Normal problems.
Manageable problems.
Not like the six-foot-two problem who'd just walked out my door, leaving the faint scent of his cologne and a thousand unanswered questions in his wake.
Maybe Easton Henley could be more than his worst mistakes.
I just wasn't sure I was ready for what that might mean.
Easton
Monique handed me a mop and bucket. "Kennels are down the hall, third door on the left. Fresh water bowls are in the cabinet, and the food's labeled by dietary restrictions."
"Got it." I took the supplies, grateful for something concrete to focus on.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Again. The preview flashed on my lock screen. It was from my agent.
ESPN wants a statement. Call me.
I shoved the phone deeper into my pocket and headed toward the kennels. The barking escalated as I got closer. It was like a demanding chorus begging for walks, meals, and affection.
Normal things that had nothing to do with viral videos or courtroom humiliation or three-point-two-million-dollar mistakes.
"You okay?" Monique's voice made me turn. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression somewhere between concerned and skeptical. "You've been staring at that mop like it insulted your mother."
"Fine." The word came out too sharp.
"Uh-huh." She didn't move. "Look, I don't follow hockey, but even I saw the video. Kind of hard to miss when it's playing on every sports channel in every waiting room in the city."
My jaw clenched. Of course, she'd seen it. Everyone had. Me, with my hand wrapped around that reporter's throat, slamming him against the wall. My face twisted with rage, completely out of control. The video has over two million views now. Maybe three million.
"I'm handling it."
"Are you?" Her voice followed me down the hall. "Because Palisade doesn't put up with drama. You're here to work, not sulk."
I stopped, turned. "I'm not sulking."
"Could've fooled me." She shrugged. "You've got two hundred hours to get through. Might as well make them count for something."
She walked away before I could respond, leaving me alone with the mop and the sound of barking dogs.
I pushed open the kennel room door. Disinfectant, wet dog, and something earthy hit my nose all at once. Six kennels lined each wall, most of them occupied. A German Shepherd mix watched me with cautious eyes. A pit bull wagged its tail so hard its whole body shook.
No judgment. No fear. No two million people watching my worst moment on repeat.
I set down the bucket and started with the first kennel.
My phone buzzed again. Coach Martin this time.Team meeting Tuesday. Be ready for questions.
The words sent ice through my veins. The suspension was only two weeks, but it might as well be a career death sentence if I couldn't prove I had my shit together. Coach had already benched me for three games before the accident. The team's GM was probably building a case to terminate my contract.
One more incident and I was done.
Judge Wilson's words echoed in my head as I scrubbed dried food from a stainless steel bowl.
Rocky, a pit bull according to his name card, pressed against the door, the sound of his excited barks echoing in the kennel as his wet nose slid against the metal. I opened it slowly, and he burst out, his happy barks filling the air as he nearly bowled me over.
"Easy, buddy." I chuckled and scratched behind his ears. He leaned into my hand, tail still going a mile a minute.
