Grace's POV
Jenny's scream cut through the air like a knife.
I dropped the cat I was examining and ran. My feet hit the clinic steps so hard I nearly fell. Outside, Jenny stood frozen, hand over her mouth, staring at Thor's enclosure.
My heart stopped.
Ethan was inside the cage.
With Thor.
No! I screamed, sprinting toward them. Get out! Get out now!
But Ethan didn't move. Didn't even look at me.
Thor, my three-legged German Shepherd who'd sent two people to the hospital—stood three feet away from him. Teeth bared. Body tense.
I was about to watch someone die.
Ethan, don't move, I said, trying to keep my voice calm even though panic clawed at my throat. I'm getting the tranquilizer gun. Just stay
He's not going to hurt me, Ethan said quietly.
He's a trained attack dog with PTSD! He will hurt you!
No. Ethan's voice was steady, calm. He won't.
Thor's growl deepened. His ears flattened against his head.
I grabbed the fence, ready to climb in, ready to do something, anything—to save this idiot man from getting himself killed.
Then Ethan did the impossible.
He sat down.
Just lowered himself to the ground, crossed his legs, and extended one hand palm-up. Not reaching toward Thor. Just... offering.
Easy, buddy, Ethan said, his voice so soft I barely heard it. I know. I know you're scared. Nobody's going to hurt you here.
Thor's growl stopped.
The silence was deafening.
I've seen what happened to you, Ethan continued, and something in his voice made my throat tight. I've been where you are. When the world blows up and the person you trust most doesn't come back. When everyone looks at you like you're broken. Like you're dangerous.
My breath caught.
Thor tilted his head, watching Ethan with those intelligent eyes.
But you're not dangerous, Ethan said. You're just trying to survive. And I get that. I really do.
Thor took one step forward.
Then another.
I stopped breathing.
The German Shepherd moved closer, closer, until he was inches from Ethan's outstretched hand. He sniffed once. Twice.
Then Thor lay down and rested his head on his front paws.
Six inches from Ethan's knee.
My legs gave out. I grabbed the fence to keep from collapsing.
Jenny whispered behind me, Oh my God.
For five minutes, neither Ethan nor Thor moved. They just sat there together in the enclosure—a broken man and a broken dog, understanding each other in a way I never could.
And I couldn't look away.
Couldn't stop watching the gentle way Ethan spoke. The patience in every line of his body. The way he seemed to know exactly what Thor needed.
Something shifted in my chest. Something dangerous.
This wasn't just competence. This was compassion. Understanding. The kind of deep empathy that came from living through your own hell.
Finally, Ethan stood slowly. Thor watched but didn't follow. Didn't growl. Just watched as Ethan walked to the gate and let himself out.
The second the gate closed, I exploded.
What were you thinking? I shoved him—hard. My hands met solid muscle. He could have killed you! Do you have any idea what that dog is capable of?
Yes. Ethan's voice was maddeningly calm. I know exactly what he's capable of.
Then why
Because he wasn't going to hurt me, Grace. He's not aggressive. He's traumatized. There's a difference.
You don't know that!
Yes, I do. Something flashed in Ethan's eyes—old pain, old understanding. Raw and real. I've worked with military dogs before. Dogs who watched their handlers die. Dogs who came home broken and scared and convinced the whole world was a threat.
He stepped closer. I should have stepped back. Didn't.
Thor isn't violent. He's terrified. And terror looks a lot like aggression when you don't know the difference.
I stared up at him. At this man who'd just risked his life for my most broken animal. Who understood trauma in a way that made my heart ache.
Who was standing so close I could see his pulse beating in his throat.
You worked with military dogs? My voice came out barely above a whisper.
A lifetime ago. He turned back toward Thor's enclosure, breaking the moment. He's not beyond help. He just needs someone patient enough to prove they're safe.
I've been trying for six months
You've been trying to fix him. Ethan's eyes met mine again, and the intensity in them stole my breath. He doesn't need fixing. He needs understanding.
The words hit me like a punch.
Because wasn't that what I wanted too? For someone to understand instead of trying to fix me?
I want to keep working with him, Ethan said. If you'll allow it.
Every instinct screamed no. Thor was my biggest failure, my most dangerous animal. Letting this stranger, this man who made my heart race and my walls crumble—work with him was reckless and stupid.
But Thor had trusted him.
And maybe God help me, I was starting to trust him too.
If he bites you, I said, my voice shaking for reasons that had nothing to do with Thor, I'm not liable.
Ethan's lips twitched. Almost a smile. Noted.
And you follow my rules. No going in the enclosure without telling me first. No unnecessary risks.
Agreed.
And you— I stopped, realizing I was giving him permission. Actually trusting him with my most vulnerable animal.
When had that happened?
Thank you, Ethan said quietly.
He started to walk away.
Ethan?
He stopped. Turned back.
How did you know? I asked. That Thor wouldn't hurt you?
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: Because I recognized myself in him. The fear. The walls. The way you attack before anyone can hurt you first. His eyes held mine. Sometimes it takes one broken thing to understand another.
Then he walked away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding and something cracking open inside my chest.
Jenny appeared at my elbow. Grace. What just happened?
I have no idea, I whispered.
But that was a lie.
I knew exactly what had happened.
I'd just watched Ethan Kane do the impossible. Not just with Thor—but with me.
Because somewhere in the past week, this quiet, broken man had slipped past every defense I'd built. Had made me want things I'd sworn off forever.
Made me want to trust again.
Want to feel again.
Want him.
That night, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About the way Ethan had sat with Thor. The calm certainty in his voice. I've been where you are.
The way he'd looked at me when he said sometimes it takes one broken thing to understand another.
Like he was talking about more than just the dog.
I pulled up my laptop and typed: Ethan Kane Wall Street.
Dozens of articles appeared. My heart sank as I started reading.
Former Goldman Sachs trader arrested for assault.
Wall Street golden boy falls from grace after attacking mentor.
Kane claims algorithm theft, experts call it delusion.
There were photos. Ethan in expensive suits, shaking hands with powerful people. Ethan being led away in handcuffs. Ethan's face cold and angry at his sentencing hearing.
The articles painted him as unstable, vindictive, a man who'd lost everything and lashed out violently.
But they also mentioned something else.
A sister. Lily Kane. Hospitalized after a breakdown.
I clicked another link. Found a buried story about James Whitmore launching a new trading platform. Using technology that looked suspiciously similar to something Ethan Kane had developed years earlier.
My stomach twisted.
What if Ethan was telling the truth? What if he really had been betrayed?
What if the angry, violent man in those articles wasn't who he really was at all?
I closed my laptop and walked to the window.
Ethan's car was dark. He was probably already asleep in the backseat, wrapped in blankets, preparing to wake at dawn and fix more things he didn't have to fix.
Tomorrow, he'd work with Thor. He'd talk to that broken, terrified dog with the same gentle patience he'd shown today.
And I'd watch, trying to figure out who Ethan Kane really was.
The Wall Street criminal the articles described?
Or the man who understood that trauma looked like aggression when you didn't know the difference?
The man who looked at me like I was worth showing up for?
The man who made my pulse race every time he was near?
I pressed my hand against the cold window, my reflection staring back at me.
When had I started noticing the way his voice dropped when he talked to the animals? The strength in his hands? The rare almost-smiles that made my stomach flip?
When had community service worker become the man I can't stop thinking about?
Something told me finding out the truth would change everything.
I just didn't know if I was brave enough to face it.
Or brave enough to admit that maybe I didn't want to face it alone.