17. Chapter Seventeen #3
"Kevin St. Clair just spent five minutes demonstrating hand signals his good boy of a dog already knows perfectly.
And he did it because it meant standing next to you.
" She leans forward. "I've known that man for a decade.
Brett was his college roommate. He was the best man at my wedding.
And I have never — not once — seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. "
My throat goes tight. "Paige—"
"He hunted down Tim in Security to get intel on your parking and seating when he knows that's literally part of my job.
He's finding excuses." She leans forward.
"And you're doing the same thing. You didn't need to run through those signals either.
Ranger's been responding to them perfectly for months. "
"We were just—"
"Being in the same room. I know." Her expression softens. "Look, I adore you both. You're smart, competent, and you care about the same things. You're also both absolutely terrible at admitting what you want."
I don't know what to say to that.
Paige stands, stretching slightly and adjusting the top of her pants. "Aaah…elastic waistbands are so amazing. And I can finally almost brush my teeth in the morning without throwing up. Maybe I'm turning a corner with this whole pregnancy thing."
"That's good, right?"
"It's such a good thing. Though I'm officially in stretchy pants now." She tugs at her leggings. "I threatened to raid the guys' workout gear if someone doesn't stop putting donuts in the staff break room. Brett thinks it's hilarious."
Despite everything, I smile. "How is Brett handling all this?"
"He's already planning the nursery. Downloaded way too many parenting apps.
It's adorable. Maybe a little certifiable. But as first-timers, I guess we’ll take all the coaching we can get.
" She picks up her binder. "But speaking of coaching — tonight's game against Boston is going to be a challenge. They always are. Then Columbus tomorrow, and even though I’m glad we’re home for a bit, this week’s schedule has two back-to-backs, with Wednesday off.
What was the league thinking? I know they can handle it, but weeks like this take a mental and physical toll.
Thursday we've got Vancouver. And then Friday...
" She grins. "Friday is Dallas again. Will be a great crowd. That's Ranger's debut."
"We'll both be ready." My stomach flips for entirely different reasons. I'll be right there in 118, right next to the ice, watching the whole game instead of sneaking into some empty seat somewhere in the arena in the third after the LSP booth shuts down.
"Super PawMart wants him visible during a high-profile game, and Dallas always draws a crowd." Paige hands me the printed call sheet. "You two are going to slay this. Your client is a professional."
I take the schedule. "Anything else?"
Paige studies me for a moment. "Yeah. Are you okay? You were a little off at Bridgerton night."
The question catches me off guard. "I'm fine."
"Sarah." Her voice is gentle. Concerned. "I don't think I'm making this up. On the other hand, I was asleep by episode three."
"Yeah. You're probably having dreams about being Whistledown. I'm just tired. Lots going on right now for the rescue and I think I still haven't kicked all of that bronchitis from before the guys went on the Canada trip."
"If you need anything — and I mean anything — you call me. Okay?" She touches my arm. "I'm serious. Day or night. I've got you."
I'm so grateful to have her as a friend. She's done so much work on this deal that's going to make up the difference on our rent increase at the rescue. "Thank you."
"That's what friends are for." She squeezes once, then releases. "Now go home. Get some rest before tonight's game. You look exhausted."
I clip Ranger's leash. "Come on, Superstar. Let's go."
By late afternoon, I've dropped InstaDog at LSP for pack play and I'm back at my apartment above Overtime. Fryer oil and citrus cleaner hit the second I open the door.
My stomach does a stupid twisty thing again. That same wrong lurch from the coffee. Not dramatic. Not urgent. Just... Off.
I manage not to gag, but it's closer than it should be.
Focus, Sarah. It's just the vents. Manny will fix it.
And just to make sure that happens soon, I text the maintenance tech.
Hey, it's Sarah in 3B — the vent smell is brutal. Any chance you can swap my filters?
Manny ??
Tomorrow am, first stop. If I have to order anything, it'll be Friday before I can get it fixed.
Ok, that at least feels like progress. Maybe if I crack the kitchen window, that will help. I won't be here long anyway.
No time to be dramatic about fryer grease.
My phone buzzes.
Diane
We're loading in early. Doors at 5:30. Can you swing by to help set the booth before warmups?
Barb follows with a heart and a photo of a neatly stacked box of flyers with QR codes for our current pets looking for adoption and Ranger's Instagram.
On my way.
The knot in my stomach loosens a notch. Booth mode I can do. Booth mode doesn't involve coffee that tastes wrong or Kevin's contract situation or any of the things my brain wants to spiral about.
I swap into my Lone Star Paws t-shirt and a Stampede warmup jacket, toss some cherry-flavored lipbalm in my pocket, and load my battered blue tote: tablecloth, donation signs, Square reader, adoption forms, and a Sharpie that only works if you sweet-talk it.
I slide the LSP lanyard over my head, lock up, and take the stairs two at a time.
Once I’m inside the arena, the concourse is half-lit and humming.
There’s carts rolling, a Zamboni growling somewhere, the PA mic check bouncing off steel.
Barb waves from our spot at the top of Section 120 with a roll of tape between her teeth.
Diane is already aligning our "Adopt, Don't Shop" placard with a level like we're hanging art.
Normal. This is normal. This is what I know how to do.
"Boss," Barb says around the tape, handing me scissors. "Let's make some money for the mutts."
"Let's find them homes," I say, and set the blue tote on the table.
I flip the switch. QR codes up. Flyers fanned. Donation jar front and center. Fans will be here before we know it; Boston in town means a crowd.
For the next four hours, I get to be just the rescue director under the bright lights of TexTech Arena. Not someone who has to think about contract years or free agency or what happens in six months.
Just Sarah Townsend, LSP director, finding homes for dogs.
I can do that. I'm good at that.
At least until I slide into whatever seat I find to watch the third.
But I'm not going to get ahead of myself.