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Chapter twenty-three

Riley: Treats and Texts

A soft, silvery haze slipped through the narrow windows of the office. Outside, the frost still clung to the corners of the rescue’s sign, and the low hum of the space heater filled the otherwise quiet room.

The rescue was still empty, the dogs not yet stirred from their early-morning calm. It was the kind of quiet that usually soothed me.

I sat at my desk, fingers wrapped around a chipped mug of coffee, letting the faint heat sink into my chilled hands.

The folders in front of me—intake reports, grant applications, volunteer schedules—blurred into a single wall of clutter.

My eyes weren’t on the screen in front of me. They weren’t on anything, really.

My mind drifted to last night. To the way his arms had wrapped around me. For a brief time, I wasn't thinking about his flight, the distance, the uncertainty.

I was enough.

He was holding me. That was enough.

I could still feel the warmth of his hand at the small of my back.

My phone lit up beside me with a soft buzz. A text.

I didn’t move right away. Just stared at the screen, heart ticking up. I already knew who it might be.

I know Janice is still out. I stashed some treats that Janice sneaks the boys in the back when you aren’t looking.

Please give them some and tell them it's from me.

BTW don’t tell Janice I told you.

No worries, I already knew.

Ofc you did.

Plane doors closing. Talk tonight?

LMK when

Safe flight

Is it corny to say I already miss you?

No it's sweet.

The door creaked open. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

"Oh no," Tessa said, voice dripping with suspicion. "I know that look. That’s not a 'wow, this is great coffee, look.' That’s a ‘just got a text from the hot hockey player’ look."

I blinked, trying and failing to adjust my expression to something more neutral. “Morning to you, too.”

She walked in with a dramatic sweep of her scarf, dropping her sketchpad onto the nearest table. “Don’t morning me. I know that dazed, goofy smile. You’ve got it bad. Dish”

I pressed my mug to my lips to hide the grin I didn’t want her to see. “You want the long version or the short one?”

Tessa plopped into the chair across from me, swinging her boots up onto the edge of the desk. “Of course, the long one. But I know you won’t. You’ll give me some vague, emotionally repressed summary, and I’ll have to imagine the rest.” She sighed dramatically. “Fine. Give me the short one.”

Oh no. That telltale heat is creeping up my neck. “We are going to try to make this work. Long distance. I have no idea what that means?”

Tessa squints as she locks onto my eyes. “ You mean what you two are? Or how to do long distance?

“Both.”

We both laugh.

“Honestly, we didn’t have much time to talk last night.”

“Oh, really, what were you busy doing?” Tessa raised an eyebrow.

I could feel my cheeks getting red. “Oh, shut up.”

Tessa leaned back with a smug little smirk, clearly pleased that she had made me blush.

I watched her settle deeper into the chair, arms crossed like a cat about to pounce. The inquisition was officially underway.

"Are you going to see him play?" Tessa asked, her tone deceptively casual as she examined a chipped thumbnail.

I hesitated. "Wait, you mean fly in for one of his games?"

She flicked her eyes up. "Well, unless you’ve learned to teleport, um yes?"

I stared down at my mug. "Do you think he would want me to?"

Tessa smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand and groaned dramatically.

Was I really that off?

“Okay, but it’s a big game. His first back in the majors. I don’t want to… I don’t know. Distract him?”

Tessa sat up straighter, all business now. “When’s his next game?”

“Tuesday,” I said slowly, unsure where this was going.

“Great,” she replied, already pulling her phone from her bag and unlocking it. “I’m booking your flights.”

“What?” I leaned back, eyes wide.

She didn’t even look up. “Do not make me give you the death stare.”

I sighed, already half-defeated. “Alright,” I muttered.

Tessa’s thumbs flew across the screen.

I glanced out the window, half talking to myself. “This is going to get expensive—flying back and forth. And I can’t do it all the time. I need to be here.”

Tessa paused mid-scroll, not looking up. “Okay, go on. You’ll eventually get to the part where you realize the obvious solution.”

"Oh, what—I just clone myself?" I said, folding my arms.

Tessa finally looked up, and for once, there was no smirk. “You’ve been outgrowing this place for a while. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

“I love the rescue. This is where I belong.”

