Chapter 13 Rhys
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 veterinary exams. 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.”
“Are you on call?” He mutters in a small voice.
“Nope. Why don't you go up and have a shower while I order a takeaway. Same bedroom as last night.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Same bedroom as last night.
Those words were a callback to the time before our plan started, before we officially met.
The implication hangs between us for a moment too long. “I mean, let me show you to the guest room.”
He follows me upstairs, and I show him the same room he used last night. “Unpack. There's no rush for you to find somewhere else just yet.”
“Thank you for this.” His hand catches mine. “All of this.”
I smile, falling headfirst into those innocent blue eyes. “I'll call when dinner arrives.”
I head back downstairs, grab a pizza menu and guess what normal people would order. I stare at the menu for several minutes. My victims never required menu decisions. A little of everything sounds right, but the price is shocking.
Then I sit and wait. My dining room could easily seat eight people, but has rarely been needed. The table has seven chairs I don't use. I bought it because it looked respectable in the catalogue.
In reality, I have never filled more than one seat. My staff are my family, but they only see the surface. The perfect exterior I've spent years curating. They never see beneath my armor. Noah has seen me with no protection, and he can still smile at me like I'm his savior. Most people would run.
Noah thanked me.
It's wrong. He doesn't understand the monster I am. He should be afraid of me.
He should be counting the exits, measuring the distance between us, waiting for the moment I decide he’s no longer useful. Instead, he stands in my hallway as if he’s been invited into something safe. Like I’m safe.
And yet, there is no sign of his intrusion in my life. There is an extra coat beside mine, and a dirty pair of boots that are beyond saving, but other than that he is invisible.
When the doorbell rings, he comes trotting down the stairs in a clean pair of joggers and a hoodie. He looks younger somehow. Less like a survivor, more like a kid who just discovered freedom.
“May I help set up?” he asks shyly. He doesn’t wait for permission before moving closer, hovering at the edge of the table like he’s unsure which rules apply here.
There are no rules. That’s the problem.
“Everything is in the dining room.”
His eyes widen slightly as he lifts one of the lids, staring at the contents as if it were something unfamiliar.
Not the food itself. The abundance of it. Choice, laid out without restriction. He eats quickly at first, as if he expects it to disappear. Then slower, more carefully, like he’s trying to make it last.
Once I have eaten until I could burst, I know his expression was because I'm the inexperienced one.
“Cold pizza is the best breakfast,” he announces confidently. “Your nurses would love this tomorrow after such a busy day.”
“They would?”
“Absolutely.”
I stare at the remaining boxes, realizing I’ve ordered enough food to feed the entire rescue team. Noah is already stacking them neatly, setting some aside with quiet efficiency. Making space like he’s planning to stay.