CHAPTER 3
DEVON
I'M MOVING BEFORE my brain catches up to my body.
The woman looks like she's about to collapse, and I'm not about to let some nice lady who apparently has a nickname straight out of a children's book eat shit on a floor covered in glass shards and spilled alcohol.
I grab her elbow, steering her toward the nearest intact chair. "Okay, sit. Sitting is happening right now."
She tries to wave me off. "Oh, honey, I'm fine—"
"Ma'am, you look like you went three rounds with a blender. We're sitting."
The entire hockey team crowds around like a very large, very concerned wall of muscle and suits. It's like being surrounded by worried refrigerators.
"Ma'am, what happened?" The Giant asks, and his voice is so gentle it's almost funny coming from someone this big.
"Should we call the police?" The Redhead's already got his phone out.
"Or an ambulance?" someone else adds.
"Was it a mugging?"
"Do you need an ambulance?"
Everyone's talking over each other now, voices escalating, and Mama Paws is just sitting there looking increasingly overwhelmed.
I run to grab the first aid kit from behind the bar—thank fuck Kayla showed me where it was during training—and push my way back through the wall of concerned hockey players.
"Guys. Personal space. She needs air, not a huddle."
They back up approximately two inches.
I crouch in front of Mama Paws, opening the kit. "Okay, so. What happened? Did you get mugged?"
She blinks at me, then touches her face like she's just now realizing it hurts. Her fingers come away with a little blood, and she looks at them, confused.
Then she laughs.
Like, actually laughs. A warm, genuine sound that makes absolutely no sense given the circumstances.
"Oh, goodness, no. I gave a litter of kittens a bath," she explains, still chuckling. "They were not thrilled about it."
The entire bar exhales collectively.
"Kittens," The Comedian repeats, like he's trying to process this information. "You got attacked by kittens."
"They're surprisingly strong when they're terrified," Mama Paws says, almost defensively. "Little demons, the lot of them. But they're clean now, so worth it."
I'm dabbing at the scratches with an antiseptic wipe, trying to be gentle. They're not deep, but they look angry as hell. "You need to put something on these. Cats have bacteria in their claws."
"You sound like my husband."
"Your husband sounds smart."
She smiles at me, and it's such a kind smile I immediately want to protect her from everything bad in the world, including homicidal kittens.
But then her smile fades.
"We do have a problem, though," she says quietly.
And just like that, the energy in the room shifts. Everyone goes still, waiting.
Before she can continue, the front door bangs open again—Jesus Christ, is this bar Grand Central Station?—but before I can yell "Fuck off, we're closed," I notice it's just Frank, the bar owner.
He stops mid-step, and his eyes land on the corner where we've swept all the broken glass into a sad little pile, then on the half-melted, foam-covered Christmas tree.
His face goes through several colors. Red. Purple. A shade I don't have a name for but might be called impending aneurysm.
"What the hell happened?" he roars.
Everyone starts talking at once.
"There was an incident—"
"The tree caught fire—"
"But we put it out!"
"Petrov saved the day—"
"I am hero," Petrov confirms.
"There was arm wrestling—"
"Becker started it!"
"I did not!"
"You absolutely did!"
Frank holds up both hands. "One at a time!"
"We've got things under control, boss," Hunter starts. "There was a mishap—"
But Frank's not listening anymore. His eyes have locked onto Mama Paws sitting in the chair, scratches on her face, and his entire demeanor changes.
The anger evaporates, replaced by concern so immediate and intense it's almost jarring.
"Fuck the mishap." He's already moving, crossing the bar in long strides. "Celeste! What happened?"
Oh. So that's her name. It suits her. Sounds elegant, like she should be hosting garden parties and drinking tea from actual china.
Frank crouches beside her chair, taking her hands. There's a tenderness there that makes my chest do a weird thing.
"I'm fine, Frank," she says, but her voice wavers. "Just some scratches from bathing kittens."
"Kittens," he repeats flatly.
"Very angry kittens."
He's examining her face, gentle but thorough, and I can see the exact moment he decides the scratches aren't life-threatening because his shoulders relax slightly.
But then Mama Paws takes a breath, and I know—I fucking know—we're about to hear something bad.
"Frank, honey. I'm so sorry, but... the shelter won't be needing the bar for the fundraiser anymore."
Frank blinks. "What are you talking about?"
Fundraiser? Shelter?
My brain's playing catch-up, trying to piece together context clues like I'm on a game show where the prize is understanding what the fuck is happening.
Her eyes are watering now. Actual tears pooling at the corners, threatening to spill over.
Oh no. I can't handle crying. Especially not from nice ladies who smell like lavender and get attacked by kittens.
"We have to close the shelter," she says, and her voice cracks on the word close.
The bar goes silent again. That heavy, awful silence that feels like the air's been sucked out of the room.
Frank looks like he's been slapped. "Celeste. What—why?"
She takes a shaky breath. "The city's demanding an emergency inspection right after Christmas. We already passed one earlier this year, but apparently they received anonymous complaints. If we don't pass this one, we lose our operating license."
"Then you'll pass," Frank says immediately, like it's simple.
Judging by Mama Paws' face, it's not that simple.
She shakes her head and whispers, "The shelter—we specialize in animals no one else wants. The old ones. The sick ones. The ones with behavioral problems. We promised every single one of them that they're safe with us. That they have a home until they find their forever family."
A tear escapes, rolling down her cheek, and I watch The Giant's face crumple like someone just told him Santa isn't real. "I don't know how to break that promise," she continues, voice cracking. "But I don't see another choice."
