CHAPTER 5
DEVON
IF SOMEONE TOLD me three days ago that I'd be standing in an animal shelter surrounded by two dozen professional athletes who are collectively losing their shit over a three-legged cat, I would've asked what drugs they were on and where I could get some.
Yet here we are.
The shelter is absolute pandemonium. Dogs barking at a myriad of frequencies. Cats yowling like they're auditioning for a death metal band. And somehow, impossibly, the hockey team is louder than all of them combined.
"Oh my god, look at this one!" The Comedian—well, Becker; I'm slowly starting to get a hang of the names—is crouched in front of a kennel, making kissy noises at a dog that looks like it was assembled from spare parts. "He's so ugly he's cute!"
"That's a girl," Mama Paws corrects gently.
"She's so ugly she's cute!"
I'm standing next to Kayla near the entrance, watching the chaos unfold like it's a particularly unhinged nature documentary.
"This is insane," Kayla mutters.
"This is our life now, apparently." I pull out my phone, snapping a photo of Wall lying on the floor while approximately seven puppies climb all over him. "I'm documenting this for posterity. And blackmail."
The shelter is bigger than I imagined, a sprawling single-story building that's seen better days. The paint is peeling in places. There's a persistent smell of wet dog and antiseptic. The fluorescent lights flicker like they're considering giving up entirely.
But it's clean. Well-organized. And absolutely packed with animals.
Mama Paws is giving us the grand tour, or trying to. It's hard to tour anything when your tour group keeps stopping every three seconds to coo over animals.
"This is our main kennel area," she's saying, gesturing to rows of enclosures. "We have about sixty dogs right now, though that number fluctuates—"
"Can I hold one?" Petrov interrupts.
"Which one?"
"All of them."
Mama Paws laughs. "Maybe we start with one."
A man emerges from a back room, mature, maybe early seventies, with kind eyes and a slight limp. He's wearing overalls that have seen some shit, literally, and he stops dead when he sees the crowd. "Celeste, honey. Why are there giants in our shelter?"
"They're helping, Jimmy."
"Helping with what?"
"Everything."
Papa Paws (I decided) looks around at the team, who are now scattered throughout the space like oversized children at a petting zoo.
"Well," he says, super fucking slowly. "Alright then."
I already like him.
Captain Washington is taking photos, documenting everything. "We need a full assessment of what needs repair or replacement."
"The roof is the priority," Papa Paws says. "Leaks like a sieve when it rains. We've got buckets everywhere."
"We'll handle it," Ace says, and I definitely don't stare at his profile when he says it.
Just kidding. Obviously I fucking stare because he's so fucking hot I want to cry. I need to somehow find out if he swings my way, and if he does—
Focus, Devon. Animals. We're here for animals.
"Kiss kiss!"
The voice comes from somewhere around the corner, high-pitched, oddly screechy.
Everyone freezes.
"Kiss kiss!"
We all turn toward the sound like we're in a horror movie and the call is coming from inside the house. Then, waddling around the corner with the confidence of someone who owns the place, comes… a parrot?
An actual fucking parrot.
It's large, brilliantly colored—blue and yellow and green—and it's walking. Not flying. Walking. Like it's too important to bother with flight.
The parrot stops in the middle of the hallway, cocks its head, and screams, "Kiss kiss!"
"Oh, there you are," Mama Paws says fondly. "That's Hendrix. He's mine. Well, technically he lives here, but he's not up for adoption."
"Why not?" Wall asks.
"Because I'd have to be dead first," she says cheerfully. "And even then, I'd haunt whoever tried to take him."
Hendrix waddles closer, eyeing each person like he's the one conducting an inspection.
He stops in front of Becker.
"Kiss kiss!"
Becker looks delighted. "You want a kiss, little buddy?"
"I wouldn't, he’s—" Mama Paws starts.
Too late. Becker leans down.
Hendrix lunges forward and pecks him directly on the nose.
"Ouch! What the hell, Hendrix?"
"—territorial," Mama Paws finishes.
The entire team loses their shit.
Becker's rubbing his nose, looking betrayed. "I see. He's a menace."
Hendrix sounds smug about it. "Kiss kiss!"
"He's my new best friend," I announce.
Hendrix waddles over to me next. I crouch down, keeping my face at a safe distance. "Hey, handsome. You gonna peck me too?"
Hendrix tilts his head, considering.
Then he says, in perfect clarity, "Fuck off."
I gasp. "Hendrix! That's rude!"
"I didn't teach him that," Mama Paws says quickly.
Papa Paws coughs. "I may have."
We spend the next ten minutes trying to get Hendrix to say various things. He ignores most requests but randomly drops "Kiss kiss!" and "Fuck off!" at seemingly strategic moments.
Eventually, we make our way outside to assess the roof situation.
And by "assess," I mean stand, shivering from the cold while Papa Paws points at various disasters and everyone looks concerned.
"The whole section needs patching up," Papa Paws says. "We got quotes, but they're all—"
"We fix it ourselves," Petrov interrupts.
Everyone turns to stare at him.
"You know how to fix roofs?" Washington asks skeptically.
Petrov looks offended. "Of course I know. Is easy. Three hours, tops."
"Three hours," Wall repeats. "To fix an entire roof section."
"Yes."
