22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sarah
And I'm standing near the service entrance with Ranger on a leash, trying to keep the world's most excited influencer dog calm while Melia Maras circles us like a corporate shark in sensible heels and a Super PawMart branded everything.
"This is perfect." Melia's filming everything on her phone: the concrete walls, the equipment carts, Ranger sniffing a dolly. "So fun and behind-the-scenes. Sarah, can you get him to do that head tilt thing?"
My own head tilts at this. "Well, I mean, he's a dog, not a trained actor."
"But he does the head tilt in all the photos on his social media account." She continues tapping her screen and taking photos.
"Because he's confused."
Melia laughs — high and bright. "Well, confuse him more. We need cute videos."
I glance at Paige, who's standing off to the side with her tablet and color-coded binder. She gives me a look that clearly questions the fact that both Kevin and I said Ranger had been professionally trained.
Professionally trained to not pee in the living room, to not take off running on the trails at Lady Bird Lake, and to sit, stay, and shake.
I take a breath. I'll do my best.
"Ranger." I crouch down to his level. "Where's your ball?"
His head tilts.
Perfect.
He always does this when he thinks someone might say his favorite words like ball or treat or get crazy and spell W-A-L-K.
"Got it!" Melia squeals. "Oh, my, yes, that's going to get so many likes. Okay, what else can we do?"
"We should let him settle before we overwhelm him," I suggest. "He's going to be out there for three hours tonight."
"Right, right. Good thinking." Melia makes a note on her phone. "When does Kevin get here?"
"Should be any minute. I sent him to do some media availability," Paige says.
As if summoned, the service door opens, and Kevin appears in a charcoal suit that should, frankly, be illegal in all fifty states.
The bruising around his left eye is spectacular — deep purple fading to yellow-green at the edges.
But he's moving like nothing hurts, shoulders back, completely at ease, despite the fact that he's about to do a live Instagram broadcast to all the followers on the official Austin Stampede page while his dog wears a jersey.
He kneels in front of Ranger first.
Not me. Not Melia. Not Paige.
The dog.
"Hey, buddy." His voice drops to that soft tone he uses when it's just the two of them. He's the proudest dog dad I've ever known — and I force myself not to start thinking about what kind of tiny human dad he will be nine months from now. "You ready to work?"
Ranger's tail goes into overdrive, his whole back-end wiggling with joy.
Kevin scratches behind his ears, checks the jersey fit, adjusts the collar.
Then he looks up at me.
I gesture to his face and the color bracketing his eye. "Very rugged. Super tough guy."
"Adds character." He stands, and his hand finds the small of my back briefly.
The touch is warm through my shirt. It makes everything inside of me melt and puddle.
For a split second, I wish no one else was around us so I could just stare at him.
Who knew bruising could be so damn hot? "What do you need from me? "
"Melia wants to do a quick Insta live with you and Ranger. Maybe we could have you both walk in together. Do a fit check as you stroll to the locker room. Then the meet-and-greet at the booth — photos with fans, donation push. Then you need to get to warmups."
Kevin shrugs, as if he’s accepting the inevitability. "As long as I don't have to dance."
"Just stand there and look pretty. You're good at that."
"Says the girl who wore peanut butter to Wing Wednesday."
“You noticed that?"
He winks deliberately, then grins. There goes that melty, puddly feeling again.
Are pregnant women supposed to get all melty and puddly? Or am I some sort of hyper-hormonal weirdo? I don’t have time to think about this now.
"I notice everything." He nods once. Looks at Melia. "Whatever helps the dogs. Give me the bullet points."
I watch him shift into professional mode. The media training kicks in; he makes Melia feel like she's the only person in the loading dock when she's explaining the live format.
It's impressive, watching him work.
Paige pulls up the Super PawMart Instagram account on her tablet. "Okay, we're going live in three...two..."
Kevin's sitting on the concrete floor now, Ranger sprawled across his lap. The dog's half-asleep, completely content, while Kevin talks to the camera about rescue dogs and second chances and how Ranger changed his life.
"A lot of people ask me why I adopted instead of going to a breeder," he's saying.
"And the truth is, Ranger needed me as much as I needed him.
He was this scared, skinny puppy that someone dumped at a county shelter.
And now he's here. Living his best life.
Getting a brand deal before Tyler Morgan — just kidding Momo. Love you, Bro."
