Page 46 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Jonathon laughed, then approached Aaron’s desk. “We got a lurcher in last night. You might wanna come check her. She’s not going near me. No eye contact.”

Aaron nodded, then went back to chewing his thumbnail as he stared at the screen.Thatwas why he wanted the job. But the moment he submitted those forms, it’d start. This little charity and these quirky, loud, relentlessly decent people who’d let him in without question when he wandered through the doors a year ago to drop off a donation, would start getting curious. The same people who joked with him, put up with his prickles and deflection and bouts of sarcasm, who fed him biscuits, and offered him a job, they’d all look at him differently.

Curiosity had a way of turning warm places cold.

A Google search here. A whisper there. Threads on Reddit from years back. Half-truths and dead links and usernames who thought they were clever. A trace of Ryston. A flicker ofFrank and Roisin.

The job would vanish then. He knew it would.

Oh, they wouldn’t say it outright. It’d be some quietly worded apology about “organisational fit” or “a shift in funding.” No one ever said:you make people nervous. And Kenny, with all his faith in policies and protocols, had encouraged him to apply for the higher-paying role. The one that would get him out into the community. Fundraising. Therapy work. Giving something back. Said it might help him shed some of that survivor’s guilt he carried.

But Aaron knew better. He’dlivedbetter. It wouldn’t matter how good he was, how useful, it wouldn’t change anything. He’d been discarded forless. By foster parents. Case workers. People who smiled through their teeth and called him complicated when they meant contaminated.

A job like this, and a life like the one he had right now, was a luxury.

And yeah, he’d thought about changing his name. Had even joked with Kenny once that he should takehissurname. Aaron Lyons. They’d laughed about it, kind of. But Kenny had gone quiet after that. Thoughtful in the way he got when something scraped too close to the bone.

Maybe it had felt too much. Too real.

Didn’t matter, anyway. He hadn’t done it.

He was still Aaron Jones. BecauseJoneswas safe. Unremarkable. Common enough to disappear behind. He could always claim he wasn’tthatAaron Jones.

The whispers would say otherwise. Not about his parents. Most of that was buried, scrubbed, silenced. No, the whispers would paint him as something else. The student who made Dr Kenneth Lyons lose his professorship.

Aaron scratched behind Chaos’s ears, trying to quiet the throb rising in his chest. That low, humming ache that came whenever he let himself want something too much. He liked it here. Liked the dogs. The purpose.

But like everything else in his life, it felt borrowed.

And eventually, someone always came to collect.

Maybe that’s why he still kept himself a little guarded. Even with Kenny.Especiallywith Kenny. Because deep down, some part of him still believed that one day, eventhatwould be over too. And maybe that’s why Kenny kept him on the edge, breathless and begging, always wanting but never quite having. Maybe that was the point of this whole thing. He was training him in denial. Preparing him for the eventual silence. That some fractured part of him thought Aaron would need the practice. That he needed to knowhow to live without him. Slowly. Incrementally. In aching doses.

So yeah…never using that safeword.

Fuck,he loved him.

So fucking much it hurt.

Right. Focus.

Work.

He left the envelope of forms on his desk to go check the dogs. Water, dry food, meds, walks, and re-bedding, but the newest arrival changed the rhythm. A lurcher. All ribs and raw nerves. Tucked into the back corner as if she’d crawled inside herself and bolted the door. Her coat was patchy, her eyes the colour of old snow, and her growl vibrated straight through his sternum.

Aaron crouched by the kennel door, arms slack, posture loose. No sudden movements. No voice. No eye contact.

Breathing. Presence.

He stayed like that for minutes. Long, quiet, grounded in stillness. Proving to her he wouldn’t demand anything she didn’t want to give.

Eventually, he spoke. “Hey, girl. You’re safe now.”

She didn’t move, but her growl eased.

“You don’t owe anyone calm.”

The words landed heavily in his throat.