Page 39 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

SECOND CHANCES & SHELTER DOGS

Lucy

T he smell of clean hay and dog shampoo clings to the air as I tie my apron around my waist, greeting the familiar faces of the Saturday morning volunteers.

It’s early, the sun barely peeking through the front windows of the animal shelter, but already the place is alive with the soft shuffle of paws and the occasional excited bark from the kennels in the back.

This is my happy place.

No matter what’s going on in my life, I can always come here, always count on a few hours spent with wagging tails and grateful brown eyes to quiet the noise in my head. It’s why I picked up this shift last minute—because I needed something, anything, to pull me out of my own spiraling thoughts.

“Lucy, you’re a saint,” Danielle, the shelter director, says, passing me a clipboard with the day’s intake list. She’s frazzled as usual, her short blond ponytail already falling loose from a morning spent wrangling dogs and organizing the front office.

“We got five new rescues in yesterday, and we’re a little short-staffed this morning. ”

“I got it,” I assure her, flipping through the pages. “I’ll take the new guys out for walks first, let them stretch their legs.”

Danielle sighs in relief. “You’re the best.”

I slip through the side door into the kennel area, past rows of eager, hopeful faces, tails thumping, paws scratching at the gates as if to say, Me first! Me first!

I smile, my chest loosening for the first time all week.

I shouldn’t be here right now—not technically.

Normally, I only volunteer once a month, but after the last few days?

I needed this. The past week has been unbearable—Bennett everywhere, and yet nowhere at all.

His name in my texts, unanswered. His face on my TV screen, the highlight reels showing him playing like a man possessed.

And then that disaster at the club. I woke up with the hangover from hell. I’m never drinking tequila ever again.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, forcing the thoughts away.

This place is supposed to be my reset button. And right now, I need it more than ever.

I reach for the first leash and clip it onto the kennel door, stepping back as a shy golden retriever mix hesitantly steps forward.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I murmur, crouching down to let her sniff my hand. “Ready to go outside?”

Her ears flick forward, and after a moment, she leans in, pressing her cold nose against my fingers. My heart squeezes. I love dogs. So sweet. So trusting. Even with their baggage—which is more than I can say for myself.

“Come on,” I encourage, leading her toward the exit.

I push through the back door into the crisp morning air, ready to do what I came here to do—lose myself in something simple. Something good.

And then I see him.

Bennett.

Leaning against the chain-link fence near the exercise yard, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, watching me. He’s wearing joggers, tennis, shoes and a ballcap pulled down low.

My breath catches.

He looks…

Exhausted.

Dark circles under his eyes. Tension in his shoulders. A stern expression.

And when his gaze meets mine, there’s no cocky grin, no teasing remark. Just… him.

I inhale sharply, gripping the leash a little tighter.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice more defensive than I mean it to be.

Bennett shrugs, gaze flicking down to the dog at my feet before coming back to me. “Walking a dog, apparently.”

I glance past him, and sure enough, there’s another volunteer handing him a leash, attaching it to a large German shepherd mix. The sight of it almost makes me laugh. Big, tough hockey player in his expensive joggers, signing up to do community service with a bunch of shelter dogs.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. “You just randomly decided to show up here?”

His jaw shifts. “Figured I’d do something useful today.”

I study him for a moment, something tugging deep in my chest.

I believe him. I wasn’t scheduled to be here either. I guess we’re more similar than I want to admit sometimes.

It’s been days since I’ve seen him up close, days since I’ve let myself be near him without anger clouding my vision. And now that I am?

I hate how much I missed him.

Still, I hesitate.

This was my safe space. My place to breathe.

I should tell him to leave. I should tell him I don’t want him here.

But I don’t.

Instead, I nod toward the gate. “Come on.”

I don’t wait for him to follow.

He does anyway.

We walk in silence down the quiet sidewalk that leads to the park behind the shelter, the morning cool but bright, the crunch of gravel beneath our feet the only sound between us. His dog lopes happily beside him, my golden sticking close to my side.

It’s weird, this silence.

We don’t do silence.

But somehow, it feels like the only thing we’re capable of right now.

It’s not until we reach the clearing that I finally speak.

“You look like hell,” I say, staring straight ahead.

Bennett lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, well. It’s been a long week.”

I nod, my throat tightening.

It’s the end of the season. He’ll play his final game this week, and since the Stampede missed out on the playoffs, soon he won’t have the distraction of hockey to keep him busy. I wonder how he feels about that. But I don’t ask him, not yet anyway.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

And then, because I’m an idiot, because I hate this distance between us, I say the thing I probably shouldn’t.

“I used this as an excuse.”

Bennett slows beside me, glancing over. “What?”

I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the leash. “Your past. Your divorce. I used it as an excuse to push you away.”

He doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at me with those haunting blue eyes.

So I keep going.

“Because I was scared,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t know how to handle it. Us.”

His breath hitches. Just barely.

And then, quietly, he says, “I didn’t know how to handle it either.”

I turn my head slightly, my heart thudding unevenly as I meet his gaze. There’s something raw there. Something that makes my stomach twist.

Because if I let myself believe it—if I let myself really look—he isn’t just here because he feels guilty.

He’s here because he cares.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

The dogs tug us forward, breaking whatever fragile moment we just had, and I clear my throat, refocusing on the path ahead.

We keep walking.

We don’t talk much after that.

But somehow, the silence between us isn’t quite as heavy anymore.

By the time we circle back toward the shelter, I feel lighter than I have in days.

He slows beside me, his voice low. “I know I messed up.”

I look over at him.

And for the first time since this whole thing fell apart, I think—maybe, just maybe—I’m ready to hear him out.

But we don’t get the chance for some big, emotion-filled conversation. Because when we reach the shelter, there’s more to do. Lots more. I shampoo dogs, and Bennett helps Danielle unload heavy bags of dog food from her SUV.

I see him again, heading out to walk Waffles and smile remembering our conversation about his name from when I barely knew him. It seems like so long ago.