Page 104 of Rookie's Redemption
Executive Director. Five locations. Doubled salary. Benefits package.
It looks impressive on paper. The kind of career advancement people dream of.
But the language is so cold. So formal.
Nothing about the animals themselves, just numbers and projections and expansion timelines. Nothing about the heart of what I do… About what makesTails & Pawsspecial.
You think I'd choose work over you?
The question I'd hurled at him echoes in my mind, followed immediately by his devastating response:
I think you're considering it.
And the worst part? He wasn't wrong. For a brief, shining moment, I'd been seduced by the promise of bigger impact, broader reach, more resources. I'd allowed myself to imagine a life beyond Iron Ridge, beyond the small-town shelter I'd built with my own hands.
Beyond the man who came back for me.
I reach for the ring box but stop just short of touching it. I want so badly to see inside, but opening it feels like a violation. Like I'd be stealing a moment that should have been perfect. That Ryder had clearly planned to be perfect.
My eyes drift to the window where I can see our oak tree and the swing gently moving in the evening breeze. The swing I had Bear help me hang because I wanted Ryder to have more than just a view of our past. I wanted us to have a place to build our future.
I glance at the door Ryder stormed through moments ago, and suddenly I'm remembering the night of the charity event.
The way he'd blown a kiss to me from center ice. The way he'd pointed at the fundraising total on the jumbotron, pride and love radiating from him like a physical force.
These people don't want to expand my shelter. They want to replace it with their brand, their vision, their money-making structure.
They'd keep me as the face, sure. The small-town girl with the heartwarming story that makes for good PR.
But the soul of what I've built? That would be gone.
I fought so hard not to fall for him again. Kept my walls up, convinced myself he'd leave again when something better came along.
But he never did. Instead, he showed up. Every single day.
When the shelter was falling apart, he was there with a hammer and determination. When we needed money, he organized a fundraiser that changed everything. When I needed someone to hold me through the night as I drowned in abandoned puppies, he was there. Solid and real and mine.
He chose me. Over and over again.
And what did I do? I held those contracts like they were more important than the life we've been creating together.
Ryder doesn't just support my dreams. He amplifies them. He takes what matters to me and makes it bigger, better, more beautiful.
And he does it without ever changing what made it special in the first place.
That's what real partnership looks like.
I need to find him.
I grab the ring box, careful not to open it, and shove it into my purse. There's only one place Ryder would go when he's hurt, when he needs to feel safe. The same place he used to retreat to when we were teenagers and the weight of expectations felt too heavy to bear.
I know exactly where he is.
I drive through Iron Ridge with tears blurring my vision, streetlights smearing into golden streaks against the night sky. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white.
Eight years ago, I drove this same route after Ryder told me he was leaving for the NHL. That night, I was heartbroken, certain I'd lost him forever.
Tonight feels different. Tonight, I'm fighting for us, not just letting him walk away.
