Unleashed (Side Hustle #6)

Chapter One | Lacey

Chapter One

Lacey

The January cold bit through my jacket as I sat in the parking lot of North Texas Animal Hospital, staring at my phone screen. I should've gone inside already—my shift as a veterinary assistant started in five minutes—but I needed to check my bank balance first.

I always did this to myself. Checked the numbers even though I knew they wouldn't be enough.

Checking account: $847. Rent due in ten days: $950. Student loan payment: $180. Pole fitness studio rent: $400. Car insurance coming up in two weeks.

My phone went dark as I locked it and dropped it in my purse. The math didn't work. It never did.

My New Year's resolution stared back at me from the rearview mirror—a sticky note I'd slapped there three weeks ago in a fit of optimism. Make the business profitable. Save for school. You've got this.

Did I, though?

The thermometer on the bank across the street read thirty-eight degrees, but the wind made it feel like the twenties. The jacket did nothing as I hurried toward the front door, keys jingling in my hand.

I'd been supporting myself for two years now, scraping by on veterinary assistant wages that barely covered rent and bills.

The Associate's degree I needed to become a licensed vet tech felt impossibly far away.

That's why I'd started teaching pole fitness classes a year ago—to save money, to build something that was mine, to prove I could make it on my own.

But first I had to tell my father what I was doing.

The memory surfaced as I reached for the lock—standing in Bennett's Garage eight months ago, the smell of motor oil and old coffee thick in the air.

"I'm gonna teach some fitness classes," I'd told him. "Save up money so I can finish my degree."

Dad's face had lit up. "That's real good, Lacey. You mean like those aerobics classes they offer down at the community center?"

"It's pole fitness, actually—"

The change was instant. His whole expression shifted from proud to horrified to furious. The red crept up his neck into his face.

"You mean stripping?"

"No, Dad, it's exercise—"

"No daughter of mine is gonna parade around half-naked for money."

The conversation ended with him telling me not to come around until I "came to my senses."

Eight months of silence.

I unlocked the door of the animal hospital, leaving that memory in the parking lot where it belonged. This was my present, not my past. I wasn't going to let my father—or anyone else—make me feel ashamed of my choices. I was done being told what to do.

The morning passed in its usual routine. Mrs. Henderson brought in her ancient tabby, Whiskers, for his arthritis medication refill. I knelt beside the exam table while Dr. Bev examined him, one hand gently steadying the old cat's trembling body.

"You're okay, buddy," I murmured, scratching behind his ear. His rough purr vibrated against my palm. "We're gonna get you feeling better."

Mrs. Henderson's eyes were wet. "He's slowing down so much."

"The medication Dr. Bev prescribed will help," I said, meeting her gaze. "And he knows you're taking good care of him. That matters."

After she left, the Wilson family's Lab puppy bounded in for his second round of shots and proceeded to pee on the exam table in excitement. Dr. Bev Montgomery-Lopez moved through it all with her usual calm competence, and I fell into step beside her, grateful for the steadiness of the work.

"You're good with them," she said as I cleaned up after the puppy. She wasn't one for excessive praise, so that meant something.

"Thanks." The disinfectant spray bottle fit perfectly in my hand after two years of this routine. "Animals are easier than people."

"They usually are." Warmth colored her matter-of-fact tone.

She was a good employer—fair, respectful, appreciated my work. A few months back, she'd pulled me aside after a long surgery on a hit-by-car case we'd managed to save.

"When you finish your Associate's degree in Veterinary Technology and get licensed, there'll be a permanent position here for you. Better pay, more responsibilities. You're good at this, Lacey. You should pursue it."

The promise had meant everything.

Right now, as a veterinary assistant with just my certificate, I could assist during exams, take vitals, handle basic care—but there was so much more I wanted to do for these animals.

I wished I had the ability to interpret lab results, perform dental cleanings, assist in complex surgeries, administer medications beyond the basics.

I wanted to actually help them, not hold them while someone else did the real work.

My certificate wasn't enough. I needed that degree, needed to be licensed, needed to do more than just assist.

And the pay reflected those limitations.

Veterinary assistants in Texas made maybe twenty-five, thirty thousand a year.

Licensed vet techs could make forty, fifty—sometimes more.

