Page 66 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

But this felt different. It almost felt like the other side of rescue. The part people softened with donation photos and happy adoption stories. The part that didn’t fit neatly into before-and-after pictures.

Sutton wondered, with a sudden unwelcome clarity, if she could actually handle the truth of it—the neglect, the cruelty, the slow damage done over time by human hands or human indifference. It was one thing to treat injuries. It was another to look straight at the cause.

Her stomach rolled as the barking spiked again, and she pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to turn back, to tell herself she could ease into this kind of work later. But there was no later for dogs who sounded like that—no easing into reality. They needed help and care now.

She opened the door, heart thudding, already knowing that whatever waited behind that shed was going to change her. And deep down, she wasn’t sure she was prepared for what she was about to see.

Colter stopped beside her and lowered his voice. “You okay?”

Sutton forced herself to nod once even though all she wanted to do was vigorously shake her head and ask him to handle it. But Sutton was done relying on others to fix things or save the day. She’d earned her cape through dedication and sacrifice and hard work—not to mention love and care.

She went chin up. “I will be.”

He studied her face like he was looking for cracks she might be hiding. “You don’t have to go in there. You can stay back and I’ll handle it.”

“No. I need to.”

“Sutton—”

“This is part of the job,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Not the part anyone wants, but the part that matters. I can’t cherry-pick the easy cases and call myself useful.”

“I don’t ever want you thinking you have to prove something. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I’m not. I just need to know I can do this. That I won’t freeze when it counts.”

He exhaled, a rough sound. “I’ll walk you through it. One step at a time. And if at any point you say stop, you go back to the car and I’ll deal with Harvey. No resentment. No judgment.”

She nodded again, surer now. “I’m ready.”

Colter held her gaze for a beat, then gave a small, grim smile. “Good. For what it’s worth, I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“And?”

“And I never get used to this part. I just learn how to stand in it without breaking.”

They made their way toward the front door and had just reached the stoop when Harvey stepped out onto the porch, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

The man’s age was ambiguous, landing somewhere between forty and retired. He looked like he’d been shaped by back roads and bad choices—the kind of man who never quite made it out of the gravel. His jeans sagged low and stained, work boots cracked and worn thin at the soles, laces mismatched like they’d been scavenged from different lives.

A sweat-rimmed cowboy hat was pulled low, but she could still see his eyes, which darted too quickly, never settling anywhere long enough to suggest honesty. His hands were rough and nicotine-stained, his fingers tapping an unsteady tattoo against his thigh like it was a nervous tic.

“Callahan,” he said, like it was a chore. “You bring cash?”

“You bring puppies?”

Harvey’s gaze slid to Sutton. “Didn’t know this was a group thing.”

“She’s with me,” Colter said, flat.

Harvey snorted. “Well, ain’t that some shit and sunshine.”

“The puppies?” Sutton asked, forcing the emotion from her words.

“Small talk is the Midwestern way.”

“Small talk is a waste of time,” she snapped. “Now the puppies.”

From Sutton's vantage point, she felt it before she saw it—the shift in Colter beside her. His shoulders dropped an inch, not relaxed, exactly, but settled.