1. Chapter One #2
"Hey, Sunshine," she calls out. "You ready to make Ranger a star?"
Behind me, I hear Aiden mutter something that sounds suspiciously like "so fucking gone" but I ignore him because Sarah's walking toward us and I need to remember how to form actual sentences.
"Where is the celebrity?" Sarah asks when she reaches us, and I realize she's talking about Ranger, not me. Obviously.
"He's in the locker room with Barb," I manage. "I saw her in the hall and wanted to make sure the jersey my mom got him fit right before the shoot."
"You put your dog in the locker room?" Tyler looks delighted by this. "That's so cool. Can I go see him?"
"Knock yourself out, Momo."
Tyler practically sprints toward the locker room, and Sarah watches him go with amusement dancing in her eyes. "He's enthusiastic."
"He's barely nineteen," Josh says dryly. "Everything's enthusiastic when you're a teenager."
"You say that like you're ancient," Sarah tells him. "You're what, thirty?"
"Thirty-four. I’ve got maybe one more season after this. In hockey years, that's approximately deceased."
Sarah laughs, and the sound echoes off the empty arena in a way that makes me completely conscious of everything I can’t have. She's totally comfortable here, with my teammates, in this space. Like she belongs.
Because she does belong. She's been coming to games since she and I became friends. She knows the guys. They know her. I know she’s got a text group with Paige and Lindy and Dr. Quinn Parker, a member of our medical team. She's part of this, even if she thinks of herself as an outsider.
"Alright, gentlemen," Paige says, clapping her hands together.
"Let's talk logistics. We're doing individual shots first, then some group photos, and we'll finish with Ranger's solo shots for the social media campaign.
Lindy's going to direct the actual photography, and Sarah's going to handle dog placement and make sure everyone stays safe and comfortable. "
"The dogs or us?" Graham asks.
"Both," Sarah says with a grin. "Though fair warning, I'm more concerned about the dogs. You guys can defend yourselves."
"I like her," Graham announces.
"Everyone likes her. Some of us more than others…" Aiden mutters, and this time I definitely hear the amusement in his voice.
Sarah pulls out a clipboard — because of course she has a clipboard, she's Sarah — and starts running through the list. "Okay, so I've got seven dogs here today.
All of them are great with people but they have different energy levels and comfort zones.
I'm going to pair you based on personality matches. "
She's completely in her element. Professional and confident. The woman who built a rescue from nothing, who fights for every dog, who somehow manages to do all of this while barely breaking even financially.
"Tyler, you're getting Hercules. He's a pit mix, about seventy pounds, and he's got energy for days. You two are going to be best friends."
Tyler, who's returned from visiting Ranger, literally pumps his fist. "Yes! I wanted a big dog."
"Josh, you're getting Daisy. She's a senior golden, about ten years old, very calm. I thought you two would vibe."
"Because I'm old and calm?" Josh asks, but he's already moving toward the gentle-looking golden retriever Sarah's indicating.
"Because you have a mature energy," Sarah corrects diplomatically, and Liam snorts.
She continues matching players with dogs, and I watch her work. The way she reads both the dogs and the guys, finding the perfect combinations. How she explains each dog's background, their quirks, what makes them special.
This is what she does. This is who she is.
And fuck it all, Cap’s right. I'm absolutely gone for her.
"Kevin, you're with Peanut," Sarah says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "She's a beagle mix, super sweet, a little shy. Needs someone patient."
She brings over a small brown and white dog with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. The beagle immediately tries to hide behind Sarah's legs.
"Hey, Peanut," I say softly, crouching down to the dog's level. "It's okay. I'm a friend."
Sarah watches me as I do my best to apologize to Peanut for someone else’s bad decisions. "She was surrendered by her owner when they moved. She's having a hard time trusting people again."
I hold out my hand, letting Peanut sniff it. After a moment, her tail gives a tentative wag. "I get it," I tell the dog. "I have people I miss too. Trust is hard."
When I look up, Sarah's staring at me and her expression softens from guilt and sadness to something else entirely. For a second, it's just us. Just me and her and this scared little dog between us.
"You're good at this," she says quietly.
"I had a good teacher." I stand up, Peanut's leash in my hand. "You ready to make us look calendar-worthy?"
