Page 21 of Second Chance Faceoff

I shook my head. "Not even a little."

He grinned. "Perfect. Let’s go."

As we stepped away from the car, he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the entrance.

My heels clicked on the walkway, and I tried to focus on breathing. This fundraiser was for the dogs and the shelter. For everything that mattered to me.

The entrance to the Grand Atlantic Ballroom was decked out in icy elegance. Silver and deep blue lighting played across tallfloral arrangements and shimmering snowflakes were projected on the walls. Soft classical music drifted through the open doors, blending with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glassware.

Inside, the ballroom sparkled. Chandeliers twinkled above a crowd dressed in tuxedos and gowns. Servers in white jackets wove through clusters of guests with trays of champagne and bite-sized hors d'oeuvres.

I took it all in—wide eyes, pounding heart. It was beautiful, overwhelming, and unlike anything in my usual world of muddy paw prints and emergency vet visits.

Two Icehawks forwards were posing for selfies to my left with a group of swooning fans. Across the room, I spotted the team captain at the Mystery Puck station, grinning as he handed a puck to a wide-eyed kid clutching a Sharpie.

Colton leaned down. "There’s our table. Hockey Roulette. Center aisle, stage-adjacent. Ryan’s idea of subtle."

Sure enough, a sleek gaming table gleamed beneath a sign that read "Hockey Roulette – Bet on the Icehawks!" Our names were on a placard in bold silver lettering.

I exhaled slowly. Showtime.

A few guests approached the Hockey Roulette table, curious but hesitant. Colton greeted them with a charming grin and explained the rules with surprising ease.

“I swear, he could sell air to a fish,” I muttered, half-impressed, half-exasperated.

One woman in a glittering gold gown stepped up beside a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of Wealthy & Condescending Monthly. He glanced over at our table with a bemused smile.

“This is the dog shelter we’re funding?” he asked no one in particular. “Interesting use of resources. I suppose every town needs its... passions.”

I stiffened.

Before I could say anything, Colton straightened. “It’s not a passion,” he said, voice even but firm. “It’s a lifeline. Timberline takes in dogs that have nowhere else to go. Some of them have been abandoned, some abused, all of them overlooked. And somehow, Riley and her team turn that into hope.”

The man blinked. “I didn’t mean—”

Colton didn’t let him finish. “Have you ever seen a kid light up because a rescue dog sat still long enough for him to read out loud without stuttering? Or an elderly woman come back to life when a senior dog curls up in her lap? This place matters. To more people than you’d expect.”

I stared at him.

The couple muttered something polite and walked away, clearly uncomfortable. Colton turned back to me, brushing invisible lint off his cuff like he hadn’t just delivered the best speech of the night.

“You okay?” he asked.

I blinked. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”

A beat of silence passed between us.

“I thought you didn’t do heartfelt,” I said, folding my arms, trying to hide how much that meant.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Don’t tell Ryan. It’ll ruin my image.”

Ryan appeared beside us just then, his expression all business. “Next song’s a slow one. You two need to dance.”

Colton blinked. “Seriously?”

Ryan nodded. “Too many reporters sniffing around. This keeps them at bay—no mystery woman, no scandal bait. Riley’s safe.”

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