Stinger
FINN
“Almost there, lad.” I glanced in the rearview at Ajax, who lay on the backseat, head on his paws. The Belgian Malinois had been subdued since I picked him up two days ago. Made sense. He was grieving as much as any of us. More, maybe. Charlie had been his whole world.
“You’re gonna like Dr. MacGregor.” The words felt hollow, even to me. Truth was, I had no idea if Ajax would like her. Wasn’t even sure I liked her, though that had more to do with the way she looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her boot. But she was the best vet in the area, and Charlie would’ve wanted the best for his boy. I was determined to give him that in Charlie’s stead.
Ajax’s ears pricked at a passing lorry, but he didn’t lift his head. Two years we’d served together in Afghanistan. Charlie and Ajax had been part of our squad. Brothers. Family. Now Charlie was gone, and Ajax... Christ, I hadn’t seen him this low since that clusterfuck in Helmand.
“We’re gonna sort you out, mate. Get you back on your feet.” And maybe, if we were lucky, we’d manage the same for each other.
The bell over the door jangled as we walked into the clinic. Ajax stuck close to my leg, head down, barely acknowledging the elderly spaniel and its owner across the waiting room.
“Good morning!” The receptionist’s cheerful greeting faltered slightly as she registered my size, but she rallied quickly. “How can I help you today?”
I tried to dig up some of the charm I usually used to put people at ease, but I was running at low ebb, so I had to settle for adjusting my posture so I didn’t loom. “Patterson. I’ve got an appointment for Ajax.”
“Oh yes, the new patient.” She beamed down at Ajax, who didn’t even flick an ear in response. “Poor love. We’ll get you feeling right as rain in no time.”
I doubted that.
She pushed a clipboard across the counter. “If you could just fill these out for me? Standard new patient forms.”
I took the clipboard and settled into one of the plastic chairs, Ajax lying at my feet without prompting. The forms were straightforward enough—breed, age, medical history. I had all of Ajax’s records from his military service. Part and parcel of taking on a retired military animal. My pen hesitated over “owner’s name.” After a moment, I wrote my own. It felt wrong, but Charlie was gone. Ajax was mine now.
My handwriting had always been shite, but it was legible enough. I’d just finished when a vet tech appeared in scrubs covered in cartoon dogs.
“Ajax?” She consulted her tablet. “Come on through.”
Ajax followed me down the hallway, his nails clicking against the linoleum. The tech—her name tag read “Jenny”—got Ajax’s weight and directed us to an exam room. “Dr. MacGregor will be right with you.”
Rather than taking a seat in one of the plastic chairs, I stood at parade rest, watching Ajax settle into his now-familiar dejected posture. Two weeks since the funeral, and neither of us was handling it well. But I had to do better. For Charlie. For Ajax. I knew we both had to grieve the loss and find our way to life on the other side.
Christ, I hoped Saoirse kept her claws in today. Every interaction we’d had through our mutual friends had been like oil and water. But for all she clearly couldn’t stand me, I knew she was brilliant with animals. Had to be for Ciara and Parker to speak so highly of her. So hopefully she’d put aside that mystifying disdain for Ajax’s sake.
The door opened, and Dr. MacGregor herself swept in, all long limbs and sleek blonde ponytail, looking far too posh for someone who dealt with sick animals all day. Her head was bent over the paperwork as she entered. “And who do we have here today?” She immediately dropped into a crouch beside Ajax, her voice going soft and gentle. “Hello, handsome.”
That prep school voice did something unreasonable to my insides that I determinedly ignored.
Ajax didn’t even lift his head as she stroked his ears. He was breaking my heart.
Saoirse straightened, and her professional smile faltered as she registered my presence. “Finley.” The clipped tone was familiar enough, but there was something brittle beneath it. “I didn’t realize you were Ajax’s owner.”
But I barely noticed because I was too busy staring at the dark purple bruise blooming around her right eye. Twelve hours old, maybe less. The swelling hadn’t peaked yet. That kind of bruising—it’d be throbbing like a fucking bastard right about now.
Something dark and violent surged through my blood, a familiar rage I hadn’t felt since my days in the service. I had no tolerance for anyone who’d lay hands on a woman. It went against everything I believed in, everything I’d ever fought for. And someone had more than put hands on this woman. Someone had hurt her, deliberately and with force. The kind of force that made my jaw clench and my hands curl into fists.
Before I even registered I was moving, I was across the room, my hand hovering just shy of her cheek as I stared at the mottled purple staining her otherwise flawless skin. The bruising was precise, targeted. This was no accident.
“Who do I need to put in a body bag?”