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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

carter

You know what? I’m starting to believe in all of this universe, witchy, astrological crap that women harp on about. It has to be true, right? Fate and all of that? There is absolutely no other explanation for what I walk into one week later, on a rather cool Saturday afternoon.

It was a pretty shit morning. We had an early skate and the photographers outside the gates were gutless.

So many questions were shouted at not just me but all the guys.

About me. Names, too. Heard Irina’s being screamed once or twice.

I genuinely had to scan the crowd to make sure it wasn’t her, hiding somewhere in the masses, trying to get her name jotted down so it would appear next to mine in some headlines.

She scares me. Did I mention that?

Coach asked again about my girlfriend. It seems the mainstream media is relentless, but our team’s social media is being plastered with similar questions. He asked me to bring her by to tame the circus a bit. Make life about hockey again, and not my dick or my fist.

I walk into the animal shelter and smile sweetly over at Shelly.

She’s my favourite receptionist. Retired teacher, three kids, and a husband who is a baker.

She works here part-time, just for something to do.

She’s an angel and adores me. I met her on my first visit down here, and now I bring her tea every time I come by.

“Orange Pekoe. Two honey, Sugar,” I say, pulling my sunglasses off my face and tucking them into the neck of my shirt.

Shelly beams up at me, pushing her gray bangs away from her face. “I’m still going to pretend you’re calling me ‘sugar’ whenever you say that.”

I lean one elbow on the ledge by her desk and shoot her a look. “What do you mean? I am.”

She glances down at her cup and looks back up at me with concern all over her face. “There is sugar in this, right?”

I smile. Of course there is. “Two.”

She gets this happy little look on her face and I remember why I like coming here. Besides giving back and all of that, I like helping good people. Shelly might work for a non-profit, but she is the beating heart of this place. I know she appreciates my services as much as my tea deliveries.

I know what you’re probably thinking. I don’t seem like a pet guy.

I have no preference, really. Like them enough, but I’ve never felt the pull to own one.

Too much responsibility. Originally, this whole thing was not my idea.

It was just damage control for the last punch I threw that got some attention.

Management said I needed some good PR. Lowesy led me straight through these doors to find it. He was walking that fluffy thing he now owns at that time. It was considered volunteering. So, I started doing the same, but instead of just walking dogs, I threw my wallet at the place.

Lowesy donates monthly. Big chunks, too.

I couldn’t handle coming here and seeing things falling apart.

Felt bad for all of those little shits in their kennels and cages having to endure flickering lights or broken doors.

I could donate, just like he does, but I like taking a look at what needs to be done and calling in favours with my connections to build relationships for this place. It’s saved them a lot of money so far.

It’s been about a year since, and I don’t have to come here anymore.

I could probably stop and nobody would say a word.

Before I threw that punch at Icebox, anyway.

Maybe Shelly would kick up a fuss, but that’s because she’d have less tea and much less sweetness without me around.

But I won’t stop coming by. I like it. It gives me some purpose beyond skates and a stick.

Back to fate, though.

I turn the corner, pushing into the dog room, and stop dead in my tracks when I see a familiar head of pretty red hair.

See? Destiny.

I lean against the kennels, watching Arden on that small towel placed on the concrete floor. She’s bent over her book, her shoulder pressed to the kennel, eyes averted from the trembling dog beyond the door.

It doesn’t take long to figure out what’s going on here. The big ol’ piece of red paper with the word ‘CAUTION’ printed across it, the one slapped right on the kennel door with a bite taken out of the corner, it spells it out for me.

I push myself off the kennels and walk toward them both. The barking from the other pups conceals my steps. It isn’t until my feet come into her view, on that small towel covered in knitted flowers, that she stills and slowly looks up at me.

It’s a bit of a punch to my ego when her face falls like Satan himself has just entered the room.

I glance into the cage. Me and the mutt lock eyes.

Cute thing, but a bit dodgy. He’s sitting in the corner, eyes glued to mine with the whites of his showing.

He’s shaking, and I don’t judge him for a second.

Scared of the thing? Yup. But I’d be feeling pretty lousy if I were shoved in a cage for twenty-four hours a day, too.

Haven’t a clue what breed he is, but he’s got short hair, white with patches of dark stripes. He has one blue eye and one brown eye, which is pretty damn cool. He looks like he’d rather vanish into the wall than attack me, but he’s cornered. He’s got no other option if I walk in there.

He’s stuck and he’s scared. Lethal combination.

“I heard he hates redheads,” I say, glancing back at the ginger on the floor.

Arden’s eyes narrow. She slowly lowers her book to her lap. “Are you stalking me?”

I bark a laugh. The poor guy in the cage beside me jumps. “Not quite. Believe it or not, this is all an act of fate. I help out around here when I can. See what they might need my money for.”

She stares at me, like she doesn’t believe a fucking word I’m selling her, but her eyes soften just enough that I keep talking.

“This month, they have a leaking ceiling in the back of the dog room.” I point to the back corner, where they have lost two kennels to the leak. That creates the potential for two poor pups being turned away when they walk through the doors. I don’t like that. I’m having it fixed within the week.

She doesn’t look, she just glares at me like this is all some trick. That’s fine. I will not be deterred. Not when the universe is pushing so hard for this.