That difference meant never having to choose between groceries and gas again.

It meant building a life that was truly mine, without ever depending on anyone else.

It meant proving I was capable.

Two years of stretching every paycheck, watching my checking account hover above empty, lying awake doing mental math about which bills could wait another week. I knew exactly how little these wages could stretch.

That's why I needed my pole fitness business to work.

Around one-thirty, I was restocking exam room supplies when the front door chimed. My pulse kicked up before I even turned around.

I knew that walk. Those footsteps.

"Afternoon, ma'am." That deep Texas voice rolled through the hallway, and the box of gauze slipped from my hands.

Get it together, Lacey.

A breath, then I stepped into the hallway. Sheriff Gage Coulter stood at the reception desk, one hand resting on the counter, the other holding Judge's leash. The Belgian Malinois K9 sat at perfect attention beside him, brown eyes already tracking my movement.

Gage had been bringing Judge in personally for months now—four or five months of routine vet visits he handled himself.

I'd started to notice the pattern. Their appointments often stretched longer than scheduled, conversations about Judge's care turning twenty minutes into forty-five. I didn't mind.

Three weeks ago, Judge had gotten legitimately hurt during a drug bust. Some tweaker had kicked him, leaving a nasty laceration on his shoulder and some bruising. Real injuries requiring real rehab.

Monday, Wednesday, Friday appointments. Doctor's orders.

The flutter in my chest when those appointments rolled around? That was just professional dedication to my patient's care. Nothing more.

Gage tipped his Stetson, and warmth flooded through me despite my best efforts.

"Hey, Gage. Judge." My voice stayed professional despite my racing heart. My gaze tracked over the sheriff's uniform—tan shirt stretched across broad shoulders, duty belt riding low on his hips. "Y'all are right on time."

"Wouldn't want to keep you waiting, Lacey." His hazel eyes held mine for a beat too long, and I was the first to look away, dropping my attention to the patient animal at his side.

Safer territory.

"Come on back, big guy." I led them to exam room two, conscious of every inch of space between us in the narrow hallway. He filled it completely.

"How's he been doing with the exercises?" I asked, kneeling beside Judge. The dog immediately leaned into me, and I ran my hands over his shoulders, checking the healing wound.

"Pretty well. The toughest part has been getting him to slow down. Guess you can say 'like owner, like K9.'" He chuckled, reaching to give Judge a scratch under the chin.

I focused hard on Judge's shoulder to avoid glancing up. If I did, I'd be at exactly the wrong height.

No. Not going there.

"The swelling's down," I said, gently probing the tissue around the laceration. "That's a good sign."

"He hasn't been favoring it as much."

"Can you hold him still while I check the range of motion?" The words were barely out before I made the mistake of meeting his gaze.

Gage had moved closer, close enough that I could see the five o'clock shadow along his jaw, close enough to catch the scent of soap and leather. More green than brown today, those eyes.

"Yes, ma'am."

That word in his voice shouldn't affect me the way it did. The sound got thicker when he was relaxed, wrapping around it like honey.

I turned my attention back to Judge, but Gage crouched down beside me to get a better hold on the dog. Now his shoulder brushed mine, his thigh nearly touched my knee, and the exam room suddenly felt about half its actual size.

"Gonna extend his front leg," I said, my voice coming out breathless. Professional, Lacey. "Tell me if he shows any discomfort."

I demonstrated the first stretch, acutely conscious of Gage steadying Judge's shoulder inches from mine. His hands were bigger than I'd realized, long fingers with blunt nails and calluses that told me he did more than push papers. A faded military tattoo marked his left forearm.

"Like this?" he asked, mimicking the motion.

"Yeah, that's—" His knuckles brushed the back of my hand as he adjusted his grip, and I lost my train of thought. "That's perfect. Just like that."

I moved through the remaining exercises, talking him through each one, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his body. Trying not to notice how his breath stirred the loose strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail. Trying not to think about what those fingers might feel like—

"You got it?" I asked, cutting off that particular train of thought.

"Yeah, I got it." Lower now, rougher around the edges.

When I glanced up, his gaze was on me, not on Judge. The air between us felt charged, electric.

I shot to my feet, needing distance, needing to breathe. "Good. Same routine through Friday, then we'll reassess."