"This one's critical." I gently lifted the smallest puppy. Barely breathing. Her tiny body burned with fever. "Aimee, I need an IV kit and lactated Ringer's. And see if we have any of the parvo antiserum left."
As my vet tech rushed to gather supplies, I turned to Easton. "Hold her gently and support her head."
He took the puppy with surprising care, cradling her against his chest. "She's so small."
"Eight weeks at most. Someone probably bought them without realizing what they were getting into, and when they got sick…" I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
For the next two hours, we worked in tandem. I placed IV catheters and administered medications while Easton held puppies, cleaned up messes, and followed my instructions without complaint. The shared crisis dissolved our earlier tension, replaced by a mutual determination to save these tiny lives.
"You're good at this," I said at one point, watching him syringe-feed electrolyte solution to one of the stronger pups.
"Mom had dogs when Holly and I were growing up," he said. "She used to foster the ones nobody else wanted. The sick ones, the old ones. I helped when I wasn't at hockey practice."
At that moment, I remembered Holly talking about her mom's rescue dogs, the house always full of animals in various states of recovery. "I forgot about that."
"There's a lot you must have forgotten about me." A question or accusation passed between us. Right now, I couldn't tell which it was. “I mean, we only had one night, but…”
He remembered.
"I…" The words stuck in my throat.
"Why did you leave?" Quiet, still cradling the puppy. "I woke up, and you were gone. No note. No number. Nothing."
My throat tightened. "It was seven years ago, Easton. Does it really matter now?"
"It mattered then." Soft but firm. "I had plans, you know. I was going to call you after I got back from one of the last away games.Take you to dinner. See if…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Ancient history."
Before I could respond, the smallest puppy stirred in its warming box. Her eyes opened a crack, and she made a tiny sound.
"She's waking up." A sense of wonder echoed in his voice.
I checked her vitals, grateful for the distraction. Stronger pulse. Steadier breathing. Not out of danger, but fighting. I smiled, looking up at him. My voice caught. "Looks like we might have a chance with this one after all."
As the crisis stabilized and the puppies settled into their warming boxes, the awkwardness crept back in. Easton helped me clean up in silence, both of us hyper-aware of the conversation left unfinished.
"Thank you," I said, stripping off my gloves. "For your help today. You did well."
"Is that my official evaluation?" He managed a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Since you're here, you might as well start the official shift. Monique will show you to the kennels."
"Sure thing." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Palisade?" Using my first name made me look up. "I'm glad you're doing what you love. This place, what you've built here. It's really something."
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with five sick puppies and the ghost of a night I'd never forgotten.
Back in my office, I sank into the chair, suddenly exhausted. Working with Easton had felt natural. Easy, even. Despite everything, despite the years and the secrets, we'd fallen into a rhythm that shouldn't have been possible.
And that scared me more than anything.
Because in six months, he'd complete his service and leave. Return to his hockey career, his celebrity life, his world where I had never truly belonged.
Except for the one night that changed everything.
And I'd be left once again, raising our daughter alone, with no good explanation for why her father had been so close yet never knew she existed.
But that was a problem for another day.
Right now, five puppies need monitoring. The mama cat needed a post-op check. And Casey was probably asking her grandparents why Mom had to work late again.
