Chapter 9 #2
Semifinals the next morning went smoother than I’d expected. Pampi ran beautifully.
She flew over the jumps with tight, efficient turns, responding to my cues before I finished giving them. Even the teeter, where she’d hesitated earlier in the week, hit the ground with a controlled tap instead of a slam.
She was faster and more confident than ever.
Halfway through the weave entry, her back paw clipped one of the poles. My stomach dropped, but she recovered immediately, driving forward without breaking stride. We qualified for the finals comfortably.
After we cleared the ring, I crouched automatically, running my hands down each leg. She didn’t flinch. Still, I didn’t like the fact that she had gotten hurt.
We took her over to the on-site event veterinarian’s station. The vet told us she had a minor scrape, cleaned it, applied a light protective wrap, and recommended a mild anti-inflammatory just in case there was any soreness later.
“She’s fine to compete,” the vet, Dr. Mitchell, assured. “But give her a quiet evening.”
Back in the room, Pampi curled into her bed and passed out almost immediately. Between the adrenaline crash and the medication taking the edge off, she was deeply asleep within minutes.
I stood there for a second, irrationally envious.
Chris came up beside me. “She earned it.”
“She did,” I said.
He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. “We did.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that.
By evening, a handful of handlers had organized dinner at a restaurant a couple of blocks from the hotel.
As soon as we stepped inside, the warm smell of grilled meat and garlic hit us. Donnie spotted us first and waved enthusiastically. We squeezed past a couple of tables and took the open seats beside him.
“Perfect timing,” Donnie said. “Settle something for us. Best practice spot so far?”
“Depends what you’re working on,” Chris said.
“We’ve mostly been using the indoor practice hall near the main event arena,” I added. “The full-size obstacles were useful.”
A handler across from us nodded. “Must be working. I’ve never seen a dog improve that quickly between rounds.” She paused. “Not that Pampi wasn’t already good,” she added quickly. “But she was on fire today.”
I thought for a moment before responding, weighing how much to give away.
I inclined my head. “She just needed more reps in a new environment. Once she settled, she locked in.”
Another handler leaned forward. “You’re really good with her. Any tips?”
Before I could answer, Sheila jabbed a fry at them, grinning. “Hey! You’re asking for tips from the finalists? Not happening.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
“Yeah,” Donnie added. “We’re not handing you insider tricks.”
I took a sip of my drink. “There aren’t tricks, not really,” I said. “Just consistency. Dogs read hesitation. If you’re not sure, they won’t be either.”
Chris was still smiling at me, like he was cataloging every word.
“What?” I muttered under my breath.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just like hearing you talk shop.”
I ignored the warmth that crept up my neck.
Donnie leaned back in his chair. “I still say the relief area near the parking lot is the best. Smaller space, sure, but my girl likes the fresh air.”
“She just likes sniffing everything,” Sheila shot back.
“That too.”
Sheila turned to us. “You should join us sometime, Peter.”
Donnie leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “It’s usually just a small group. Mostly us shifters.” He gestured between himself and Sheila. “Early mornings. Less traffic, you know?”
I understood immediately. This was the first major event to openly invite shifter handlers. Not everyone was thrilled.
Most humans were polite, but some were still wary. Donnie and Sheila clearly didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable or draw attention, so they’d found a small, safe corner for training.
I nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
“But sometimes Harold joins too,” Donnie added in his normal voice. Then he leaned in again, lowering his voice. “He’s human, but he doesn’t mind training with us shifters.”
Then Donnie leaned sideways and shouted down the table, “Harold! We seeing you tomorrow morning?”
Harold blinked, clearly pulled out of another conversation. “What was that?”
Donnie waved him off dramatically. “Never mind!”
Harold just chuckled and returned to his discussion. The table relaxed again, conversations splintering into smaller threads.
I glanced at Chris. A quiet amusement flickered across his face as he watched Donnie.
A familiar warmth curled in my chest, and I forced myself to look away before he noticed. I let my gaze drift around the room, taking it all in.
Around us, someone argued over start-line routines while another handler silently replayed a missed contact.
Glasses clinked, cutlery scraped, and the soft murmur of conversation wove through the room.
I stared at the condensation sliding down my glass and felt it settle into place. Leaving now just wouldn’t sit right.
It would be easy. We could tell Cooper we’d done our part and leave first thing in the morning. But the whole thing still felt unfinished.
I nudged Chris lightly under the table.
He turned toward me immediately. “Yeah?”
“I want to stay,” I said quietly.
His expression shifted, sharpening just a little. “For finals?” He studied my face. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Chris’s fingers brushed the edge of the table near mine, not quite touching.
“I keep thinking,” I added quietly, “if there’s more to it, I’d rather know. Make sure it’s actually done.”
It was only a couple more days anyway. Even a small chance that something else was off, I didn’t want to walk away and later find out another dog had been hurt because we’d decided it wasn’t our problem anymore.
I could, technically, send Chris on ahead with Pampi. Take up Cooper’s initial offer and tap out any time I wanted, letting someone else from the pack step in for finals. Chris could handle it.
But the mere thought of another wolf beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder at the start line, made a faint, irrational tension flare low in my gut.
My wolf didn’t like it one bit. I forced the reaction down before it showed on my face.
“What about you?” I asked. “You don’t mind?”
Chris’s mouth curved slowly. “A couple more days with you?” he said. “I guess I could manage that.”
I rolled my eyes automatically.
He leaned in before I could brace myself and pressed a quick kiss to my temple.
It was barely more than a brush of lips, but a slow, insistent heat still crept up my neck despite my best efforts. My wolf, traitor that it was, preened instead of protesting.
Before I could say anything else, Sheila’s voice rang out from the other end of the table.
“Hey, lovebirds!” she called. “Better get your order in!” She pointed at the waiter making his way down the line. I scowled at her.
Chris was openly grinning now. “Finals it is,” he murmured quietly.
I huffed, but I didn’t argue.
It was only a few more days, and somehow, sitting there with his knee still pressed against mine, that didn’t feel like nearly enough.