Page 11

Cian

Blair had successfully avoided me for two weeks.

After games, she disappeared before I could invite her out. When we traveled, she kept Dante between us like a shield. And she didn’t answer the door to her hotel room when we were in Buffalo or Boston.

I’d messed up by turning up at her door drunk in Washington, but I didn’t cope well when confronted by my childhood bully. Dylan Childs was born to be a defenseman. He was big, and mean, and had made my life hell when we were in the Junior League. My shoulder still occasionally ached from where he dislocated it in a ‘friendly’ game. Our coach drove me to the hospital and left me in the hands of medical staff who reset the shoulder and firmly told me to rest it for two months—no more hockey for the season. I’d nodded my ten-year-old head and promised to behave, then called my parents who were out of town for the day at a dog show. “You can walk home, can’t you? It’s your shoulder, not your legs. We’ll see you at home. Ope, got to go. They’re about to call Zeus’s comp. Wish us luck!” I lied to the social worker and slipped out of the hospital without a backward glance. It wasn’t the first time Dylan hurt me, and it wasn’t the last time a dog was my parents’ priority. I learned to adapt. When I got my scholarship to Fox, I thought I’d never see him again. I blossomed at Fox, making captain before senior year, and finding my people in my teammates.

It wasn’t until my second year in professional hockey that I saw Dylan again. Despite the intervening years, no matter how many times I reminded myself that I was a fucking adult and didn’t have to fear anyone, let alone the shitty kid who made my life hell, I still experienced a regression to the boy who was just trying to love the one thing he was good at.

None of that was Blair’s fault, and I shouldn’t have brought it to her doorstep, but apparently, drunk Cian doesn’t give a shit about boundaries.

Maybe sober Cian didn’t, either, because here I was, two days into our five-day break before the Global Series, taking the stairs to Blair’s apartment two at a time.

I’d had time to think about what she said. The accusations she threw at me, and came to one glaring conclusion. We didn’t know each other outside of work.

That, I could fix.

So here I was, knocking on Blair’s door with the intention of taking her out for the day.

We could get to know each other outside of hockey, and I could casually drop into conversation that I wasn’t the kind of guy who hooked up with puck bunnies.

And I could absolutely keep my mind from straying to how good it felt to wake up beside her. How her breast fit my palm perfectly, and her ass felt like heaven against my umm… yeah.

“I’m sorry, work has been crazy. I haven’t had a chance to call you—Oh, it’s you.”

Her eyes were manga doll big behind her delicate gold-framed glasses, the toffee color glinting in the dim light of the hall. Her pajama pants hung low on her hips, a strip of soft skin visible below the hem of her T-shirt. I cast a quick look at my dick, mentally reminding it we weren’t going to be invited to share her bed again anytime soon.

“Who were you expecting?” I asked, refocusing on why I had come.

“I’ve been ignoring my mother for the last week. She sent a text this morning that she would stop by today.”

“So… how much do you want to keep avoiding her?” If this was my way in, I’d take it. We needed to keep building our relationship for the good of the club. Our social media manager couldn’t indefinitely avoid a player. At least, that’s what I told myself as I waited for her answer.

She narrowed her eyes at me, holding the door mostly closed while I stayed firmly on the corridor side of things.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, her fingers flexing on the door as though she were considering slamming it in my face.

There were two ways I could play this.

I wanted to be the cool man of mystery who swept her off her feet for a surprise day of fun and bonding, but the reality was that she didn’t trust me, and I had a suspicion that she and I weren’t on the same page with a lot of things. So instead of forcing my way in and insisting she get dressed, I laid my cards on the table.

“I volunteer at an animal shelter on weekends when I’m at home. I’m heading in today, and thought you might like to join me. You get unlimited puppy cuddles and can hand feed the bunnies. There’s a cat called Garfield who is the embodiment of the cartoon. He has a death stare that scares the dogs from twenty yards away.”

Her eyes searched mine, fingers still gripping her door hard. What could I do to convince her? Perhaps that was the problem. I couldn’t make the decision for her, and trying to push seemed to make her leave faster.

I tucked my hands into my pockets and let her look. No secrets here, just someone who really wanted to spend the day with this uber defensive, but surprisingly interesting person.

