Chapter 1
Shaw
The sound of my feet hitting the pavement in a rhythmic pattern soothes my irritation over last night’s performance.
I played like shit.
No. Worse than shit.
My performance was a pile of steaming, contaminated dog shit that still has me fuming this morning as I take off on my usual morning run.
The crisp late-winter air of Vancouver, B.C., is exactly what I need to clear my thoughts and put me in a better mood. We don’t play again until Saturday night, leaving me with two whole days to figure out how to get my head out of my ass and back into the game.
I check my fitness watch for the time, hoping to beat my own personal best, when I notice one of my shoelaces has come loose.
Taking a knee, I retie it, then tighten it over the tongue so I don’t accidentally trip and really screw up my chances for a good game.
As I do, a noise that isn’t Prince’s Let’s Go Crazy grabs my attention.
I remove an earbud from one ear and tilt my head to the side—as one does when trying to decipher a sound—straining to see if I can hear it again.
The task proves pointless when all I hear is the rumble of passing vehicles and the neighborhood waking and coming to life. I stand up and stretch, ready to leave, but take one last moment to peer around me, just in case whatever I heard will somehow materialize in front of me.
This is what I get for staying up late listening to my favorite true crime podcasts—a guilty pleasure.
I could swear the noise I heard was that of a panicked scratching against metal accompanied by a muffled whimper.
It could be someone stuck inside a car trunk.
Maybe a kidnapped woman fighting for her life.
Not wishing someone was kidnapped, of course, but yeah, it would kind of be cool to save someone’s life.
My effort proves futile. Only the sounds of my own heavy breaths fill the air.
“Idiot,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head and plugging the bud back in my ear. My mom always said I had a too-vivid imagination.
As a kid, before I started playing hockey, I’d devise complex storylines about pirates and sea monsters, dragons and elves, and far-off universes filled with a multitude of good and villainous aliens. And of course, I was the hero who saved the village from certain death.
I chuckle to myself and start off on a jog, only to be stopped short three steps in when a muffled growl comes from somewhere to my right. My head snaps in that direction, and I yank out both buds this time, then stand in the middle of the street, hands on hips.
That clawing noise against metal starts up again, and I can now tell it’s coming from a commercial green dumpster in the alleyway of a Chinese restaurant and a yoga studio not twenty feet from where I stand.
Taking a hesitant step toward it, I see the bin move on its own accord, and I practically leap backward.
“Holy shit,” I yelp out loud to an empty alley. “What the fuck?”
I approach the garbage bin with caution, unprepared and a bit nervous over what I might find inside.
A discarded wooden pallet is propped up against the building wall.
I pick it up, ready to use it in a pinch to protect myself against whatever I might find when I pop the lid.
The black rubber top of the bin is secured down with a latch, trapping whatever is making those awful noises inside.
With one hand holding the pallet like a superhero shield—only missing a cape and mask—I roughly flip the lid open, sending it flying backward with a loud thump against the brick building.
I take a cautious step back and duck behind the pallet.
When nothing immediately jumps out to attack, I crane my neck and peer around the wood, my eyes searching for the source of the alarming disturbance.
My entire body goes on high alert, blood pumping fast through my veins, heartbeat accelerating the same way it does just before I take the ice.
Then it happens again.
The sound of desperate whimpers. Scratching and clawing. The high-pitched shriek of panicked barking.
This isn’t a game. It’s a dog. A dog that I don’t initially see when I finally can take a full breath and peer over the edge of the metal container.
Piles of debris and bags of food waste fill the bin, causing an odor so overpowering it makes me gag. I turn my head and cough into the crook of my arm. When I look back inside, I see an old-style, worn-out suitcase, the kind my grandmother would use when she’d come to visit us when I was a kid.
But not just any suitcase. This one looks filled to the brim and literally jumps a few inches off the piles of trash bags it sits on.
“Shit!”
I stumble backward awkwardly and drop the pallet, which collides with the ground and splinters at my feet. “What the actual fuck?”
This is insane. If what’s inside is what I think it is, I should probably call the police or animal control to manage this situation; that thing isn’t going to be too happy when it’s released from the luggage.
On the other hand, I’m not about to waste any more time and let this poor creature remain trapped in a suitcase while I wait for the cavalry to arrive.
Nodding to myself in support of my decision, I reach over the side of the trash bin, letting out a sharp breath.
“Shh, shh…it’s okay, buddy. I got you,” I offer calmly, hoping the quiet tone of my voice hides the nerves coursing through me at the moment.
I place a gentling hand over the lump flailing wildly under the bag’s material and massage it in a circular motion.
At the same time, I search along the sides of the suitcase with my other hand to locate the zipper.
Once I find it, I begin to slowly unzip one agonizing bit at a time, preparing myself for what I might find and the resistance I might encounter. No sooner have I opened it a few inches than a large pink snout pops out, nostrils flaring for breath.
Tears of anxiety, outrage, and anger bite at my eyes at the realization that this dog was left here to die.
My dog-loving friends have taught me that the best way to greet a dog is with the back of my hand so I don’t come off as a threat.
With that in mind, I flip my palm down and place my hand in front of its snout to let it get a good sniff.
It inhales deeply, nostrils flaring once more, and I whisper the same mantra repeatedly.
“You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”
When I’ve unzipped enough space to allow for it, the dog’s entire head and floppy, mangled ears become visible.
The first things I notice are a large white stripe that runs down the middle of its gray block head from crown to its blackish nose and a pale white ring around its mouth.
The big brown puppy eyes staring at me are wide—either in panic and fear or desperation. Or both.
Fuck. I thought I’d be ready for what I’d see, but the sight of this dog’s physical appearance is fucking heartbreaking.
The pup tries to lift its head from its huddled, compressed position, its shallow pants coming in quick succession.
Its pink tongue dangles listlessly from its mouth.
Careful not to make any sudden moves, I continue to open the suitcase and notice a rope—a goddamn rope—tied tightly around its neck in a knot, a frayed piece dangling loosely over its body.
“Jesus Christ, who did this to you?” I ask the dog. How can people be so fucking evil?
The zipper gets stuck halfway around the suitcase and I have to wiggle it forcefully to finally get it completely undone. Then I lift the top of the bag to expose the pup’s entire body.
It’s a female dog, that much I can tell. And while I don’t know much about dogs, I can also tell that she must’ve recently been pregnant and had a litter—her teats are engorged even though the rest of her frame is emaciated so badly her ribs poke through her abdomen.
Another whimper comes from the pup. I tentatively place a hand under her belly and the other around her middle, then scoop her up into my arms. I realize I’m taking a stupid chance because the dog could be rabid and bite me, but fuck that.
All I want to do right now is make sure this girl gets help.
The dog must somehow recognize that she’s being rescued because her entire body goes slack in my arms as I hold her close to my chest. Her head wilts into the crook of my arm and her mouth droops open so I can feel her warm breath against my body.
“I’ve got you now, girl. You’re going to be okay.”