Page 29 of Not A Chance

The only problem being you could only pay someone to take care of your child, not love them like they needed.

Believing myself immune to this discomfort under my skin—a living, breathing entity with a mind of its own—was easier when Theo was many hours away in Vancouver. Only seeing him through the occasional social media post over the years had allowed me to keep my feelings for him packed away in the back of my mind.

Coming back to the present reality of a very small, shivering dog in my living room. I glared at my door as if I could control time and space and prevent the boom that had set her back. I tried to modulate my tone to reassure Gizmo. How one reassured a dog, I wasn’t quite sure, but I hoped my tone came close to something gentle.

“It’s okay, Giz. That big noise was scary, but you’re okay. I promise.”

She cocked her head to the side in an expression of “who, me?” It was freaking adorable. I wanted to take her picture for the bio Iwould need to write for her, but I was afraid to startle her again by moving too quickly.

Moments later, Gizmo bravely set off on her second attempt to conquer the great expanse of thirteen feet of bare engineered hardwood between us.

The next morning, I was up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m., freezing my butt off outside the building, trying to encourage a tiny, hairless Chihuahua to do her business.

I swear to god, I’d said “go potty” so much in the last twenty-four hours that I felt like I was evicting other words from my brain as a result.

I’d turned to pleading already. So much for my no-bullshit life policy. It had taken less than eight trips into the cold before I’d been broken by the five-pound tiny Elvis-like lip curl.

“Come on, Giz. Go potty. Look. I know you’re cold. But I promise today I’ll get you a warmer sweater—hell, a parka. Whatever you want. Just please go potty.”

It didn’t help that I thought it was going to be a “quick” trip outside to do her thing when she first woke up. In another moment of great wisdom, I’d only pulled on my new Tempests hoodie that Connor had given me (with his number on it, of course). I’d accepted because it was a nice gesture and activated that petty part of me who considered wearing it to work one Friday.

Currently, the little miss in front of me stood shivering, giving me a “what the hell is this nonsense” look with one front paw lifted in the air as if she was afraid she’d freeze to the ground. Every couple of seconds, she’d lift one of her back ones too. If physics allowed, she’dhave had all four feet off the ground. However, when she finally realized we weren’t going in until she did her business, she gave in.

“You got a dog?” a deep voice rumbled from behind me.

No exaggeration. My soul left my body at the sound of those words coming from behind me. I could see it form a haze above me as I lay deceased on the ground.

Sorry, Giz. I won’t be much of a foster mom from the afterlife.

Back in the present, I whipped around to see the last person I wanted to encounter at this moment or any other.

“Indie?” Theo tried again since I hadn’t responded.

Trying to recover my voice while reattaching my soul to my body was an effort my already frozen nerves did not appreciate.

“For fuck’s sake, Theo. You scared the shit out of me.” I aimed a glare at him.

“Not my fault you didn’t hear me walking up over your chattering teeth. Did you learn nothing from Whistler a couple years ago when you went with Emery?” He smiled irritatingly.

I narrowed my eyes at his reference to the stupid incident of we-thought-we-would-be-warm-enough on our trio’s first solo getaway without adult supervision.

“How the hell do you know about that?” I narrowed my eyes at him, hoping to annoy him enough that he’d be on his way more quickly.

“I’m in the NHL, Indie. Not living under a rock. You underestimate how important it is to gather any and all intel to embarrass your siblings to use against them at a later date. Especially with the twins.” He was right there. Liam and Chase were masters at chaos.

“Forget that. You still scared me. Not cool, Mr. Goalie-of-the-Year. And this is not my dog. She’s my foster dog.” I sniffed, both because he was annoying and the cold was causing my nose to run.

As if he had a list of ways to further infuriate me, he set his workoutbag on the sidewalk and crouched down, making his imposing figure as nonthreatening as possible. He held his hand up for her doubled leashes. Still in some sort of haze, I dumbly handed them over.

“Hey, girl,” he crooned. His voice took on a sweetness that set off a pang in my chest. The last time I’d heard him sound like this was when he caught me falling out of that goddamn tree when I was eight.

I didn’t want to hear it now.

“Theo, what are you doing?”

“Shhh, Rocky. Let me work my magic here.”

His confidence made me roll my eyes. Of course he would think that he was a dog whisperer as well as a world-class goalie.

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