Page 41 of Your Secret to Keep

I was ridiculously nervous looking at the list—that’s not something I knew was even a thing—that the volunteer brought out her own resume, showing me the athletes who she has dog sat for. I hired her on the spot for my next road trip.

“Alright, there’s a small adoption fee of $150,” she explains, pushing the paperwork in front of me with sticky notes where I need to sign.

Her excitement when I said I wanted to take Rocky home with me was something that will stick with me a while. She lit up with true and honest enthusiasm. It was in that moment that I knew I’d donate to the shelter, and there’s no way it’d be the last one.

I sign the paperwork and bring out a checkbook—thankful I could even find it from when I moved. Since my financial adviser takes care of large purchases, there aren’t many times when I need a check. I write one for the adoption fee, then another for $10,000. I hand them both to her and watch her eyes fill with tears when she sees the donation check.

“Are you sure? This isn’t necessary, like, wow. Are you sure?” She looks at me with glassy eyes and I offer a nod.

“One hundred percent,” I reinforce.

“Is this for anything specific?” She scrunches her eyebrows, almost like she’s making sure she’s taking in the number correctly.

“Use it for whatever you need.” I put my hands up. “I know it must be hard to take in new animals. I’ll want to arrange a monthly donation, if that’s allowed?”

She quickly nods her head. “Yes. We can do whatever you need.” She holds out a card, her hand shaking. “Here’s my supervisor’s email. You can contact her, and she’ll start that process for you.”

Before I can say anything else, the other volunteer swings the door open and brings Rocky out on a leash. Gone is the sleepy, scared dog I first met on the basketball court. It’s almost like he knows his time is over here.

The volunteer drops the leash and I kneel. “Hey, Rocky! You want to go home?” The dog’s ears perk up and then he sort of hops over to me—a mix between a run and a skip—closing the short distance. He puts hishead right where my hands are. I pet him a few times and then he circles around, sitting between my legs and tipping his head to look at me.

“Look at that. He remembers you,” they croon.

For fuck’s sake. I’m about to cry in this shelter.

The volunteer text me a shopping list of his food preferences and the types of toys he’s been drawn to. “There’s a locally owned pet shop about five minutes from here. They’re about to close, but I’ll call them and let them know you’re coming,” she explains.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, petting Rocky’s sides

“Oh, it’s not a problem. You have perfect timing, really. This way, no one will be trying to get pictures of you or freaking out. The store should be empty. Would you mind if we take your photo for the adoption wall at the front? If you’re comfortable with that.”

“Absolutely. You can post it to your socials in a few weeks if you want. I have some people I want to tell before they see it on social media.”

Well, it’s just one person, but still.

I stay kneeling, Rocky leaning into my hands on his rib cage, and the volunteers get to our level and take the photo. At first, I thought I was being impulsive. On the drive over, I kept doubting myself, the questions turning to knots in my stomach. But I was wrong.

Right now, I know this is one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time.

Chapter 25

Lia

Ihaven’tbeenableto take a full breath all morning. I woke up covered in sweat, knowing today is the day to try something new: flying.

I’m taking my first flight, joining the Jags for an away game. My new Jags social media account has been flooded with new followers, and it still barely makes any sense to me. We’re using the trip as an opportunity to film a few “get ready with me” videos, which seem to be trending, and I’ll be sharing things like taking my first flight and going to my first away game.

Megan and I are in her office, knocking out a few tasks before we go to the airport. She offered to ride together, knowing I’m freaking out a little bit. We love a supportive boss.

There’s something she said that I can’t stop thinking about. The other night, when we were digging into the details of recent posts, she casually shared, “You’re much better than the first hire. Wish we would’ve hired you first… would’ve saved me a ton of stress.”

I should’ve asked what happened as soon as it was brought up, but I didn’t want to seem like I was gossiping. Megan is friendly and rarely gives off boss vibes. She’s a great person to have in leadership—she makes you feel comfortable in a way that makes you confident.

I know if I don’t ask, I’ll never stop thinking about it. Before I can talk myself out of it, I spit it out. “What happened to the first hire? I probably should’ve asked when you first offered the position, but to befair, I was too excited.” I laugh, trying to soften the question. “But if it’s not something you can share, that’s okay too.”

Megan pops her head up from her laptop. “Oh, it’s no problem! It was a combination of things. One, she exaggerated her skills and what she could do. Two, she was dating a staff member who also happened to be married. Things got messy a few days in, and it was clear she wasn’t a good fit.”

It’s like ice is cruising through my veins, sucking all the warmth from my body. My face, basically flushed with nerves all day, breaks out in a chilled sweat. I want to ask follow-up questions: What was the main reason? The skills or the relationship? Was it because he was married? It’s like my mouth is a desert; plus, I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I do my best to act like I’m having a normal reaction, just the right amount of shock, and not give away the alarm bells ringing in my mind.

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