Chapter 7
JAIME
Chris clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“People are wild,” he muttered. “Look at that. Matching shirts, matching hats. I swear I just saw someone with a fanny pack that had Proud Agility Mom stamped on it.”
I followed his gaze.
The main hall buzzed with noise. Rings were sectioned off with white gating, jumps already set in bright bars of red and blue.
Beyond them, handlers milled around in clusters, some walking their dogs in tight circles, some kneeling to fix ribbons or wipe paws.
A few had gone all in. Coordinated team polos with embroidered logos, sequined vests, caps with their kennel names printed across the brim. One woman had matching pink streaks in her hair to mirror her Border Collie’s dyed tail.
“They’re devoted,” Chris went on. “I mean, I love Pampi, but this is another level. You think they’d actually wear that stuff outside of a show?”
I looked him up and down.
He was wearing almost the exact same outfit he’d had on during registration day.
Same cut of fitted athletic jacket. Same slim joggers that seemed a little too tight around his thighs.
Except this time the shirt he had on was a violent shade of bright purple that caught the overhead lights and threw them back in sharp flashes.
There must be some sort of reflective thread woven into the fabric. I couldn’t look at him too long without feeling like my retinas were burning.
On his arm, Pampi was wearing a collar had a matching purple accent strip.
I raised a brow. ““And here you are, matching her too.”
Chris blinked. “What?”
I gestured vaguely at his torso. He looked down at himself as if only just remembering what he was wearing. “This? It’s part of the Hill merch line.”
“Of course it is.”
He grinned, completely unashamed. “They have an online store. I ordered a few more things last night.”
I stared at him. “I’m afraid to ask how many is a few.”
His grin widened, slow and deliberate. “Oh. Didn’t know you were so interested.”
“I’m not.”
“I could order a couple more for us,” he continued lightly. “Matching ones. If we make finals, we could go all in. I’ll even pay for express shipping.”
I huffed out a laugh before I could stop myself. “Don’t you dare.”
He smiled at that. He was watching me like he’d just discovered something new.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
He hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just… nice seeing you like this.”
“Like what.”
“Not scowling at me.”
I snorted. “I don’t scowl.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
His eyes warmed, gold flickering faintly under the bright lights. “You’re not, today.”
I looked away first.
Maybe he was right. The edge in my chest had eased. The constant readiness to argue, to brace for the next misstep, wasn’t clawing at me this morning.
Today, I didn’t have to take control or make any calls. I was merely here to observe and make sure no one else’s dog ended up sick. No responsibility beyond that.
If Chris did well enough in today's heats, maybe I wouldn’t even have to step in at all for the rest of the show.
That sat easier on my shoulders.
A volunteer with a clipboard called for the next batch of competitors to move toward the staging area. The gate steward held up a sign for our class.
“Come on,” I said. “We should head to the crating area.”
We moved through the crowd toward the competitors’ section behind the rings. Rows of wire crates lined the wall, most draped with towels or lightweight covers to keep the dogs calm.
Chris crouched to adjust Pampi’s collar, checking the buckle one more time. She wagged her tail, bright and eager, completely unfazed by the chaos.
He glanced up at me. “I’m doing both rounds of the heats, right?”
I crossed my arms, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Guess we’ll find out if you survive the first run.”
He didn’t fire back. Just nodded, smoothing Pampi’s fur with quiet focus. Huh. That was new.
“You nervous?” I asked.
“A little,” he said, his shoulders tight. “I just want this to go well.”
I remembered what he’d said over dinner. About feeling like he had something to prove. About wanting to do right by Cooper.
“You’ve put in the work,” I said. “And Pampi’s solid. She knows her obstacles. Just run what you practiced. Give her clear cues.”
He nodded again.
“And don’t worry about the suspect,” I added. “I’ll be watching the crowd. You focus on your run and qualifying for the next round.”
He looked at me then. “I’ve got this part covered,” I said quietly. “You’ve got yours.”
Something in his expression shifted. He squared his shoulders, chin a little higher. “Okay,” he said.
A steward called his number.