The comments are flying.
Heart emojis and laugh-crying faces and people tagging their friends.
"If you're thinking about getting a dog," Kevin continues, "check out your local shelter first. There are so many dogs like Ranger just waiting for someone to see them.
To give them a shot. And if you're near Austin, come see Lone Star Paws.
Organizations like LSP are doing incredible work to make sure these animals get the care and love they deserve. "
He's so good at this.
He’s natural and genuine and completely believable because he actually means every word.
Ranger gives a shake. And as though on cue, his collar clasp snaps.
The plastic pops and the collar drops and makes Kevin pause mid-sentence as it hits the ground.
"Hang on folks, we've got a wardrobe malfunction."
I'm already moving forward, fumbling with the clasp, but the stupid thing is cracked.
"Ugh," I mutter under my breath.
Kevin's already pulling something from his suit pocket.
Black, professional-grade stick tape that every hockey player carries like it's currency.
"Here." He takes the collar from me, places it back around Ranger's neck, and wraps the clasp three times — quick and efficient — then secures it and tugs to test. "Rule number one: ugly wins count as much as pretty ones."
The tape holds perfectly.
Melia's filming the whole thing and laughing. "I love it. The tape. It’s so hockey. This is perfect."
Kevin grins at the camera. "Hockey players fix most problems with tape. Even dog parenting problems."
He finishes the live, answers a few more questions from Melia, and wraps it up with one final scratch behind Ranger's ears.
"Alright folks, I've got to get ready for warmups. But Ranger will be in section 118 all night with the Lone Star Paws team. Come say hi, make a donation, and if you're looking to adopt, Sarah's your girl."
He points at me.
The camera swings my direction.
I wave awkwardly.
The comments start flowing in.
PawzNPucks70: Perfect dog dad ??
StampedeFFL: He's so good with animals!
TheHockeyQueenATX: Sunshine St. Clair can rescue ME
Savannaaahhh.0818: Forget the dog dad energy, I'd have his real baby
I turn bright red. Like, I physically feel the heat flooding my cheeks.
Why do I feel like Instagram is soft-launching my Big Life Plot Twist?
Too late Savannaaahhh.0818. That box has already been checked.
I'm going to hell. Or at least to the penalty box for improper thoughts during a brand activation event.
Paige ends the live. I wonder if she saw Savannah's comment.
"Perfect," Melia says, reviewing the footage. "Absolutely perfect. This is going to drive so much traffic. Sarah, you ready for the meet-and-greet?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
About thirty minutes later, the booth in our usual spot at the top of section 104 already has a crowd pressing around it as Ranger and I walk up.
Fans in Dallas jerseys mixed with Stampede faithful, kids pressing against the table to get a glimpse of Ranger, parents asking about adoption requirements.
Diane's managing the donation tablet like a pro — explaining the QR code, showing photos of available dogs, collecting email addresses for the newsletter.
Barb's handling crowd control and keeping people from reaching over the table to pet Ranger without asking.
I'm in the middle, camera ready, making sure every interaction is positive and on-brand.
A little girl in a Stampede jersey pushes through the crowd. She can't be more than six, with her hair in two French braids and a gap where her front teeth should be.
"Can I pet him?" she asks, and her voice is so quiet I almost miss it.
"Of course. What's your name?"
"Lily."
"Hi Lily. This is Ranger. Give me your hand — palm up, let him sniff first. That's it. Now you can pet him."
Ranger leans into her touch, tail wagging, and Lily's whole face lights up.
Her mom's taking photos, tears in her eyes.
"We've been talking about getting a dog," she tells me. "But I wasn't sure if Lily was ready. She's so shy around animals."
"Ranger's great with kids. Super gentle."
Lily's got both arms around Ranger's neck now, whispering something in his ear.
"Do you have puppies at your rescue?" the mom asks.
"Sometimes. Right now, we've got a few young dogs — six months to a year old.
Still got puppy energy but a little more manageable than an eight-week-old.
We have an adoption event next Saturday at Zilker Park for the Paws Across Austin Festival.
Actually, an adoption event at Zilker Park is where Ranger met Kevin. "
She takes one of our cards. Scans the QR code. Makes a donation.
"We'll definitely come by," she promises.
The next twenty minutes blur. Photo after photo, donation after donation, rapid-fire questions about Ranger's story, adoptions, training.