Page 52 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

Blackwell stood in the shelter doorway, one hand on the frame, silhouette backlit by the harsh fluorescents inside. His coat was expensive. His smile wasn’t.

Aaron forced his breath out through his nose. “Yeah?”

Blackwell stepped forward, boots crisp over the gravel. “Need to get back to the Mayor’s office. You’re good for tomorrow? St Joseph’s shelter visit?”

Aaron could feel the headlights behind him. Kenny’s car drawing closer, beams spilling across the carpark. Kenny would see them and he didn’t want that. Didn’t want this moment seen. So he said the only thing that would make Blackwell go away.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He didn’t mean it.

But it worked.

Blackwell gave him that polished nod and slipped back inside.

Kenny pulled into a space and flashed his lights once.

Aaron stood there for a beat longer, tightening his grip on Chaos’s lead instinctively, eyes burning from the cold. Then he ran over, got Chaos into the boot, and jumped in the front, putting his armour on.

“You said four.”

“I did.” Kenny glanced out the front windshield. “Got caught up at the station. Was that him?”

“Who?”

“The new guy. Boss man. Bloke here to save the charity.”

Aaron clicked his seatbelt too hard. “Yeah. Blackwell. He’s a prick. I hate him.”

Kenny snorted. “You hate everyone.”

“I hate you for not being here at four.”

“Then I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.” Aaron reached for the heater dial and cranked it to full blast, waggling his fingers in front of the vent.

Kenny pulled out onto the road, tyres slipping on a patch of slush. “Why do you hate him?”

“Who?”

“Your boss.”

“He’s a bellend.”

“More specific.”

“A massive bellend.”

Kenny hummed as if he was filing that under:will circle back later. Then he said, “I know you liked Patricia. Shame she retired.”

“Yeah. She actually cared about dogs and not about how much money they can swindle out of old people. Legacy funding. All the rage.”

“Might take some getting used to. New management.”

Aaron turned his face to the window, watching the frost halo around the glass. Everything outside looked like a postcard. From a place he didn’t live in. The silence held for a while, not uncomfortable, but thick. Then Kenny took his hand off the wheel and slid it up Aaron’s thigh. And Aaron, despite having his game face on, still flinched. Hard. Sharp. Automatic. So much so he bashed his other knee against the door handle, almost curling in on himself. It was a reflex older than thought. Older than Kenny. His body didn’t give ashit about safety, or who it was. Lover, stranger, it didn’t matter. Touch meant threat, and his nerves fired first. Recoil now, process later.

Kenny pulled away immediately, curling his hand back around the steering wheel. “Whoa. Sorry.”

Shit.