My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists at my sides.
Coffee suddenly felt like too much effort. I turned around and left.
I didn’t have a plan. I kept driving, one turn at a time, until the town thinned out and the rescue gates with the Timberline Shelter logo hanging from each side, rose ahead like they’d been waiting for me. I killed the engine, stepped out, and let the air hit me.
Something in my chest settled when I stepped out of the truck. The sting of the article was still there. But this place gives me the quiet I need. After drowning in noise, feel like I can breathe here. This place doesn’t ask for anything from me that I can’t give.
I was hoping for a few moments alone with the dogs. Just to clear the static in my head. But there she was. Riley, crouchednear the kennels, checking water bowls. She looked up when I came through the gate.
"You’re supposed to be at practice," she said, wiping her hands on her jeans.
I shrugged. "Didn’t feel like it."
She stood, eyes narrowing. "Let me guess. You read the article."
I scoffed. "Hard not to when it’s half the town’s breakfast reading."
She planted her hands on her hips, but her tone softened. "It’s garbage, Colton. Let it go."
"Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being dragged through the mud for the millionth time."
"No," she said evenly, "But I have to watch you spiral every time someone holds up a mirror."
That stung. I turned away, pacing toward the barn.
I kicked at the gravel, then turned away, pacing. My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. "You think I like this? You think I don’t wake up every day trying to figure out how to fix what I broke? You think I don’t realize how much it screws with people who are trying to help me?"
I paused, waiting for Riley to come back at me with something sharp, maybe a full-on lecture. I deserved it.
She followed, stopping just short of the doorway. "Then stop making it worse. You can’t control what she writes, Colton. But you can control how you react."
That was... unexpected. I kept waiting for the eye roll, the sting in her voice, the part where she reminded me I was proving every bad headline right. But she just stood there, calm and steady.
I ran a hand through my hair.
"I don’t know what the right reaction is anymore. Should I post a denial? Go quiet? Give her more to write about? None of it seems to matter."
"That’s because you’re trying to win a game with no rules," she said. "Vanessa’s going to do what she does. You don’t have to make it easy for her."
I looked at her. Not at the sarcasm or the challenge, but the calm under it.
"What do you suggest then? Just sit here and take it? Pretend like none of this gets to me?
Pretend it doesn’t hurt?"
She hesitated. Let out a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. Gentler. "I’m saying you don’t have to figure it out alone. That’s what I’m here for. I’m not doing the work for you, Colton. But I’ll help you make better choices. I’ll be your sounding board. But you have to let me help."
I blinked. Caught off guard. I’d expected anger, judgment. But not this.
"You’d really do that? After everything I’ve said, the way I’ve acted?"
She shrugged, but her voice was steady. "You want to be better? Then let someone help you. Let me help you."
I just stood there. Didn’t know what to say.
I have someone in my corner.
And not because I was scoring goals or selling jerseys. Just because.
