Page 122 of Should the Sky Fall

“Yeah, sure.”

They follow her to the staff room, anxiety churning in Dawson’s stomach. Once the door is closed, she turns to them, but keeps her eyes predominantly on Dawson.

“I didn’t want to say anything until it was confirmed, but…” She sighs. “We’re moving Donut to a different shelter. I know you two connected, so I wanted to let you know personally.”

Dawson swears he can feel the blood freeze in his veins. There’s more to it, he’s sure. Aubrey wouldn’t look so crestfallen if Donut was just changing locations.

“What shelter?”

Her lips form a thin line. “Nancy and Friends Rescue.”

Dawson takes a step back, as if he can somehow distance himself from this moment. “No.”

“Dawson…”

“Please don’t do that,” he begs, voice quivering. His vision begins to blur, his chest tight. “Give it some more time. Someone will—”

“Donut’s been here far longer than we normally allow,” she cuts in, her tone taking on a sharper edge. “We knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t get picked up due to his eye condition and his behavior around other dogs, but we hoped that his breed would make him appealing to potential owners.”

Yes, Dawson knows. He understands. Aubrey’s not wrong. But he doesn’t want to understand, doesn’t want to hear it. It makes him hate people in that moment, makes him hate how, unless the pet is young and cute and perfectly behaved, they aren’t interested. Donut is amazing. And heiscute. So what if he gets cranky around other dogs? Plenty of dogs are like that. And his condition is nothing too difficult to deal with. He just needs to have his eyes cleaned and moisturized regularly, no biggie.

A large, gentle hand lands on his shoulder. “Dawson, it’s okay,” Cal says, squeezing lightly. “Wherever that shelter is, we can visit him there.”

“No, that’s not…” Fuck, of course Cal doesn’t understand. “The other place isn’t a no-kill shelter like this one.”

Cal’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“The animals are put down within a week if nobody picks them up,” he explains, swallowing the bile he can taste on the back of his tongue.

Cal’s expression is one of sheer shock, and for some fucked up reason, it makes Dawson feel a little better. It’s good to know he’s not the only one who finds this practice utterly abhorrent. He doesn’t understand how some people just accept it.

“I’m sorry, Dawson,” Aubrey speaks again. “He’s been here for six weeks. There’s nothing else we can do. We have more dogs coming here every day.”

“I know,” Dawson says miserably. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Fuck, I know.”

For the first few moments, everything is so quiet Dawson is convinced that everyone can hear his heart thumping against his ribcage. God, he knew it. He knew something bad was about to happen. Granted, he didn’t think it would involve poor Donut, but he knew. Things can never go well for him for too long. He had a suspicion something would go down when he started to feel happy. But it’s always like this with him. There’s always a shoe waiting to drop and smack him in the face.

“Why don’t we take him?”

Dawson’s head snaps up. He couldn’t have heard right.

“What?”

“We can take him,” Cal says, then looks at Aubrey, unsure. “Right? We have no other animals, so we wouldn’t have to worry about him acting out.”

While Dawson is only capable of opening and closing his mouth like a fish, Aubrey speaks.

“Oh my god, that would beabsolutely amazingif you could do that. But you’d have to be prepared for the expenses. His condition isn’t life-threatening, but it’s incurable. You’d need to keep on top of his care at all times. You’ll also need to learn about his breed-specific diet.”

Cal shrugs. “Someone is always home. Usually me. Money isn’t an issue. And I can learn about the rest.” To Dawson, he says, “You can teach me.”

His soft smile reaches to the deepest parts of Dawson’s soul, putting all the broken pieces back together. There’s no way he can hold the tears back anymore. They spill down his cheeks with an ugly sob that’s wrenched out of him, and then he’s throwing himself at Cal.

“Thank you!” he sobs into Cal’s neck, clinging to his shoulders in case his knees give out. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Cal’s arms come around him, steady and strong, and it only makes him cry harder.

“Well, this was an unexpected turn of events, and I’m here for it. You guys made my day,” Aubrey says after an unidentifiable amount of time.