"Please. You're a hockey player holding a dog. The only way this would be more of a thirst trap calendar is if you guys went shirtless." She turns to address the group, but not before I catch Aiden and Liam exchanging looks.
Great. I assume I’m never going to hear the end of this.
I assume wrong. Because a guy named Crash never misses a chance to be a thirst trap hockey player.
"Challenge accepted." Liam's already yanking his tarp over his head.
Aiden doesn't even argue, just follows suit. "I take my role as Captain seriously. Gotta lead by example."
"Boys, behave," Lindy calls out from behind where the photographer is setup near the backdrop. "Let's start with individual shots. Aiden, you're up first, since you’re leading by example…with your jersey on."
What follows is pretty much what I expected this to be when I walked in the door this morning.
The photographer moves us between setups — some players posed on the rubber mats with the ice visible behind them, some directly on the ice if the dog is capable of being held — and isn’t freaked out by being skated with, others positioned near the bench area where the team logo is prominently displayed, a few shots taken in the tunnel entrance with its dramatic lighting.
Aiden poses with a husky mix named Storm in the tunnel.
Graham's matched with a mutt who sits perfectly still on the bench while Graham tries not to laugh at how serious the dog looks.
Tyler and Hercules become instant best friends on a mat at center ice, both of them with matching levels of rookie energy — the dog keeps trying to tackle Tyler, and Tyler keeps laughing and rolling around with him like they're at a dog park instead of on an indoor glacier.
Through it all, Sarah moves between players and dogs, adjusting positions, calming nervous animals, making everyone look natural.
She crouches down to coax a shy terrier closer to Josh.
Stands on her toes to fix a piece of Graham's hair that's sticking up.
Laughs when Tyler gets completely bowled over by Hercules and both of them end up in a heap near the tunnel entrance.
Watching her work is better than any hockey game I've ever played.
"You're staring," Liam says quietly, appearing next to me while I wait for my turn.
"I'm observing."
"Sure. That's what we're calling it." He pauses. "She's great at this."
"She's great at everything."
"You could tell her that, you know. Instead of just watching her like some stalker."
"I'm not—" I start to argue, but Liam just gives me a look that I recognize well. It’s the one that says he knows exactly what I'm not saying.
"Kevin, you're up!" Lindy calls from her position near the main backdrop.
I head to the marked spot on the rubber mat, Peanut trotting nervously beside me.
The positioning puts the ice and boards visible behind us through the glass, and I can see the reflection of the arena lights on the fresh surface.
Sarah follows, kneeling down to adjust Peanut's position, making sure the nervous dog is comfortable on the textured mat.
"Okay, here's the thing," Sarah says, crouching next to us. "Peanut's going to be a little freaked out, so I need you to just be calm. Talk to her. Make her feel safe."
"I can do that."
"I know you can." She looks up at me, and we're close enough that I can see tiny shards of gold highlighting her light green eyes. "That's why I gave her to you."
Something passes between us. Something that makes my heart rate kick up in a way that has nothing to do with hockey.
"Sarah," Lindy calls out. "We're good here. I've got them."
Sarah stands, her hand briefly touching my shoulder as she moves away. It's casual. Friendly. Nothing that anyone watching would read into.
But my shoulder burns where she touched it. The heat spreads down my spine, pools low in my stomach, makes everything below my waist sit up and pay attention in a way that's inconvenient as hell.
I face down guys who've lost teeth for this game. I've blocked slap shots without flinching. But Sarah Townsend's hand on my shoulder for three seconds just knocked me flat.
I should be better than this. Should have more control. Should be able to stand next to her without my entire body going on high alert, without wondering what those hands would feel like somewhere other than my shoulder.
But I'm not better than this.
Not when it comes to her. And I know it.
She's told me what her parents' divorce did to her — how she felt like a pawn they moved around just to hurt each other. How she promised herself that as an adult, she'd never let someone else decide what her life should look like. So, she keeps things light, keeps herself in control.
And I respect that. I have to.
Because if I push for something she can't give, she’ll get scared — just like the dogs she pulls from the shelter. I’ve seen it a hundred times when I’ve worked alongside her at the rescue. At least this way I get to keep my best friend, even if it's not the way I want.