Page 34 of Second Chance Faceoff

I crouched beside the run where Maple—a floppy-eared hound mix—blinked at me like she already knew I wasn't just talking about the gate.

"I know, I know," I sighed. "It's early. I haven't had coffee. And no, I don't want to talk about it."

She tilted her head.

"Don't look at me like that. You weren't even there."

I stood and grabbed the scoop from the bin, trying to keep my rhythm steady. Feed. Water. Clean. Repeat. Rescue work was predictable, routine, and methodical—just how I liked it.

Most days.

Today, predictability felt like armor—a way to keep everything else—him—at arm's length. But the truth was, it was a flimsy shield against the storm of emotions raging inside me.

Colton hadn't come by yet.

I hadn't asked if he would.

After yesterday… I wasn't sure what I wanted.

The conversation kept replaying in my head, looping over the good parts—how he'd admitted he panicked and tried to make it right—and then snagged hard on the worst part.

"Maybe the rescue could move…"

Funny. That whole terrible conversation gave me hope. Not because of what he said, but because I'd seen it in his eyes—he knew it was the wrong thing to say the second it left his mouth. The fact that he recognized it right in the moment kept circling back in my mind. It wasn't just a slip. It showed he was starting to catch himself, maybe even trying to change, not just charm his way out like he used to.

Maybe believing him didn't feel so reckless after all.

Then, of course, he nailed exactly what was happening with that zinger:You're not mad. You're scared.

I dumped kibble into the next bowl with a little too much force.

"Just because he's not entirely wrong doesn't mean I have to like it," I muttered. Cocoa, one of our newer fosters, flinched at the noise. "Sorry, sweet girl. That wasn't about you."

It was about me. And him. And I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be five feet away or five miles away—because both felt too close and not close enough.

I hate how much space he was taking up in my head.

I hadn't answered his text from last night. Or the one this morning. I wasn't avoiding him. Not really. I was just… busy. Focused. Doing what needed to be done.

Still, my eyes flicked toward the gravel driveway more than once. No sign of him.

And I hate that I was looking.

I braced myself against the fence and glanced around the barn. Everything looked peaceful and whole, but inside, I was unraveling.

I wandered over to Daisy's kennel—the one dog Colton always lingered with, like they had some silent understanding. She wagged her tail before I even said a word.

"Hey, girl," I murmured, crouching beside her.

"You spend more time with him than I do these days. What do you think? Is he the version of Colton I've been bracing against? The cocky, careless NHL trainwreck? Is that who he is?"

She tilted her head, tail wagging harder at just the sound of his name.

I scratched her behind the ears. "Great. I'm looking for advice from a dog."

She leaned into my hand like it was the smartest thing I'd done all day.

I stood up slowly, brushing off my hands. "If I've been wrong about him… what else have I gotten wrong?"

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