CHAPTER 24
ACE
CANDY STOPS TO sniff a fire hydrant, and Devon and I both automatically halt, like we're synchronized dancers who didn't rehearse but somehow know all the same moves.
"She's the boss," Devon says, smiling.
"Absolutely. What Candy wants, Candy gets."
We've been walking for twenty minutes, taking the long route around the neighborhood even though it's cold enough that I can see my breath. Neither of us has suggested going back yet. Neither of us wants to.
This has become a thing—walking Candy together. We don't plan it, exactly. It just happens. I show up at the shelter and Devon's there. Or Devon shows up and I'm there. And then somehow we're both holding Candy's leash and walking through Chicago.
"So," Devon says, bumping his shoulder against mine as we start moving again. "Scale of one to ten, how sore are you?"
I feel my face heat up. "I'm not answering that."
"That's a ten. Definitely a ten."
"I didn't say—"
"You didn't have to. Your ears are red." He's grinning, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "For the record, I'm also a ten. Possibly an eleven. I don't think I'll ever walk normally again."
"Devon."
"What? I'm just saying, you're very thorough. It's a compliment."
I shake my head, but I'm smiling.
Candy leads us down a quiet side street, her nose working overtime, tail wagging gently. The afternoon sun is weak and watery, barely providing warmth, but the sky is clear and blue, and it's actually kind of perfect.
"Hey," Devon says, his voice going softer. "Random question."
"Shoot."
"Do you think..." He pauses, like he's not sure he should continue. "Do you think Candy will get adopted? Eventually?"
His expression is carefully neutral, but there's something underneath, and I can't decide whether it's worry or hope.
"I don't know," I admit. "Mama Paws said she's been at the shelter for three years. That's a long time."
"Yeah." Devon's quiet for a moment, watching Candy walk ahead of us. "I thought about that. And I know this makes me a terrible person, but..." He trails off.
"But what?"
"Part of me doesn't want her to get adopted.
" The words come out in a rush, like he's confessing something shameful.
"I want her to find a home, obviously. She deserves that.
But if she gets adopted, I won't be able to visit her anymore.
And that's selfish and awful, and I'm a horrible human being, but it's true. "
Something in my chest tightens. "You're not a horrible human being."
"I'm literally hoping a dog doesn't find a home so I can keep seeing her."
"You're hoping you don't lose something you care about. That's not horrible. That's just... human."
He looks at me then, and there's something vulnerable in his expression that makes me want to pull him close and promise him things I'm not sure I can deliver.
Before I can say anything else, or figure out what I even want to say, Candy stops walking.
Her ears perk up, swiveling like satellite dishes, and her whole body goes still and alert.
"What is it, girl?" Devon crouches down next to her.
Candy doesn't move, just stands there, head tilted, listening to something we can't hear.
We wait. Because Candy's the boss, and if she needs a moment, we give her a moment.
I sigh, looking down at the way Devon's hand rests gently on her head. "Do you think she knows?" I ask quietly. "That we care about her?"
"Yeah." Devon doesn't hesitate. "I think she knows."
Candy decides whatever she was listening to is no longer interesting and starts walking again, leading us back toward the shelter.
We're almost there when she lets out a bark, sharp and sudden, directed at something in the distance.
Devon immediately drops to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe. I've got you." And then, so quietly I almost miss it, he whispers, "I just love you so much."
Something twists in my chest—sharp and sweet and terrifying all at once as I wonder, just for a second, what it would feel like to hear those words directed at me. To be on the receiving end of that kind of open, uncomplicated affection.
I shake the thought away before it can take root.
We turn the last corner toward the shelter, and Devon stops walking so abruptly I nearly crash into him.
"What?" I follow his gaze across the street.
There's a man standing there. Long winter coat, old-fashioned fedora, hands in his pockets, just... standing. Staring at the shelter.
"I've seen him before," Devon says, his voice tight. "More than once, actually."
As if he can feel us watching, the man turns and starts walking away, his pace just a little too quick to be casual.
Devon and I look at each other.
We exchange no words. Some kind of silent understanding passes between us, and we're moving, following him, keeping enough distance to not be obvious but close enough to not lose him.
Candy trots alongside us, perfectly behaved, like she knows this is important.
The man walks half a block, and heads toward a dark blue sedan parked on the street.
As we get closer, I notice the sticker on the side panel. White letters on a blue background.
Apex Urban Group.
"A developer?" I say. "Why would a developer be—"
Devon's eyes go wide, his whole face transforming into an expression of horror and rage. "Nooooo."
Before I can say anything, Devon's already marching toward the man, Candy keeping pace beside him like a tiny, blind bodyguard.
I follow, because what else am I going to do?
"You!" Devon's voice rings out across the quiet street.
The man freezes, hand on the car door handle, and turns to look at us.
"You're the asshole who called for an inspection, aren't you?" Devon demands.
The man's face goes through several emotions—surprise, guilt, resignation—before settling on something that might be defensive annoyance.
He opens his mouth, probably to deny it, but then seems to think better of it. "Look, boys," he says, holding up his hands like he's trying to calm an angry mob. "I don't mean to sound like a villain here—"
"Could have fooled me," I say.
"—but this property is prime real estate. The location, the size, the potential—"
"It's the shelter's property," Devon interrupts, stepping closer. "And it will remain the shelter's property."
The man has the audacity to chuckle, shaking his head like we're children who don't understand how the world works.
That's it. That's all I can take.
I cross my arms over my chest and straighten to my full height, using every inch of my six-foot-five frame to loom over him. I don't often use my size against people. Almost never. But if there was ever a time to do it, it is now.
The man's eyes widen slightly, and I watch him take an unconscious step back, bumping into his car.
Good. Be scared.
"All I'm saying—" he tries again.
"And all I'm saying," Devon cuts him off, "is you better tell your overlords to give it up. Because if I see you skulking around here again, this isn't going to end well for you."
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing because Devon's still a few inches shorter than this guy, and the fedora gives the developer even more height.
But Devon's standing there with his chest puffed out, looking like he's ready to throw hands, and it's the most adorable threatening display I've ever witnessed.
And I'm not about to undermine him.
I take a small step forward, close enough that the man has to crane his neck to look up at me. "What he said."
Devon and I stand there, arms crossed, forming a united front. Even Candy sits down next to Devon's leg, her little face pointed in the developer's general direction, like she's part of the threat.
The man looks between us, then down at Candy, then back at us.
He huffs, clearly deciding this isn't worth whatever his commission would be, and yanks open his car door. "You can't stop progress," he mutters, but it sounds weak.
"Watch us," Devon says.
We remain still, watching as he gets into his car, starts the engine, and pulls away from the curb. We keep watching until he turns the corner and disappears from view.
Only then does Devon deflate, his shoulders dropping, the bravado draining out of him.
He looks at me, and his eyes are worried. "What now?"
I swallow around the lump in my throat. "We will never let it happen."
"But what if—"
"No." I shake my head, looking toward the shelter.
The roof is fixed now, the new section gleaming in the weak sunlight.
The fencing is secure, the gates properly locked.
"Look at everything we've already done. The roof, the fencing, the medical room.
The fundraisers, the donations." I look back at him. "We're almost there. We've got this."
Devon doesn't look convinced, but he nods.
Candy nudges his leg, and he reaches down to scratch behind her ears, his movements automatic, comforting.
"Come on," I say gently. "Let's get her back inside. It's cold."
We walk back to the shelter in silence, but I reach out and take his hand, threading our fingers together.
He squeezes back, holding on tight.
And I hold on just as tight, hoping it's enough.