CHAPTER 19
DEVON
ACE DRIVES LIKE he’s auditioning for Fast and Furious, and I'm the asshole passenger who keeps yelling "Faster!" while I'm frantically tapping on my phone.
Devon: SOMEONE EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW
Devon: HELLO???
Devon: WHY IS NO ONE ANSWERING
Devon: I SWEAR TO GOD IF THIS IS A PRANK
Devon: BECKER I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THESE
Nothing. Radio silence except for the occasional "omw" from various team members.
"They're ignoring me," I announce.
Ace takes a turn way too fast, and I grab the oh-shit handle. "Maybe they're busy."
"Busy doing what?"
Ace shrugs as he runs a yellow light. "You read the same texts I did."
"'The roof is gone' explains nothing. Roofs don't just leave. They don't pack their bags and fuck off to Bermuda."
Ace's mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile, which is rude because I'm having a crisis. "We'll find out in three minutes."
"Three minutes is too long. I could die in three minutes."
"You're not going to die."
"You don't know that. I could have an aneurysm from stress. Is that a thing? Stress aneurysms?"
"Devon."
"What?"
"Breathe."
I take a breath. It doesn't help. I go back to my phone, scrolling through the chat again like maybe I missed some crucial detail that explains how a roof just ceases to exist.
We screech into the shelter parking lot—literally screech, Ace's tires making ticket-worthy sounds—and I'm out of the car before we fully stop.
"Devon!" Ace yells after me.
"I'M GOING IN!"
Washington's car pulls in right behind us, and he and Leila emerge looking as confused as I feel.
"What happened?" Leila asks, hurrying over.
"No idea. The group chat's been useless."
"I got seventeen texts that just said 'emergency' with no context," Washington adds, and he looks more stressed than I've ever seen him, which is saying something because this man's default state is mild concern.
We all rush toward the entrance as a unit, a small army of worried humans about to face whatever hell awaits inside.
The second the door opens, we're assaulted by sound.
Every. Single. Dog. Is barking.
Not regular barking. Apocalypse barking. End-times barking. The kind of barking that makes you understand why noise complaints exist.
The cats aren't helping. They're yowling, voices layered in a dissonant harmony that could shatter glass.
And somewhere in this cacophony of chaos, Hendrix is singing. "PUMP IT! PUMP IT REAL GOOD!"
But none of that compares to the main event.
Half the roof is just... gone.
Poof.
There's a gaping hole where ceiling used to be, and through it I can see the night sky, stars twinkling like they're mocking us, and I can feel cold air pouring in, and standing in the middle of this disaster zone like it's a normal Tuesday are Petrov, Wall, Becker, and Groover.
Petrov's on a ladder that looks like it was constructed during the Civil War, holding a power tool, completely unbothered.
We all freeze in the doorway, taking in the scene.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?" I finally scream over the barking.
Petrov looks down from his perch. "Nothing. Why?"
"NOTHING?" I gesture wildly at the sky. "THERE'S NO ROOF!"
"Is temporary."
"TEMPORARY?"
Washington pinches the bridge of his nose like he's praying for strength. "Petrov. Buddy. Explain."
Becker jumps in before Petrov can respond, pointing an accusatory finger. "Someone—" He glares directly at Petrov "—Said they could fix the roof in three hours."
"I can fix roof in three hours," Petrov insists.
"THEN WHERE'S THE ROOF?" Wall yells.
"Is process! You Americans, you have no patience!"
"We have no ROOF!"
They start bickering in earnest now, Petrov defending his timeline, Becker calling him delusional, Groover trying to mediate and failing, and the dogs are still barking, and the cats are still screaming, and my head hurts.
"GUYS!" I shout. "Can someone please explain what's happening in a way that makes literally any sense?"
Wall holds up both hands, and everyone shuts up. Even some of the dogs quiet down, which is honestly impressive.
"Okay," Wall says, projecting his voice. "Here's what happened. Petrov said he could fix the roof in three hours. Turns out the roof was way worse than we thought. The whole structure was compromised. So what should've been a quick patch job turned into a complete section replacement."
"How long?" Washington asks, voice tight.
"A day. Maybe two."
"Two days?" Leila's eyes widen. "Can the animals stay here with no roof?"
"Absolutely not," Mama Paws says, appearing from a back room with Papa Paws trailing behind her. She looks frazzled, hair escaping her usually neat bun, but her voice is steady. "It's below freezing tonight. They'll get sick. Or worse."
"So what do we do?" I ask.
Wall gestures around. "Everyone who can needs to take animals home for the night. We've got about fifty dogs, twenty cats, and one very loud parrot."
"I take parrot!" Petrov yells from his ladder.
"You're FIXING THE ROOF!" three people yell back simultaneously.
Before Wall can continue, Ace just... leaves. He doesn't say anything, just turns and disappears down the hallway like a man on a mission.
I blink after him.
He reappears thirty seconds later, and my heart does this stupid, embarrassing flutter. Because he's carrying Candy.
Not on a leash, walking her carefully. Carrying her. In his arms. Like she's a toddler.
Candy's tail is wagging, her head tucked against his chest, and she looks so content I could cry.
