Despite everything—the chaos, the stress, the fact that my shelter looks like a crime scene—I almost smile. Almost.
Then I remember the phone calls I still need to return, the medication schedule I'm behind on, the adoption paperwork piling up on my desk, and the grant application that's due tomorrow that I haven't even started.
The weight of it all crashes down at once. And suddenly, I can't breathe properly.
"I need to..." I gesture vaguely toward nothing. "I have to..."
But I can't finish the sentence because I don't know how to explain that I'm drowning. That every day feels like running uphill in quicksand. That I love this place, these animals, this life I've built, but some days it feels like it's going to bury me alive.
I try to push past him, to escape to somewhere I can fall apart in private, but my foot hits the wet floor and I slip.
Ryder's hands shoot out, catching my wrist before I can face-plant into the wall.
"Mia. Whoa. Steady there, babe."
"Let go." My voice comes out shakier than I want. "I'm fine."
Babe. Shit. I used to love it when he called me that. My ovaries just exploded.
"No." His grip tightens, steadying me on shaky legs in a way that only he has ever been able to. "You're not."
"I said I'm fine!" I try to jerk away, but he doesn't let go.
Instead, he steps closer, using his free hand to cup my face. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, and I realize I'm shaking. When did I start shaking?
"Stop, Mia," he says quietly. "Just... stop for a second. Breathe."
"I can't." My lips betray me, the confession spilling out between ragged breaths. "I can't keep up. There's too much, Ryder. And I'm just one person, and everyone needs things, and I can't—"
"Hey." His voice is soft now, gentle in a way that makes my throat tight. "Come here."
Before I can pull away, he's guiding me away from the chaos, through the maze of kennels to the small storage room in the back. It's barely bigger than a closet, lined with shelves of old towels and dog treats, but it's quiet.
Blessedly, impossibly quiet.
I try to pull away again, to maintain some shred of dignity, but Ryder doesn't let me. Instead, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.
His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up, and I feel that familiar pull low in my stomach. The same magnetic force that used to draw us together in high school, in stolen moments just like this.
My lips part involuntarily, and his breath hitches.
"Mia..." His voice is rougher now, and one hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip.
The simple touch makes me shiver, makes me remember what it felt like when he used to kiss me breathless against my locker, against his truck, against—
That's when the weight of everythingreallycrashes down.
And I break.
Loudly. Dramatically. An exhausted unraveling releasing into the warmth of his body. His arms tighten around me, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubs gentle circles on my spine as I let the weight of the day, the week, themonthsof way too much finally… release.
He smells like his old soap. And that unfairly good cologne he wears. It's that scent that makes my body remember things I've been trying to forget for eight years.
"Mia… It's okay," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."
Despite the comfort of his strength and gentleness, I want to argue. I still want to push him away and insist I don't need anyone.
