Shit. Once upon a time we were briefly friends with benefits. Now we’re just friends at a benefit.
“And now I’d like you all to turn your attention to the screen,” Paula says, and behind her, a huge projection screen slides down. “All of you have donated tonight. All of you have donated in the past. I, along with everyone else at Broken Paws, thank you for it. We thank you, and we commend you, and we would like you to see where all your money has gone.”
“Oh God, here we go,” Eriksson moans.
The lights dim. The first strains of “Angel” float out of the speakers. And then the slideshow begins.
The first shot is of a scrawny chocolate lab puppy who’s missing his right eye. The caption reads: Wally. Four Months. Abandoned in a dumpster in Joliette, Quebec.
The second shot shows a slightly older Wally, still missing an eye, but now happily sitting in the lap of a smiling little girl with pigtails.
The caption: Four surgeries later. Wally’s new home with Katie.
Luko’s wife is the first one to sniffle.
Then we have a pic of a Great Dane with two broken legs. He’s followed by a litter of starving terrier puppies in a cardboard box that was found on the side of the road in Northern Ontario. And a husky that was beaten within an inch of his life.
With a little gasp, Jess slips her hand into mine. She’s trembling, and I look over to see tears sliding down her cheeks. When I check the table around me, I see Jamie give a teary smile to Wes, who discreetly flicks a drop away from the corner of his eye. Aw. They’re as cute as the fucking dogs.
There isn’t a dry eye in the room, mine included. This happens every year at this event. I don’t know why I keep coming back, except that it’s such a fucking amazing cause, and I guess even hockey players could use a good cry every now and then.
But Paula wouldn’t leave us in this condition. It’s bad for business to destroy your donors completely. So the music morphs from Sarah McLachlan to “Who Let the Dogs Out.” There are pictures of the new grooming facilities in the Ontario shelter, thanks to last quarter’s donations. A state-of-the-art operating room at the Quebec location. There are several shots of my teammates and various shelter dogs.
And then? The thing closes with a montage featuring yours truly. There’s a video of me being swarmed by a litter of Rottweiler puppies. Paula had opened their cage when I wasn’t looking and the six of them started jumping all over me, trying to get the sandwich I was eating. The audience cackles as they watch me hold up my sandwich so the puppies lick my face instead.
But I’m not done yet. The next four photos are of various dogs sticking their noses in my crotch. Beside me, Jess lets out a giggle. The music swells and one last shot fills the big screen. It’s me holding a puppy in one hand, close to my face. I’d been letting the dog sniff me a little, but the photo was taken in a way that suggests we’re sharing a kiss.
The sound of a hundred and fifty female sighs fills the room.
“Oh my God, Blake,” Jess whispers in my ear, and I jolt when her lips brush my cheek. “You are…you’re…”
“I’m what?” I ask thickly.
She squeezes my hand. “You’re the best.”
Her praise makes my heart soar. Damn it. I’ve got it bad.
I’m so fucking fucked.
20 A Rough Ride
Jess
Blake is acting weird. Weirder than usual, that is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this subdued, but I’m done pestering him about it. If he wants to tell me why he’s down, then he will. I can’t force him to talk.
“You want to dance?” I ask him.
Now that the speeches are done, the music has started up again. Not Hozier, unfortunately—I’m assuming he’s already on his private jet heading somewhere awesome—but the DJ’s song selections aren’t bad. Jamie is out on the dance floor with Ben Hewitt’s wife, Katie, and either I’m wrong or they’re doing the Uma and Travolta dance from Pulp Fiction. They’re terrible at it, though, and Wes and Hewitt stand nearby, laughing at their respective spouses.
“Naw,” Blake answers. “Not in the mood.”
I put my arms up around his neck, though, hoping I can change his mind. “How did you get involved in this charity, anyway? Seems like you put in more time than if it was just a team thing.”
This wins me a shadow of a Blake smile. “I love dogs. Used to have one, a big white boxer. After graduation, I, uh…” He clears his throat. “Lived with Molly for a while. She took care of him when I had away games, which was all the time, right? So after we broke up, I had to let her keep him. Otherwise he’d be in the kennel half the time.”
Damn it. Blake looks even more blue than he did a couple of minutes ago. “Maybe you’ll see him again now that she’s back in Ontario,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” he halfheartedly agrees. “Listen, do you mind if we take off? I’m kinda wiped. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
I drop my hands from his shoulders. “Hot date?” I say lightly.
He shakes his head. “Neck.”
“Huh?”