A curl dropped over her eye, and she blew it away, raking her hand through her hair for good measure.

“Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed, and we’ll go.”

She slammed the door, only to open it a second later.

“You’d better wait in here. Just in case my mother does show up and we have to jump out the window.”

“We’re on the third floor.”

“You underestimate my desire to avoid my family.”

I chuckled at what I really hoped was a joke and stepped inside, closing the door behind me while she ran for her bedroom.

Little had changed since I was last in the space, but with our schedule, and the hours I knew she pulled, it wasn’t unexpected. There was a small collection of cups and glasses on her coffee table and a pile of clothing over the back of a dining chair.

The kitchen was relatively clean, though there were a couple of takeout containers by the trash can. I wondered what she would think of my obsessively neat space.

Wandering to the entry and back, I checked the door I assumed was Blair’s bedroom.

Still closed.

I strolled a circle of her living room, smiling at the picture from her hockey days and ended up back in the kitchen. Back to the coffee table, though this time I loaded up on the glasses and brought them with me back to the sink. Next time around, I retrieved the coffee mugs.

When Blair reappeared a little while later, I was elbow deep in dish soap, scrubbing dried queso off a plate.

“What are you doing?”

I whipped around and tried for a casual lean, cursing as I drenched my shirt.

“Ready to go?”

I could play this off, even if the pile of unfolded laundry haunted me for the rest of the day.

Grabbing the nearest dishtowel, I dried my hands and took in her outfit. A cute little T-shirt with a turtle print and “this is how I roll” stretched across her chest in a way I wasn’t at all noticing. There was a pink blush to her cheeks and lips that could have been makeup, and best of all, she was wearing my favorite jeans. The ones that cupped her ass perfectly.

I’d never considered myself an ass guy, but that seemed to be changing in Blair’s presence.

“You washed my dishes,” she said, ignoring my encouragement to get going.

“I have a short attention span. Idle hands and all that. Come on, my truck’s outside.”

She stared at me a moment longer before reluctantly allowing me to steer her out the front door.

“It’s weird to wash someone else’s dishes. You get that, right?” she asked as we belted in, and I started the engine.

“I do it at Oscar and Mia’s place all the time.”

She shook her head, staring out the window as we pulled away from the curb.

“It’s not far from here. The shelter, that is.”

My hands stuck to the steering wheel as I navigated us the couple of blocks to our destination. I’d downplayed the significance of this shelter. No one knew I came here.

Not Mack. Not Oscar. No one.

I had such a complicated relationship with my parents, and animals had always felt like the catalyst.

No time for a son, there were dogs to train.

But the truth was, I loved animals. I’d have adopted half the shelter years ago if it wasn’t unfair when I traveled so much.

Coming here gave me the connection without complication. Without the reminder of my parents.

We parked at the back of the lot, under a tree, and hustled toward the shelter. I shivered in the brisk breeze, regretting not taking the chance to change into a dry shirt. The shelter was always warm, and the work was often dirty so we’d be fine inside. Though my shirt probably wouldn’t last the day. As the door chimed, announcing our entrance, Katie looked up from behind the desk with a welcoming smile in place. The expression warmed into something less practiced when she recognized me.

“Cian! Welcome back.” I grinned and held my knuckles out for a pound as the teen bounced out of her seat. “Decided to grace us with your presence today. You know Girtie has been missing you.”

The ring-necked parrot was a long-time resident of the shelter, and a menace to the volunteers who passed too close to her cage. I had a chunk missing from my left ear that I’d passed off as an old hockey injury.

It was Girtie-induced.

I rolled my eyes at her and held a hand back for Blair, making quick work of introduction.

“She’s going to help out today, so make sure you give her the good ones so I don’t look bad.”

“They’re all good ones,” Katie said, grinning at me, then turning her smile on Blair.

“Come on through. We have some spare rubber boots you can put on, if you want to save your sneakers.”

Once we had appropriate footwear, Katie led us back to the exercise area.

Unlike other shelters in the area, this branch of Austin Animal Allies was set up more like a pet motel than a shelter. As animals came in off the street, they were assessed for social skills and trauma, alongside their physical condition, and were accommodated in different areas dependent on temperament. The ones who were well socialized were given yard time every day to burn off excess energy and ensure their well-being, playing with others of a similar size in a space full of enrichment toys and a shallow pool for wading. This was where I wanted Blair to spend the day, tossing a ball and enjoying the energy of dogs likely to be reclaimed by loving families within days of entry to the shelter.