"I'm taking Candy," Ace announces to the room.
"Obviously," Becker mutters.
"Anyone got a problem with that?"
Dead silence except for the continued barking, which has lessened considerably now that people are moving with purpose.
"That's what I thought." Ace looks down at Candy, voice going soft. "You're coming home with me, girl. It's gonna be okay."
I'm staring, and I can't stop staring because this stupidly hot hockey player is being stupidly gentle with a blind senior dog, and my brain is bathing in dopamine or serotonin or whatever neurotransmitter gets released when you melt into a puddle.
Washington claps his hands. "Alright, let's organize. Who can take what?"
Chaos erupts immediately.
"I want the three-legged cat!" Becker yells.
"That's my cat!" Groover yells back.
"You can't call dibs on a cat!"
"I JUST DID!"
"I take all puppies," Petrov says from his ladder.
"You can't take puppies, you're WORKING!" Wall barks.
Wall's already got three dogs on leashes, looking like he's in heaven despite the circumstances. "These guys are coming with me."
Jinx is eyeing a black cat with one ear. "This one. This one's lucky."
"How is a one-eared cat lucky?" Snooze asks.
"He survived. That's lucky."
Can't argue with that logic.
Mama Paws is trying to direct traffic, assigning animals based on people's living situations, but it's like herding cats. Literally. There are cats everywhere, and they're not cooperating.
One tabby makes a break for it, streaking past Washington's legs. Leila lunges and somehow catches it, cradling it like a football. "Got one!" she says, two dogs already by her feet like she's collecting Pokemon.
Washington hangs his head. "Babe..."
She shoots him a murderous glance. "Yes, husband?"
Washington shoots his hands up in surrender. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
I'm watching the chaos unfold, trying to figure out how I can help, when Ace materializes by my side, still holding Candy.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I should be asking you that. You're the one who just found out your three-hour project is a two-day project."
"Not my project. Petrov's project."
"Still."
He shifts Candy in his arms. She's dozed off, completely trusting. "We need carriers. And leashes. A lot of leashes."
"On it."
We move through the shelter together, grabbing supplies from the storage room, working in sync without really talking about it.
I collect leashes while Ace tests carriers to make sure they're secure with his one free hand.
He refuses to let go of Candy. We pass each other in the narrow hallway, and our shoulders brush, and I'm very aware of the fact that twenty minutes ago his dick was in my mouth.
Not the time, Devon. Focus.
"I can't take any animals," I mutter as we're distributing supplies to the team. "Stupid dorm rules."
Ace doesn't miss a beat. "Come to my place. Help me take care of them."
I pause mid-hand-off of a cat carrier to Groover. "What?"
"I've got a spare bedroom. And a big living room. I can take more than just Candy." He's not looking at me, focused on adjusting a collar, but his ears are pink. "But I'll need help. You know. With the animals."
"Just the animals?"
Now he looks at me, and there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. "For tonight, yeah. The animals."
The 'for tonight' is doing a lot of heavy lifting.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Yeah. Okay."
Mama Paws appears with two more dogs—small, fluffy things that look like ambulatory cotton balls. "Can you two take these sweethearts?"
"Absolutely," Ace says.
An hour or so later, we end up with Candy, the two cotton balls (named Lulu and Boba according to their tags), two more small dogs (a Chihuahua mix named Taco and a Pomeranian named Sir Reginald), and two cats (a gray tabby named Smoke and an orange menace named Cheeto).
"That's a lot of animals," I point out as we're loading carriers into Ace's car.
"I have a big condo. And I'll have help." He looks at me over the roof of the car. "Right?"
"Right," I confirm, even though I'm not sure what I'm confirming anymore. Help with the animals? Help with... other things?
We get all seven animals secured—Candy in the back seat between the two carriers, the other dogs in carriers in the trunk, cats in carriers in the footwell because they're small and we ran out of space.
The shelter's slowly emptying out as everyone leaves with their temporary charges. Petrov's still on his ladder, power tool in hand, working by the light of industrial lamps someone set up.
"You sure you don't need help?" Washington calls up to him.
"I am professional. Go! Take care of animals!"
"If you fall off that ladder, I'm not covering for you with Coach!"
"I will not fall. I am Russian. We don't fall."
"That's not how gravity works!" Becker yells.
We leave them to their bickering and pile into the car.
Candy's already asleep in the back, her head resting on one of the carriers. Lulu and Boba are whining softly but not panicking. Taco's barking at nothing. Sir Reginald is maintaining a dignified silence. The cats are plotting our deaths, I'm sure.
Ace starts the car, and we sit there for a second, engine running, heat slowly filling the cabin.
"This is insane," I say.
"Completely."
"We're taking seven animals to your apartment."
"Yep."
"For two days."
"Yep."
"And we just..." I gesture vaguely between us.
Ace's mouth quirks into a smile. "Yep."
"Okay. Just checking we're on the same page of chaos."
"Same page. Same chapter. Same book of absolute fucking chaos."
I laugh, and he does too, and Candy wakes up just long enough to wag her tail before going back to sleep, and somehow, despite everything, this feels like peace.