Page 21 of Vetted for Vengeance
“It's just a start.” A firm hand settles on my shoulder, and I glance around at Rhys. He doesn’t remove it.
“They’ll all find forever homes, thanks to you. We just need to run more checks on these before we can safely find them foster homes.”
“Foster homes?” I know they are evidence, but they need forever homes now.
“You are going to be very busy, Noah.” Rhys turns, checking the cameras are done with us. “The producer wants to make you the face of the rehousing campaign. They'll fund all the care and medical expenses for the dogs if you'll be the host who checks up on all the dogs.”
“Yes,” I reply instantly. “Oh, but I don't have a home. I just have three sets of clothes.”
“You can stay with me.” Rhys says without hesitation. Like this had already been decided. I hug him, completely uninvited. He freezes for a moment before hugging me back.
“Thank you for making this possible,” I sob carefully, ensuring my words come across as gratitude for this monumental rescue mission, rather than removing the two bulky obstacles that had been firmly sitting in my way.
I just hope he doesn't see me as an obstacle in his path.
Chapter thirteen
Rhys
Opening my front door feels like stepping into a world far removed from today’s chaos. Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into another life entirely.
My house is quiet. Orderly. The way I prefer things. Shoes lined neatly by the wall. Surfaces clear. Everything in its place.
A man who spends his evenings dissecting criminals needs somewhere clean to return to. I’m a man who thrives on control and order.
Today disrupted all of that. I'd been in the kennels, I put Honey back in her home, but I really did not appreciate the scale of the place. So many dogs. I thought I understood cruelty. But cruelty multiplied across fifty-eight animals is something else entirely.
I thought I'd swoop in, collect a handful of adults, a litter or two of pups and swing back home, hand Noah his favorite and become the hero.
Instead, I have more dogs than my practice was designed to accommodate, and more pressure than my final veterinaryexams. Add to that, I have a lost soul behind me who seems naturally photogenic and somehow thrives on chaotic energy.
Noah pauses just inside the door, as if he isn't sure he's allowed to breathe here.
His eyes track across the walls, the furniture, the spotless kitchen counters. He moves carefully, like he might disturb something just by existing.
I watch the way he steps; quiet, measured, respectful of a space that has never been shared.
It occurs to me, uncomfortably, that he fits here. Too easily. I suddenly realize he has probably never lived anywhere quiet.
“You managed all those dogs by yourself?” I try to put him at ease as he follows me inside.
“Huh, yeah. Their care and health, and everything. It was hard work, and I wish I had more time for each of them.”
“And the reason you wanted to save Honey more than the others?”
“She's six years old, carrying 12 pups. She's going to need help. I was worried they would just cut her open, take the pups and leave her to… you know…”
“I won't let that happen.” I promise.
“She already struggled with her last litter,” he adds quietly. “She kept trying to stand up and nurse them all at once.”
“You don’t have to worry; my nurses work shifts, so they're there around the clock.”
“Your nurses are amazing. They'll look after them.” He deflates slightly.
Tired, thankful, or reluctant to hand over control.
“They know to page me if she goes into labor. Even if I'm not on call.”