“No one said you didn’t belong,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve had other plans before. Bigger ones. Just because you built something good here doesn’t mean it’s the only place you can shine."

I didn’t answer right away. I just sat there, staring at the chipped edge of my mug, wondering if it was time to stop treating those old dreams like they’d expired. Maybe I could pick something off that old list of dreams. Maybe this could work.

“Where would I even start?”

Tessa looked at me, puzzled. “Start what?”

I let out a short laugh. ”Sorry, I was thinking about all those ideas that have been circling inside my head.

You know the big city dog shelter, the therapy animal non-profit.

I don’t know anyone there” I said, as I chewed on a pen I don't remember picking up.

"It's a big leap going somewhere totally new. "

Tessa’s fingers hovered over her screen for a beat. Then she set the phone down slowly and looked at me. "Then you need to find someone who does. Someone with lots of connections."

"Someone like Colton’s dad." Tessa looked pleased with herself.

I blinked. "You’re joking."

She didn’t even flinch. "Why would I be? He’s connected, he knows the city, and whether you like it or not, he knows who you are."

“He also probably thinks I’m a distraction,” I muttered.

“Maybe. Or maybe he thinks you’re the reason his son finally got his act together. Either way, he’ll take the call.”

I knew she was right. Why did it feel like I was going to break out in hives?

He answered on the second ring. And just like that, everything stopped being hypothetical.

***

The arena was packed.

Every seat pulsed with energy—scarves waving, jerseys everywhere, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the floor as I stepped into the main concourse. I pulled my hood down and adjusted the strap on my bag, trying to remember how breathing worked.

My ticket said lower bowl, center ice. VIP seating, according to the woman at the gate. Courtesy of Colton’s father. I hadn’t expected him to offer them, let alone invite me to sit with him. But when I got the message—one ticket reserved under my name—I didn’t hesitate.

I found the section and made my way down the narrow steps, heart thudding. He was already there. Colton’s dad stood as I approached.

He reached out to shake my hand. "It’s nice to meet the best unofficial NHL coach Colton’s ever had."

I blinked, caught off guard. Then laughed—awkward, automatic. "It’s nice to meet you, too."

"Thanks for the ticket," I murmured, sliding into the seat.

I tugged at the hem of my sweatshirt. The fabric still had that new, just-out-of-the-box stiffness.

The Timberline Shelter logo curved across the chest in crisp green, and right in the center sat a cartoon version of Duke—Colton’s favorite from the rescue—wearing a miniature version of his new team’s jersey.

The design had been Colton’s idea. Well, minus his uniform. A fundraiser. Limited edition. Proceeds to the shelter. I’d printed a few samples, mainly as a test. But it was the only thing that felt right when I was packing.

Colton’s dad cleared his throat. “Good turnout tonight.”

“Yeah,” I said, then leaned in slightly. “How do you deal with the nerves? I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “If I had a cure for that, I’d bottle it and buy myself a team.”

A voice crackled over the PA system “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the singing of our national anthem.”

We stood.

The crowd roared to life as the anthem ended.

The puck dropped.

***

Third period. Game tied. I glanced up at the scoreboard—fourteen seconds left. Every person in the arena was holding their breath—including me.

Colton caught the puck near center ice and exploded down the middle. The crowd surged to its feet. My breath hitched as he maneuvered past one defender, then another. Clean breakaway. Just him and the goalie.

I grabbed Colton’s dad’s forearm before I even realized I was moving.

He didn’t flinch. Just muttered, “Come on, kid.”

Colton faked left. The goalie bit. And then—

The puck hit the back of the net.

The horn blared. The arena erupted.

I jumped up, adrenaline taking over, and threw my arms around Colton’s dad. A full hug. I regretted it the second it happened.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, stepping back like I’d touched a hot stove.

He straightened his jacket. “You’re fine.”

On the ice, Colton’s teammates piled on him, shouting, slamming gloves against his helmet. The whole bench emptied, jerseys blurring in motion. After a minute, the players lined up and raised their sticks to the crowd in their signature salute.

Colton’s eyes scanned the stands.

I tugged lightly at the hem of my sweatshirt.

His gaze stopped.

And then he beamed.