Chris rose to his feet and gave Pampi a quick shake of her leash to get her attention. “Come on, princess. Warm-up time.”
They started toward the warm-up ring near the entrance of the main course, where a single practice jump and a set of weave poles were set up for competitors to take a few last reps before entering the ring.
I stayed back at the barrier, folding my arms as I watched him go. Chris’s stride had changed. Less restless energy, more intent. Good.
I shifted for a better view of the ring. The judge walked the course again, checking bar heights and spacing, while a steward tested the teeter board. My eyes swept over the A-frame, weave poles, and tunnels. Everything looked standard and secure, nothing out of place.
I scanned the crowd. Handlers clustered near the rail. Spectators perched in the folding chairs.
No one lingering too close to the crating area, no one watching too intently without a dog of their own.
Still, I stayed alert. You never knew what might show up at the last second.
When the previous competitor exited the ring and I caught sight of Chris guiding Pampi toward the gate steward, my focus snapped back to them like a rubber band.
Pampi carried herself beautifully. Head up, tail relaxed but alert, eyes locked on Chris’s left hand.
Chris crouched briefly to adjust her collar, murmured something low to her. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw the way she leaned into him.
He looked different out there. A faint trace of nerves lingered. I could scent it faintly even from where I stood.
But beneath that was a confidence that hadn’t been there the first day we trained. Not the reckless eagerness I’d braced for. He’d put in the hours, listened, adjusted. I felt a flicker of pride.
“Novice Agility, twenty-inch division!” the steward called.
A pair of Australian Shepherds ran clean, fast times before them. A Sheltie clipped a bar and had to circle back for a refusal. Applause rippled through the crowd after each run.
Then the steward called Chris’s number. He stepped to the start line. Pampi stood neatly at his side, eyes bright, weight balanced forward but waiting for release.
The judge raised her hand. “Ready?”
Chris nodded.
“Go.”
He released her with a sharp cue. Pampi launched over the first jump cleanly. Chris stayed slightly behind her shoulder, voice clear and measured. “Over! Good! Tunnel!”
She curved into the tunnel without hesitation, shot out the other end and drove toward the dog walk. He timed his approach well, not crowding her.
I knew I was supposed to be watching the crowd, looking for handlers lingering where they shouldn’t or for anyone paying too much attention to the wrong dog.
Instead, I tracked the flash of purple through every obstacle like it was the only thing in the ring.
Chris’ signals were clean. There was no extra flailing or mixed cues. He trusted Pampi’s lines.
Pampi hit the contact zone on the dog walk perfectly. Nailed the weave pole entry on the first try. Twelve poles, smooth rhythm.
Good girl. Good handler.
Then they approached the teeter. I felt my spine tighten.
The seesaw always required patience. Especially with a smaller dog. Pampi was quick, but she wasn’t heavy. The board wouldn’t tip as fast under her weight.
Chris sent her up with a confident “Teeter!”
She climbed. Reached the pivot point, and paused. The board hesitated before beginning its slow descent.
In practice, she’d waited it out without fuss. But the competition teeter was slightly stiffer. It took a fraction longer to drop.
Chris stepped forward half a beat too soon. “Go, go—”
There was too much urgency in his tone. Pampi flicked her ears back. The board was still moving. The unfamiliar delay made her hesitate. Her paws shuffled.
And Chris hesitated too. I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his next cue came a hair late. His worried gaze snapped to me.
My own body reacted before my mind did. My claws pressed against my palms, itching to flex. Every instinct screamed to step in, to fix it.
I forced myself still. I held his gaze and gave him a small nod. You’ve got this.
He swallowed, recalibrated. Dropped his tone. “Easy. Good girl. Wait… okay.”
The board finally hit the ground. Pampi completed the contact and moved forward. A little slower now.
They recovered through the next jump and into the tunnel, but the flow was gone. The timer buzzed when they finished the course. The applause was polite.
I exhaled slowly, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath. I knew it hadn’t been the run he wanted.
By the time I reached them at the exit gate, Chris had already clipped Pampi’s leash back on. He didn’t look at me.
