I forced myself still. I held his gaze and gave him a small nod.You’ve got this.
He swallowed, recalibrated. Dropped his tone. “Easy. Good girl. Wait… okay.”
The board finally hit the ground. Pampi completed the contact and moved forward. A little slower now.
They recovered through the next jump and into the tunnel, but the flow was gone. The timer buzzed when they finished the course. The applause was polite.
I exhaled slowly, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath. I knew it hadn’t been the run he wanted.
By the time I reached them at the exit gate, Chris had already clipped Pampi’s leash back on. He didn’t look at me.
“I thought I had it,” he said, voice low. “I don’t think I should do the second round.”
I froze. Half a second too long.
It took more strength than most people realized to admit you couldn’t push through, especially for someone who’d spent his life trying to prove he was enough. The last thing I wanted was to confirm his worst fear.
If I stepped in now, it wouldn’t just be about handling Pampi. It would be stepping over him, taking over where he’d faltered.
Proving, in the most visible way possible, that I could do it cleaner. That I could do it better.
Yet Chris didn’t force a smile. He didn’t push through for pride.
He trusted me enough to step back. And I couldn’t look away from him. I took in the curve of his jaw and the way his eyes held steady on me even as he admitted defeat. It unsettled me more than I expected.
A familiar mix of guilt and dread began creeping in. Had I pushed him too hard?
I’d seen the nerves, convinced myself it was normal competition anxiety. I’d wanted him to succeed. Maybe I’d wanted it too much.
In another life, I would have volunteered without hesitation. I used to chase responsibility, train younger wolves, take on missions no one else wanted. I believed that if I carried enough, worked hard enough, it would prove something.
One mission burned that out of me. One mistake. Wolves under my supervision pointing fingers before the dust had settled.
The alpha needed someone to blame. I’d stood there, taking it, because as the one in charge, it had been my responsibility.
I’d left that pack with my tail between my legs before they could finish tearing me apart.
Since then, I learned something simple: do your job. Nothing more. Don’t step too far forward, don’t give them a reason.
I noticed his shoulders lift slightly and the quiet way he exhaled, like he’d just admitted something private. My chest tightened from something I didn’t want to define.
I blinked, forcing my focus back to the ring just as a volunteer in a bright vest approached us. “You’re up in ten minutes for the second round.”
Chris straightened slightly and looked at me uneasily. “We might be switching handlers.”
The volunteer nodded. “That’s fine. Just confirm the armband number with the steward. Do you need more time?”
“Yes,” I said.
Pampi looked between us, ears perked, picking up on the tension. She bumped her nose lightly against my leg.
The volunteer then tapped her watch. “Alright. Don’t take too long. We’re running tight on time. You’ll need to be at the gate in five. Decide quickly.”
I caught my own hesitation. A knot formed in my stomach, not just because of the clock.
Stepping forward like this, taking the lead again, putting myself back in a position of responsibility was exactly the kind of risk I had sworn off after the last mission.
But I shook the thought away. This wasn’t about me.
