No Man Left Behind: A Veteran Inspired Charity Anthology by Elizabeth Knox (black authors fiction TXT) 📕

but that one’s already in transition to his permanent home. The Duck was the runt of the litter and wasn’t expected to survive,” I explain, knowing that any man would prefer to have a dog named for John Wayne over a bird, but what can I do? “He’s a sweetheart, I take him home every other weekend, and can assure you he is very sensitive to human emotions but took to his training really well.”

“Do your list thing, then let’s talk some more about what happens next,” Owen says before heading further inside to the kitchen area. “Want something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” I answer before walking in the opposite direction.

Fifteen minutes later I’m pretty sure I know more about the cabin and surrounding area than he does. Circling back, I find him lying down on the couch with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest; I clear my throat to let him know I’m ready to finish our discussion.

“Any lead paint or hazmat items I need to get fixed up before I pass the test?”

Thankfully, his eyes remain closed so I can soak in the sight of him a few minutes longer.

“It’s perfect here,” I tell him. “The fence was recently installed and will provide a safe space for The Duck. I do want to talk to you a little more about the work you’ll be doing. You mentioned consulting, will there be much traveling?”

“No. Look, it’s not that I have anything keeping me in this area, but I wouldn’t take on a service animal without thinking of its well-being and happiness. I may be moving on but I will make sure that The Duck has a similar space and, really, I just want a place I can put down roots myself.”

Flipping back through the pages of his application and what I’ve observed, I know I’m fast-tracking this but it’s not without merit. Plus, my boss already told me Mr. Bannon, dammit, Owen, was getting a service dog due to a huge donation made in his name. At this point, I know it was made by the man he’ll be working for, the one who went to the effort to put a mini-dog park out back.

“Alright, I’ll bring The Duck by on Saturday,” I tell him. “It’s just for a visit. On Monday, we’ll start your transition training.”

“My training?” he asks as I abruptly stand up and head toward the front door.

“The Duck’s already been trained. Your shirt is on inside out,” I call over my shoulder.

“Can you find your way back?” he asks, quickly following behind me.

“Yes, my grandparents used to live nearby.”

“Text me that you got back safely,” he says, pulling the door open for me.

“This isn’t a date, Owen. I’m good.”

“Fine, then I’ll text you in thirty minutes and every five until you respond.”

Looking up, I see Keith and another man exiting the barn and throw them a wave before I get into my car. Heading back to town, I decide to sign The Duck out tonight rather than wait until tomorrow. I’m going to miss that little sweetheart, so I might as well spend another day with him before he goes on to fulfill his purpose.

Chapter Three

Owen

I keep my face guarded as Keith and Carlos join me, only giving them a nod to let them know I’ll be getting the service dog.

“What are you going to name him? Maybe after a battle or MMA fighter?” Carlos’ rapid-fire questions are par for the course with him.

“He’s got a name. He’s The Duck.”

Carlos pauses to see if I’m kidding before busting out with, “Well, that’s lame.”

“I looked into her for you,” Keith says, cutting to the chase. “Her ex was abusive. She made an excuse the first time he put her in the hospital. The second time, she filed a police report and got a restraining order. Lucy left Atlanta right after he violated his parole and the protective order by breaking into her place, he’s still in jail for another month.”

The three of us exchange glances, all thinking the same thing.

“I’ll keep an eye out, as long as I’m here.”

“I’ll check with our contacts in Georgia and keep eyes on him when he’s released,” Carlos contributes.

“Time we left you. Check in with me daily, otherwise I’ll be moving in,” Keith tells me, clapping my shoulder before turning back to the barn.

“Come back for waffles anytime,” I call out and his shoulders relax with his laughter. Of the many topics we covered when we served together, one of the more important ones was breakfast food. Pancakes or waffles almost became a free for all fight one day.

I spend the next day at the pet store buying up everything on the list that Lucy left me. And about a dozen things that I think Duckie might want. Every time I thought of The Duck, my mind would wander to fucking Lucy.

Literally fucking her on every surface in this cabin. Duckie isn’t that big of a name change but most importantly, it doesn’t rhyme with fuck.

When I ran out of things to prepare for my service animal, I jumped online and read up on Lucy’s backstory. But then I had more time, so I flipped through all of her social media. That was especially frustrating because it virtually stopped a couple months after she started dating her ex.

I get that she was young, barely twenty-one, but no woman should have to fear a man slapping her around. Shaking my head at the position she was in, I remind myself not to get involved. As my therapist keeps saying, I need to heal before I can be responsible for anyone else.

“Hey, we’ll be there in ten minutes.” Lucy’s voice is light and bubbly this morning, is my first thought when I pick up her call. “Remember to hang back a bit, I’ll keep him on his leash and let him snoop around.”

“Got it, I’ll be out back, so come around