Frank's jaw is tight. "What do you need? What's wrong with the shelter?"
Mama Paws starts listing things, and with each item, my stomach sinks further.
"The roof leaks. We were supposed to fix it this fall, but the heating system died and that took priority.
The outdoor play areas need repairs. The fencing is falling apart, the gates don't lock properly, it's a safety hazard.
And the city updated the codes for medical supply rooms, so we need to renovate ours to comply. "
She pauses, takes another breath. "And Jimmy, he does his best with repairs, but his back is bad. He can't do everything, especially not on this timeline. Plus we're—" Her voice drops even lower. "We're two hundred thousand dollars in debt with the local vet clinic."
I choke on air.
Two hundred thousand dollars?
What the fuck do you even do with two hundred thousand dollars? Buy a house? A small yacht? Forty thousand cups of mediocre coffee?
The Giant's voice cuts through the thick silence. "Oh, that's not a problem!"
And suddenly the entire hockey team is nodding, agreeing, talking over each other.
"We'll cover it—"
"Easy—"
"Done—"
The Comedian's already pulling out his phone. "What’s your Venmo—"
My heart does a hopeful flip. These guys are just going to... pay it? Just like that?
Maybe I was wrong about the penguin comparison. These are good penguins. The best penguins.
But Mama Paws is shaking her head, and that hopeful flip turns into a nauseated flop.
"You boys are so sweet," she says. "But that doesn't solve the real problem."
The Russian frowns. "Why not? Money fixes everything."
"Not this." She wipes her eyes, trying to compose herself. "What we need is regular funding. Our monthly operating costs are in the six figures. We're funded entirely by donations, and they've been declining while our costs keep rising. And it's going to get so much worse after Christmas."
Half the people in the bar gasp.
The other half—including me—just look confused.
What the hell happens after Christmas that's worse than a two-hundred-thousand-dollar vet bill?
Mama Paws must notice, because she explains, voice hollow, "Every January, we get flooded with surrenders. People return their…Their…Christmas gifts."
It takes my brain exactly three seconds to understand.
Christmas gifts.
Puppies and kittens given as presents.
Returned like unwanted sweaters when they stop being cute and start being work.
Oh, fuck no.
"No." The word bursts out of me before I can stop it. "Nope. Not happening."
Everyone turns to look at me.
I don't care. I'm on a roll now, fueled by righteous fury and the residual adrenaline from the tree fire.
I spin toward Frank. "You had a fundraising event scheduled, right?"
Frank nods slowly. "Yes."
"Then we'll do three. We'll do seven. We'll do one every night until Christmas. We'll pack this place, charge entry, auction off—I don't know—signed hockey sticks or whatever. We'll make it work."
"Devon..." Kayla's voice is gentle, which means she's about to say something I don't want to hear.
"What?"
Frank sighs. "We're understaffed as it is. We can barely handle regular nights. I don't see how—"
"I can do extra shifts," I cut him off. "For free. We can bring in volunteers—"
"We'll help."
The voice comes from behind me. Deep, steady, sure.
I turn.
The Handsome—Ace—is stepping forward, and several of his teammates are nodding.
"We can organize a charity game," Ace continues, and I'm momentarily distracted by how his voice sounds even better when he's being heroic. Focus, Devon. "Raise awareness. We can showcase the shelter animals during the event, promote it on our social media—"
"Except we have ten games before Christmas," someone interrupts. I don't know his name yet, but he looks somber as fuck.
The Comedian nods. "Half of them away games."
And then, in perfect synchronization, the entire team turns to look at The Adult.
"Cap?" Ace says.
The bar holds its collective breath.
I'm holding my breath. Why am I holding my breath? I don't even know these people.
The Adult—the team captain, I imagine. I should have known—is quiet for a long moment. You can practically see him thinking, weighing options, calculating logistics.
Then his jaw sets in a way that makes him look like he's about to declare war on the concept of animal homelessness.
"Then we'll fucking work remotely half the time," he says. "I'll talk to Coach."
The bar explodes.
Everyone's talking at once, shouting ideas, making plans, and the energy is so chaotic and beautiful I want to bottle it.
Hunter's rattling off event ideas rapid-fire: "We can do an ugly sweater night, a karaoke night, a silent auction—"
"We're still understaffed," Frank reminds him, but he's smiling now.
The Russian chimes in immediately. "You hire us. We are good because we are free."
The Giant grins. "We'll do bar rotation. Between games."
"We'll make flyers!" The Comedian yells.
"We need a social media campaign!"
"What about sponsorships?"
"I know a guy who knows a guy who—"
Mama Paws is just sitting there, hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. But she's smiling.
"We need organization," The Redhead says, looking slightly panicked. "We need a spreadsheet. We need everyone's information, availability—"
The Captain is already tapping on his phone. "On it."
Of course he is. He looks like the kind of person who has a spreadsheet to manage his other spreadsheets.
I'm watching this unfold, this beautiful disaster of people who were strangers an hour ago coming together to save a bunch of animals they've never met, and I feel something uncomfortably close to emotion trying to claw its way up my throat.
Kayla appears beside me, hip-checking me gently. "Hell of a first day, huh?"
I laugh, and it comes out slightly unhinged. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that."
"Think you'll come back for day two?"
I look around the bar. At the destroyed Christmas tree.
The broken glass. The team of overgrown penguins in expensive suits planning a full-scale rescue operation.
At Mama Paws, crying happy tears while Frank holds her hand.
At Ace, who's already deep in conversation with the Captain about logistics, his face serious and determined and still ridiculously attractive.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."