CHAPTER THREE #2
Because in six months, he'd complete his service and leave. Return to his hockey career, his celebrity life, his world where I had never truly belonged.
Except for the one night that changed everything.
And I'd be left once again, raising our daughter alone, with no good explanation for why her father had been so close yet never knew she existed.
But that was a problem for another day.
Right now, five puppies need monitoring. The mama cat needed a post-op check. And Casey was probably asking her grandparents why Mom had to work late again.
Normal problems.
Manageable problems.
Not like the six-foot-two problem who'd just walked out my door, leaving the faint scent of his cologne and a thousand unanswered questions in his wake.
Maybe Easton Henley could be more than his worst mistakes.
I just wasn't sure I was ready for what that might mean.
Easton
Monique handed me a mop and bucket. "Kennels are down the hall, third door on the left. Fresh water bowls are in the cabinet, and the food's labeled by dietary restrictions."
"Got it." I took the supplies, grateful for something concrete to focus on.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Again. The preview flashed on my lock screen. It was from my agent.
ESPN wants a statement. Call me.
I shoved the phone deeper into my pocket and headed toward the kennels. The barking escalated as I got closer. It was like a demanding chorus begging for walks, meals, and affection.
Normal things that had nothing to do with viral videos or courtroom humiliation or three-point-two-million-dollar mistakes.
"You okay?" Monique's voice made me turn. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression somewhere between concerned and skeptical. "You've been staring at that mop like it insulted your mother."
"Fine." The word came out too sharp.
"Uh-huh." She didn't move. "Look, I don't follow hockey, but even I saw the video. Kind of hard to miss when it's playing on every sports channel in every waiting room in the city."
My jaw clenched. Of course, she'd seen it. Everyone had. Me, with my hand wrapped around that reporter's throat, slamming him against the wall. My face twisted with rage, completely out of control. The video has over two million views now. Maybe three million.
"I'm handling it."
"Are you?" Her voice followed me down the hall. "Because Palisade doesn't put up with drama. You're here to work, not sulk."
I stopped, turned. "I'm not sulking."
"Could've fooled me." She shrugged. "You've got two hundred hours to get through. Might as well make them count for something."
She walked away before I could respond, leaving me alone with the mop and the sound of barking dogs.
I pushed open the kennel room door. Disinfectant, wet dog, and something earthy hit my nose all at once. Six kennels lined each wall, most of them occupied. A German Shepherd mix watched me with cautious eyes. A pit bull wagged its tail so hard its whole body shook.
No judgment. No fear. No two million people watching my worst moment on repeat.
I set down the bucket and started with the first kennel.
My phone buzzed again. Coach Martin this time. Team meeting Tuesday. Be ready for questions.
The words sent ice through my veins. The suspension was only two weeks, but it might as well be a career death sentence if I couldn't prove I had my shit together. Coach had already benched me for three games before the accident. The team's GM was probably building a case to terminate my contract.
One more incident and I was done.
Judge Wilson's words echoed in my head as I scrubbed dried food from a stainless steel bowl.
Rocky, a pit bull according to his name card, pressed against the door, the sound of his excited barks echoing in the kennel as his wet nose slid against the metal. I opened it slowly, and he burst out, his happy barks filling the air as he nearly bowled me over.
"Easy, buddy." I chuckled and scratched behind his ears. He leaned into my hand, tail still going a mile a minute.
When was the last time someone had been this happy to see me?
I spent the next hour cleaning kennels, refilling water bowls, and taking dogs out to the small yard behind the clinic. Mindless work, but in a good way. No one asking for statements. No reporters shoving cameras in my face. No teammates wondering if I was going to snap and take someone's head off.
Just dogs who didn't care that I'd fucked up my entire life.
A couple of hours later, Palisade’s voice made me look up from where I was hosing down the concrete. "Easton, you did good work today."
I straightened, surprised. "Yeah?"
"The kennels are clean, the dogs are fed and walked. Monique said you didn't complain once." She studied me with those dark eyes that reminded me of that night seven years ago. It was the only time I'd felt like someone saw past the jersey, past the stats, past everything I was supposed to be.
"What, you thought I'd throw a tantrum and storm out?"
"The thought crossed my mind." A hint of a smile touched her lips, then faded. "Look, I know this isn't where you want to be. But for what it's worth… I think you're going to be fine here."
She left before I could respond.
Rocky had followed me outside and now sat at my feet, looking up at me with complete adoration despite the fact that I'd literally just met him an hour ago.
"One day at a time, right?" I said to the dog.
Rocky barked once, tail wagging.
Yeah. One day at a time.
Maybe that's all any of us could do.