“You don’t seem like a dog guy,” Arden says, bite in her voice.

I glance over my shoulder at Cujo. “I like all the little dudes who can’t stick up for themselves without being labeled aggressive. ”

I gently pat the big, red sign. It’s a clear warning that this dog is unapproachable, even though they won't actually slap words like ‘aggressive’ or ‘biter’ on the cage. The dog shows me his teeth, so I look away, but I keep myself pressed against the kennel so he can smell me.

I think Arden and I might have had the same idea.

Begrudgingly, she looks from me to the cage. “His name is Wanton.”

My brows skyrocket. “Wanton?”

She dips her chin, nodding. “I come here a couple of times a week and just sit here so I can build his trust. He was halfway to me before you walked in. Last week, he even sniffed my hand.”

“Wanton,” I say again. I glance over at him again and he immediately rips his attention from Red to me. “You can’t have a name like Wanton and be such a prick, dude.”

A hand slaps my calf, hard. Wanton fucking erupts. He lunges forward, teeth bared, hackles raised. His eyes are glued to Arden now, saliva falling from his mouth as he snarls her way.

And I know before I even look at her. I know I just fucked up.

Again.

She is devastated. She’s looking at Wanton with pain in her eyes, her face utterly broken.

She apologizes softly, over and over, using the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard to try and calm him.

But she’s upset, and he feels it. It takes a minute of both of us staying completely still, but Wanton slowly stops losing his shit and returns to his corner.

Arden’s throat bobs. She glares up at me like I did something wrong. “You just ruined weeks of progress.”

“ You hit me ,” I remind her.

“You made fun of him,” she says through her teeth .

“Not in his language,” I say, like it’s obvious. It’s true. I didn’t bark. “He didn’t understand it.”

“He’s not going to trust me now.”

“Yes, he will,” I tell her, looking over at Cujo, who has now decided to put his back to us completely. “People make mistakes. So do dogs. I bet he’s done a couple of things that he regrets. I think Wanton is smart enough to give you a pass on that one.”

He landed here, didn’t he?

“He bit a kid.”

My head snaps in her direction. I raise my brows, but she’s staring at his back, hands gripping her book tightly.

Wanton. You can’t fucking bite kids. You’re lucky you aren’t chilling on the other end of the rainbow bridge right now.

“The kid kept throwing balls at him, trying to play catch,” she continues. “Parents weren’t watching. Trusted a dog to babysit their kid. When Wanton wouldn’t play, the kid ran and hit him with a bat, multiple times. It was a rubber thing, but it still hurt him. He nipped his hand.”

“Damn,” I say quietly, bending to a kneel. I feel her straighten beside me. “And then they shipped him away to this hellhole.”

It’s not a hellhole, it’s just no place where a dog should have to live. They do their best, but these little guys deserve to be free. A cement cell with a little bed and a blanket isn’t enough. Strangers coming in to gawk at you and determine your worth isn’t right, either.

“He’s terrified of kids now,” she mutters. “Men, too, but mostly children. The dad hit him as punishment. Kid didn’t even need stitches.”

My stomach churns. Everyone has a breaking point. Some people’s tempers are shorter, like mine. Wanton’s wasn’t. Wanton had the temper of a saint, but his people let him down. They forgot he’s a dog. They expected him to be a human. A big brother to the child they’re responsible for.

People don’t deserve dogs.

People who hurt dogs deserve to meet me.

“They don’t euthanize here,” I tell her softly, because it just feels like something she has to know. This is a no-kill shelter. He’s safe.

“I know,” she says, smiling tightly. “I’d adopt him before that happened, anyway.”

I raise a brow. “You want him?”

“It would be selfish. I don’t have the lifestyle to have pets, but I’d do it to save him.”

I’m intrigued. What lifestyle doesn’t allow pets, especially for someone who clearly adores them?

There’s only one other person I know who would sit here for hours on end, multiple times a week, just to earn a dog’s trust that she isn’t even going to adopt.

Just to give him a chance to be better for someone else.

“Sometimes, I wish I had a social circle bigger than the people I work with. People who have the time for pets. I love spending time here, but I just want one night where I can sit on a couch and be smothered to death by four-legged babies.”

Ah, so it’s a career thing.

“You have to know somebody.”

She looks up at me. “I don’t.”

She only maintains eye contact for half a second longer, but I see something there.

A guard that’s been lowered, and there was a boatload of pain right behind it.

It was brief, but it was there. I don’t know what’s going on in her life, or what burden she’s carrying on those rigid shoulders, but it’s abundantly clear that Arden is having a terrible day.

I say what I say next because I know I’m right. Something’s different about her today. She’s a bit more haunted. I also say it because I’m still trying to win her over. I’m not going to lie about that. I’m taking this opportunity the universe handed to me and riding it all the way to the moon.

I highly doubt she’ll agree to anything I have to say, but I’m willing to miss the shot if there’s half a chance she’ll take it.

She wants to be smothered in love by four-legged little shits?

“Red,” I say, and she immediately glares my way. I flash her a grin. “I’ve got someone you should meet.”

It takes a minute and a bit more sweet-talking, but because the universe wants us to do this thing I’ve plotted and played out in my mind one hundred times now, she rolls her eyes and gets up to follow me.