Tyler Best didn’t believe in fate.
Fate was an excuse people who’d experienced really bad shit or really astounding luck used in order to explain how their lives tended to twist and turn. Fate was a fantasy.
Tyler was a realist. He didn’t rely on some imaginary force to direct him. He’d taken chances and gotten knocked on his ass a few times, but he kept going because that’s what life was. You didn’t give up when it got hard.
Even in the face of devastating loss.
Tyler stared at the picture of Rex, his military dog, and the ache in his heart was raw, even eight months later. Rex had been his for three years before getting killed in combat. While Tyler was overseas, away from his family and friends, the dog had been his best friend, bringing him great comfort. When he’d lost Rex, he’d almost quit working with dogs. It had been difficult to be around them.
Yet, here he was, waiting to be led back to the “last day” dogs at the Paws and Causes Shelter. It was his first time here, as it was relatively new. Most of the time he visited Front Street Animal Shelter or the one off of Bradshaw, but new rescues and shelters were being added to the program every day. Ever since he’d become the head trainer for the Alpha Dog Training Program, a nonprofit created to help strengthen the connection between military personnel and their community, he’d become the last hope for a lot of dogs. If they passed their temperament test, they’d join the program. Not all of them did, and on those days it was hard to remember all the lives the program saved. It was hard to walk away from a dog’s big soulful eyes when Tyler knew the only outcome was a needle filled with pink liquid death, but he couldn’t save them all.
Just like he couldn’t save Rex.
“Sergeant Best?” a woman called from behind the reception desk.
Tyler stood up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You can go on through. Our tech, Dani, is waiting in the back to show you around. Just straight back; you’ll see the double doors.”
“Thank you.” Tyler opened the door, assaulted by high-pitched barks of excitement and fear. As he passed by the kennels, he looked through, studying the dogs of all shapes and sizes. He wasn’t sure why he was so melancholy today, but it had been coming on strong.
He pushed through the double doors and immediately realized the man and woman inside were arguing. Loudly.
“No, he has more time. I talked to Dr. Lynch, and he promised to give him until the end of the day in case his owners claim him.” This was shouted by the woman with her back to him, her blonde ponytail swinging with every hand gesture.
“Don’t be naïve. You’ve been here long enough to know that he won’t be claimed.” This was said by the thin, balding man in the lab coat, who was pushing sixty and had the cold, cynical look of someone who’d been doing his job too long. Tyler had seen it on the faces of veterans who had found a way to steel themselves against the horrors that haunted them. But once you shut that part off, it was hard to find it again. “Even if they come looking, they’ll just tell you to put him down anyway. If they had the money to pay for his care, then they could afford a proper fence. All you’re doing is putting off the inevitable and wasting valuable pain meds.”
He tried to sidestep the blonde, who was a good head shorter, but she planted herself right in his path. When she spoke, her voice was a low, deadly whisper. “If you make one more move toward that cage, I will body check you so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
Tyler’s eyebrows shot up, and he crossed his arms, hoping like hell the guy tested her. He really wanted to see her Hulk out.