“I thought I had it,” he said, voice low. “I don’t think I should do the second round.”
I froze. Half a second too long.
It took more strength than most people realized to admit you couldn’t push through, especially for someone who’d spent his life trying to prove he was enough. The last thing I wanted was to confirm his worst fear.
If I stepped in now, it wouldn’t just be about handling Pampi. It would be stepping over him, taking over where he’d faltered.
Proving, in the most visible way possible, that I could do it cleaner. That I could do it better.
Yet Chris didn’t force a smile. He didn’t push through for pride.
He trusted me enough to step back. And I couldn’t look away from him. I took in the curve of his jaw and the way his eyes held steady on me even as he admitted defeat. It unsettled me more than I expected.
A familiar mix of guilt and dread began creeping in. Had I pushed him too hard?
I’d seen the nerves, convinced myself it was normal competition anxiety. I’d wanted him to succeed. Maybe I’d wanted it too much.
In another life, I would have volunteered without hesitation. I used to chase responsibility, train younger wolves, take on missions no one else wanted. I believed that if I carried enough, worked hard enough, it would prove something.
One mission burned that out of me. One mistake. Wolves under my supervision pointing fingers before the dust had settled.
The alpha needed someone to blame. I’d stood there, taking it, because as the one in charge, it had been my responsibility.
I’d left that pack with my tail between my legs before they could finish tearing me apart.
Since then, I learned something simple: do your job. Nothing more. Don’t step too far forward, don’t give them a reason.
I noticed his shoulders lift slightly and the quiet way he exhaled, like he’d just admitted something private. My chest tightened from something I didn’t want to define.
I blinked, forcing my focus back to the ring just as a volunteer in a bright vest approached us. “You’re up in ten minutes for the second round.”
Chris straightened slightly and looked at me uneasily. “We might be switching handlers.”
The volunteer nodded. “That’s fine. Just confirm the armband number with the steward. Do you need more time?”
“Yes,” I said.
Pampi looked between us, ears perked, picking up on the tension. She bumped her nose lightly against my leg.
The volunteer then tapped her watch. “Alright. Don’t take too long. We’re running tight on time. You’ll need to be at the gate in five. Decide quickly.”
I caught my own hesitation. A knot formed in my stomach, not just because of the clock.
Stepping forward like this, taking the lead again, putting myself back in a position of responsibility was exactly the kind of risk I had sworn off after the last mission.
But I shook the thought away. This wasn’t about me.
It was about the case. About keeping our eyes open for whoever had been targeting shifters and their dogs. I could not let fear make us walk away.
Chris finally met my eyes. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “We can just… withdraw.”
Could we really just do that? The volunteer tapped her watch again, sharp and impatient. Time was running out. A tight pulse of panic shot through me. I swallowed hard.
“I’ll run her,” I said, voice firmer than I felt.
Chris handed me the leash without argument.
I crouched to Pampi’s level, brushing a hand down her side. Her muscles were warm, steady. She leaned into my palm without hesitation.
“Alright,” I murmured. “Let’s do this girl.”
We checked in with the steward, swapped the handler information, and moved to the start line.
The judge gave me a brief, assessing look. “Ready?” I nodded. “Go.”
I released Pampi cleanly.
My cues were short and precise. I sent her wide where she needed space, tightened my line where efficiency mattered.
I waited at the teeter. Counted the beat it took for the board to drop before releasing her forward. She responded beautifully. The timer buzzed. A ripple of applause followed us out of the ring.
I clipped the leash back on and stood, already calculating the time against the qualifying standard. It would hold. We were in.
Chris met us just outside the exit. He was quiet, like he hadn’t forgiven himself for asking me to take over.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Yes, I did.”
I avoided his eyes for half a beat too long. It was the right call, I told myself. So why did it feel like I’d stepped onto a familiar slope?
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, aiming for light. “We qualified. That’s what matters.”
He nodded, but I could see the way his jaw tightened. I should’ve said something kinder.
Instead, I forced a small smile. “Next time, you wait the teeter out.”
His mouth twitched faintly. I knew it wasn’t enough, but it was what I had.