"Petrov, buddy, I don't think—"
"You don't know how to fix roof?" Petrov looks around at the team like they've just admitted they can't tie their shoes. "What they teach you in America?"
"Hockey," Groover deadpans. "They teach us hockey."
"In Russia, we learn everything. How to fix roof, how to hunt bear, how to—"
"How to bullshit?" Becker offers.
Petrov grins. "That too."
But he's serious about the roof thing. He's already taking photos, muttering to himself in Russian, doing calculations on his phone.
"I'm stealing your bird," Becker announces suddenly, scooping up Hendrix before anyone can stop him.
"That's a terrible idea!" several people yell at once.
"I just want to hang out with him for a bit. Bond."
Mama Paws looks uncertain. "He can be... unpredictable."
"I'm great with animals!"
"You got pecked in the face three minutes ago," I point out.
"That was a misunderstanding. We're cool now. Right, Hendrix?"
"Fuck off!" Hendrix says cheerfully.
Becker takes that as a yes and disappears around the corner with the parrot tucked under his arm like a football.
"Should we stop him?" Wall asks.
"Probably," Mama Paws sighs. "But I'm curious to see what happens."
We split up after that—some stay outside with the roof assessment, others go back inside to inventory supplies.
I'm with the inside party because I'm not freezing my balls off a second longer. It's not like I'll be on the roof crew anyway.
We're halfway down the main hallway when the front door opens and a man walks in.
He's wearing a long winter coat, the expensive kind, and an old-fashioned fedora that makes him look like he stepped out of a black-and-white detective movie.
He stops when he sees us. Or more accurately, when he sees the small army of massive men in Wolves merch.
His eyes widen slightly. "Oh," he says. "I didn't realize—there's a lot of people."
"Can we help you?" Papa Paws asks.
The man's already backing toward the door. "No, no. I'll come back. When it's... less crowded."
And then he's gone, door swinging shut behind him.
We continue moving amidst a wall of sound. Barking, meowing, the team's voices overlapping, and somewhere in the distance, Hendrix screaming something unintelligible.
I'm wandering through the kennels, taking everything in, when I nearly collide with Ace coming around a corner.
"Oh, hey," he says, steadying me with a hand on my elbow.
Damn, that's a huge hand. Warm. I'm having thoughts about what those hands could do.
Stop it.
"Hey." I step back, putting some distance between us before I do something stupid like ask him to pin me to the wall and spit in my mouth. "Find anything interesting?"
"Actually, yeah. Come here."
He leads me down a quieter hallway, away from the main chaos, to a small room at the end.
There are only four kennels here. "Seniors," a sign on the wall reads.
And in the last kennel, curled up on a plush bed, is the most beautiful dog I've ever seen.
Medium-sized, maybe forty pounds, with a thick golden coat that's gone white around the muzzle, and eyes clouded with cataracts. Blind.
"Oh," I whisper.
Ace is already crouching by the kennel door. "Her name's Candy."
Hearing her name, Candy lifts her head. Her tail does a single, gentle wag.
"Can we—?" I look around for Mama Paws.
"She said it's fine. Here." Ace opens the kennel door slowly, talking to Candy in a soft voice. "Hey, girl. Want some company?"
Candy stands carefully, stretching, and walks toward us. She bumps into Ace's hand and immediately leans into it, tail wagging harder now.
I'm dead. I've died. This is heaven.
"She's been here for three years, apparently," Ace says quietly. "Mama Paws said her owner passed away and the family surrendered her. No one wants to adopt a blind senior dog."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." I reach out slowly, letting Candy sniff my hand before I pet her. Her tail goes into overdrive. "She's perfect."
"Right?"
We sit there on the cold floor, both petting Candy, who seems thrilled to have the attention. She keeps moving between us, making sure she gets equal pets from both sides.
"I've always wanted a dog," I admit. "But I live in a dorm. Can't have pets."
"Same," Ace says. "Well, not the dorm part. But I'm gone half the time for games. Wouldn't be fair to a dog."
"That's very responsible of you."
"Yeah, well." He scratches behind Candy's ears and she makes a happy sound. "Doesn't make me want one any less."
I sneak a glance at his face. He's completely focused on Candy, and there's this softness to his expression that somehow makes him look even hotter.
Candy flops down between us, putting her head on my lap.
I'm about to say something when Becker's voice echoes through the shelter.
"Guys! GUYS! You need to hear this!"
We exchange a look and carefully extract ourselves from Candy, making sure she's comfortable before heading back to the main area.
The team is gathered in a circle around Becker, who's grinning like he just won the lottery.
Hendrix is perched on his shoulder.
"Watch this," Becker says. "Hendrix, what do you think about the Blackhawks?"
Hendrix ruffles his feathers, leans forward, and screeches: "What the puuuuuck?"
The entire team explodes with laughter.
"What did you do?" Mama Paws demands, but she's trying not to laugh.
"I taught him culture!" Becker says proudly.
"You taught him to trash talk," Groover points out.
"Like I said. Culture."
I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe. Kayla's doubled over. Even Papa Paws is cracking up.
Hendrix, sensing he has an attentive audience, spreads his wings and yells again: "What the puuuuuck?"
"He's perfect," I gasp out between laughs. "Don't ever change him."
Ace is standing next to me, shoulders shaking with laughter, and when our eyes meet, he grins, dimples appearing on his cheeks.
Well, fuck me.
Please?