And I wasn’t sure I could shift it back.
“Careful, Hayes. If you stare any harder, you’re gonna pull something.”
I blinked and turned to see Coop sliding up next to me, nursing a club soda with a twist of lime like he was at some swanky cocktail bar.
“I’m not staring,” I muttered.
He gave me a look. “Right. And I’m the starting goalie.”
I took a sip of my drink, ignoring him.
“Just saying, man. That was not a ‘teammate’s sister’ look you were giving her. That was a ‘how fast can I clear my schedule’ look.”
I shot him a glare, but it lacked heat. “It’s complicated.”
Coop nodded toward the stage, where the team owner had taken the mic. He was launching into a painfully detailed speech about community partnerships and franchise legacy.
“Good,” Coop whispered. “Ten full minutes of boredom. Just enough time to spiral about why you’re thinking like this.”
I groaned. “I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re absolutely spiraling.” He leaned in closer, voice low. “You like her. Like, like-like her.”
I sighed, tipping my head back. “She’s my buddy’s little sister.”
“Who’s not so little anymore,” Coop said. “And who just crushed that dress like it owed her money.”
I should have worn a tie. Maybe the red blotches creeping up my neck wouldn't be so visible.
Coop chuckled. “Relax, Hayes. I’m not judging. Just… maybe don’t let her hear you hyperventilating into your soda.”
“I’m not—”
“Yet.” He clinked his glass against mine with a grin, then turned his attention to the stage like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade into my brain.
I was in trouble. Big, unavoidable, beautiful trouble.
I glanced back at Riley, who was just starting her speech. Her voice was strong, clear, and entirely confident.
“Public speaking is my personal nightmare, so thank you all for showing up and forcing me to confront it. Really. This is better than therapy—and cheaper.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. Riley’s shoulders dropped slightly. I can see the tension easing from her spine as she straightened up. As I listened to her talk I could hear that her voice was gaining confidence with every word.
I stopped hearing the actual words for a second. All I could focus on was her mouth, how it curved when she hit a punchline, the quiet confidence blooming there now. I shook myself, forcing my brain to catch up, just as her voice landed on something that hit deeper.
“People think we rescue dogs. And we do. But they don’t always see how those dogs rescue us right back. They remind us to trust, to forgive, and to love without a reason.”
She paused, scanning the crowd before continuing. Her words seemed to resonate with the audience, drawing them into her story and her cause.
“One of our youngest volunteers came to us not long after his mom died. He barely spoke to anyone—not his teachers, friends, or even his dad, who was desperate to help him reconnect. We paired him with a shy little rescue called Daisy. They sat together in silence for the first few days. Then, one afternoon, he started talking to Daisy first. A few words. Then, a sentence. Then, a quiet hello to our vet tech. Three weeks in, his dad called to say he'd finally heard his son’s voice again, telling him all about Daisy.”
“These donations don’t just keep the lights on. They light the way for healing—for every dog and every person who walks through our doors hoping to feel a little less alone.”
“Thank you.”
Applause erupted when she stepped back from the mic—genuine, loud, and full of warmth. Riley blinked like she wasn’t sure she’d heard it right, but the standing ovation told her everything.
Ryan was the first to reach her, pulling her into a bear hug before she’d even cleared the last step. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw the way her eyes glossed over and her lips pressed together like she was trying not to cry.