I scratched the ear of a cocker spaniel I hadn’t met before and offered a tennis ball to Blair. I gestured toward a bulldog who was already dancing in place, his eyes fixated on her hand.

“Toss it as hard as you can. Bruce loves the chase, even if he’ll only bring it back once or twice before he needs a rest.”

She glanced at me quickly, then hauled off and threw as hard as she could. Bruce took chase with a grunting wheeze that had the same cadence as a steam train.

“Oh, my God. He’s adorable.”

“He’s a machine, all right. Just don’t leave him alone with peanut butter treats.”

She laughed, and the sound echoed through my chest, carefree and happy.

I wanted to stay and bask in the joy radiating out of her as she bent to say hello to a three-legged labrador who was another resident I hadn’t met, but there was something I needed to do first.

“I’ll be back in a few, okay? Just chill here and I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

Her agreement was lost in a shriek as the lab decided to cement their friendship with a kiss.

Chuckling, I closed the gate behind me and headed for the less-pretty part of the shelter. As I entered a hall lined with bolted wire doors, I called a greeting to Dan, the maintenance manager of the shelter.

“How’s my girl today?” I asked, stopping in front of the second to last door in the row.

“Pretty much the same. I don’t think she’s let anyone get close since you started the season.”

I sighed as Dan turned his attention back to the light globe he was replacing.

Before I entered the cage, I took a moment to shake out my shirt, allowing my scent to waft through the small space. In the back corner, a black nose rose out of a bundle of blankets.

“How are you today, my pretty girl?” I asked in a low voice, sinking onto my haunches. A black ear cocked, but otherwise there was no response.

With slow movements, I eased the gate open and slipped inside, keeping my eyes on the wall as I sat side-on to the wary animal.

“I heard you haven’t been very nice to the people who feed you, baby girl. What has you feeling unsafe?” I asked, keeping my voice low and soothing.

A whippy tail twitched, and I smothered a smile as I continued to speak to the wall, easing my body a half inch closer to the back of the cage.

It always went like this.

For the first month, the rottweiler had been vicious, attacking anyone who approached her cage. It had taken time and consistency for her to trust me in her space, and last time I’d been here, she had allowed Dan in to clean her kennel without needing a muzzle and a sedative. I was determined to make her like me. We’d been close a couple of times, she’d come as far as to sniff my knuckles before retreating to her nest, but the day she trusted me enough to pet her, I’d feel unstoppable.

“We won our last game in Chicago,” I told her, easing a little closer. “I think we’re in for a shot at the cup this year. But don’t tell anyone I said that, or they’ll call me a jinx.”

I kept up a constant babble, eyes focused away from her corner so she didn’t feel trapped, and after long enough for my ass to go numb, a miracle happened.

I’d shuffled over halfway through the room, head turned away and hand resting on the floor closer to the nest of bedding when a soft wetness brushed against my knuckles. I paused in the middle of explaining the difference between a slap shot and a wrist shot. Shaking off the shock, I returned to my description of stick handling and cast a quick glance beside me. Seelie, the rottweiler who had caught my heart the first time I’d seen her trembling in fear, had stretched her beautiful body across the floor, her nose barely touching my knuckles as she watched me with cautious eyes. Her flanks showed scarring from a history I didn’t want to think about, silver gouges in her fur telling the story of human cruelty. Yet here she was, giving her trust to me.

“You’re such a good girl,” I whispered to her, keeping completely still as she eased a little closer, rubbing her muzzle more firmly against my knuckles. My vision blurred, and I couldn’t have given less of a shit. This beautiful survivor was showing me a level of trust I’d never expected to earn.

And that was before she pulled herself up and crawled over my lap.

“Seelie.” My voice broke on the word. I wanted to stroke her. To show her how I cared for her, but I knew this moment could break in an instant. She was testing me. Seeing if I would act out the same way others had toward her.

I had to be patient and prove myself worthy.

And in that moment, my thoughts went, inexplicably, to Blair.