Page 35 of Second Chance Faceoff

That question sat with me. It didn't rush off. It just lingered, quiet but insistent. It was waiting for me to stop pretending I didn't hear it.

For years, I'd built a life around what felt safe and familiar. Silver Ridge, Timberline, the steady rhythm of kennel runs and adoption events. I'd always told myself I was right where I belonged, that this life was enough.

But lately… I wasn't so sure.

I'd been pushing Colton to get his act together, to think about what he wanted beyond the ice and the headlines. And the truth was, I hadn't asked myself those same questions in a long time. Maybe never.

"What did I want, huh?" I asked Daisy, still crouched beside her kennel.

"Not just what I could manage or maintain, but the stuff I used to dream about. Remember those?"

She blinked slowly, ears perked like I'd just said something important.

"Once upon a time," I said, settling on my heels, "I wanted to run a big-city rescue. Multiple staff, actual transport vans, and maybe even a grant writer on the payroll. Or join one of those wildlife rehab places—you know, with foxes and those grumpy owls that glare at everyone like we ruined their day."

Her tail flicked.

"Oh, and I nearly applied to that elephant conservation program overseas. Had the paperwork half done before I chickened out."

I paused and scratched the back of my neck.

"There were internships I didn't apply for. Programs I talked myself out of. I even looked into becoming a vet behaviorist once—helping animals who'd been through a lot and didn't just need food. They needed someone to fight for them."

I leaned closer. "And the therapy dog nonprofit? Yeah. That was real. I had spreadsheets. A logo. Even the name. Never told anyone."

Daisy gave a short, huffing exhale.

"I know," I muttered. "Sad."

I stood and glanced around the kennels. "Daisy, who else should I talk to?"

She didn't answer, but I took her tail wag as permission.

My eyes landed on Rufus, our senior retriever with a personality three sizes too big for his aging joints. He looked up from his blanket and thumped his tail once.

"Alright, wise guy," I said, crouching beside his run. "You've been around the block. You think I'm hiding behind all this busywork because it's comfortable?"

He rolled onto his back and blinked upside down at me.

I sighed. "Yeah, me too."

I looked between them. "Maybe I stopped dreaming big the minute I decided Silver Ridge was the most I could ask for."

That idea didn't feel small. It felt like the kind of thing that, once you say it out loud, you can't un-think it. I'd lived my whole adult life here—grew into someone capable, dependable, and who made things run.

Am I staying out of habit? I have built something solid and safe. Why does that mean I have to stop looking for more?

The thought scared me. Not because it was dramatic—because it made sense. And once something makes sense, it's a lot harder to ignore.

Because now, after all the chaos with Colton—after all the things he'd made me feel and face—I wasn't just rethinking him. I was rethinking everything.

What if it wasn't about him at all?

What if I'd outgrown here?

***

I'd barely slept last night —tossing and turning until I finally gave up and drove to the rescue before the sun cleared the ridge. The barn was still chilly when I unlocked it.

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