold.