“I guess not,” I answer for myself and then turn back to my computer, where I’ve been working on my new campaign with the city of Chicago, to try to bring more awareness to the shelter, by using pictures of our animals on flags for light poles all around the city parks, especially the animal-friendly ones.
The door to the shelter rings and I glance up from my desk for a second, only for my heart to leap into my throat.
Maddox.
Here.
Oh God.
Freshly shaven, dressed in black from head to toe, and wearing a black baseball cap.
And he looks good.
Really freaking good.
Herman spots him right away and quickly—as quickly as Herman moves—trots over to him and buries his head into Maddox’s arms.
Traitor.
“Hey old man. How are you?”
I study Maddox, looking for any signs of being under the influence, but when he looks up at me, eyes clear, I know he hasn’t been drinking.
Maddox stands and sticks his hands in his pockets as Herman stays close to him, looking utterly pathetic. I see how it is.
“Hey Kinny,” he says, looking shy and adorable, and for a second, I forget why I’m not speaking to him.
“What are you doing here?”
He lifts his hat up and pushes his hand through his hair before placing his hat back on his head. “I came to volunteer.”
“What?”
“Ah, there you are,” Marcy says, coming up behind me. “I’m glad you were able to make it in today, Maddox. If you come this way, I’ll show you where we need you.”
“Sure thing.” He gives me a side smile and then takes off, Herman following closely behind him.
What the . . .
I turn to see Maddox’s retreating back, his jeans snug, his shoulder blades tenting the back of his shirt. My heart aches from the sight, pounding faster than before from being in the same building as him, but my brain quickly reminds me of what he did, what he said.
Stuck in place, I watch Marcy take him to cat row, where she hands him a pooper scooper and a bag. He’s on sifting duty. After a few instructions, he gives her a devilish smile and then she makes her way back to her office, ignoring my staring.
Does she really think she’s getting back to work without an explanation?
Hell no.
I slip into her office and shut the door behind me.
“What the hell is going on?”
Marcy acts casual, moving her mouse around on her desk. “What are you referring to?”
“Marcy,” I snap, causing her to look at me. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. Why is Maddox here?”
“Oh, that.” She smiles and goes back to her computer. “He contacted me a few days ago. Said he wants to put in some time at the shelter, to help out.”
Looking behind my back to make sure he’s not standing at the door, looking at us through the glass window, I whisper, “You know he’s doing this to get close to me, right?”
“Oh yes, I know.” She types away at her computer.
“And you’re . . . just going to let him do that?”
“Yup.”
“Marcy.” I stomp my foot. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
She stops typing and folds her hands in front of her. “And I am on your side. But I also know a good letter when I read one, and his email to me was both heartfelt and heartbreaking. Someone needs to give this boy a second chance. If you won’t, I will.”
“He . . . uh, he wrote you an email?”
“Yes, and no, you can’t read it.”
“I wasn’t going to ask to read it,” I say in a defensive tone, even though I am DYING to read it.
“Mm hmm,” Marcy says, giving me a smooth once-over. She knows me too well already. “Now if you don’t mind, I have some work to get done.”
“Yeah, sure, so do I.” I reach for her office door. “Just so I’m aware who’s in and out of the shelter, how often does he plan on volunteering? If this like a one-time thing or—”
“As often as his schedule will allow. Now please, let me get back to my work.” The corner of her lips tilt up as I leave her office. I have a feeling the distance I’ve been trying to keep has just been diminished.
* * *
Two Days Later
“Would you be able to get me another tub of litter?” I ask Deborah, one of our long-time volunteers.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks.” I wipe my nose with my forearm, keeping my hands as far away from my face as possible. My main job at the shelter is community outreach and finding homes for these precious animals, but I also love helping out in the kennels as well, getting my hands dirty, so to speak. And when we’re short on volunteers for the day, it doesn’t hurt that I know how to clean the kennels properly, feed the animals their medications—for those who have them—and spend some quality love time with them.
On slower volunteer days, I’ll take my laptop with me from kennel to kennel and simply sit with them so they have some human contact.
“Here you go,” says a deep, familiar voice.
I quickly turn to see Maddox standing over me, tub of litter in hand, looking handsome as ever in his signature black again.
“I can pour it for you.”
“Oh, um, no, that’s okay. I can . . . um, I can do it. You can set the litter down.”
“Okay.” He sets the tub down and stuffs his hands in his pockets, but doesn’t move.
Please leave. “Uh, you can go back to what you were doing.”
When did he even get here?
He thumbs toward the offices and says, “Marcy needed Deborah’s help, so she asked me to switch and come help you.”
Sure, Marcy needed Deborah’s help. I don’t believe that for a second.
“Well, I got this under control, so no need to—”
“I’ll start on the next one.” He goes to the travel carriers, grabs one, and gently opens the kennel to Miss Fennel’s dwellings, a ten-year-old tabby who recently lost her owner due to old age. “Come here, pretty girl,” he coos, and hell, just hearing him talk sweetly to a cat puts a little crack in the wall I’ve erected around my heart. “I’m going to change everything out for you, make it nice and fresh in here.”
Okay, he doesn’t need to talk to the cat. That’s just making everything worse.
Trying to focus on what I’m doing and not having him here, in person, a few feet away, I tear open the cat litter and refill the litter box, the dust flying up toward my face. I hold my breath and when there’s enough in the pan, I step away and set the tub down, letting the air clear out.
Being this close to Maddox, I half expect him to try to strike up a conversation, say something, anything, but when I look over at him, he’s busy cleaning out the kennel, paying extra attention to detail and wiping down everything.
“Almost done, sweet girl. I’m just going to change out your litter and get you a fresh blanket.”
If Marcy is trying to break down my defenses, she’s doing one hell of a job.
“Sorry to bother you, but where are the fresh blankets?” Maddox asks.
When I look up at him, connect with the deep blue of his eyes, I nearly start crying. There’s so much depth in those eyes, so much pain, so much hurt, so much need to do the right thing. Ever since I’ve known Maddox, he’s always straddled the line of falling down the path of his father, or rising above and being the person I know he can be—a man with a great heart, a joking soul, and an unfaltering passion for the things and people he truly loves.
I see that man, right now, staring down at me . . . asking me where the clean blankets are.
Blinking away tears, I say, “Uh, the red cabinet over there, top shelf.”
“Thanks, Kinny.” My nickname feels like a dagger to my heart.
I finish up the kennel I’m working on and then place Daphne, a cat that looks very much like a lemur, back in her kennel. I watch as she spins
around on her fresh blanket and takes a seat, only to lift one leg up and lick her private area.
Lovely.
There are two kennels left, and I’m not sure I have it in me to stay in cat row with him, in these close confines, and not lose myself mentally. “I need to wash my hands and check in on some emails. Would it be okay if you clean out the other two kennels?”
“Not a problem,” he says, with a side smile and then goes back to work, as if there isn’t this giant elephant in the room.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Sure.” As I start to walk away, he says, “By the way, you look really good, Kinsley.”
Yup, abort. Abort.
I don’t answer him. I walk away as quickly as I can, trying not to let his words brand me for the day, but as I’m eating lunch later, Herman at my side, all I can hear is that sultry voice washing over me, repeating over and over . . . you look really good, Kinsley.
* * *
Three Days Later
“She’s such a sweet cat.” I give Miss Fennel one more pet and then clasp my hands together. “And she’s a lucky girl to be going to such a loving home. Send us updates and pictures.”
“We will,” says the mom of Bernice, the little girl who’s adopting Miss Fennel. “And thank you again.”
I give them a wave and watch them walk out the door, our fifth adoption this week, leaving us with only seven animals currently in our shelter and the possibility of more intake. We have enough room to even take on more animals currently in kill shelters. Marcy has been working with the director at a local shelter, trying to get some of the animals on “death row” to be moved over here.
“The look on Bernice’s face,” Marcy says next to me, holding her heart. “Did you see the bows she made for Miss Fennel’s collar?”
I nod. “I did. So precious. That little girl is going to give Miss Fennel such a wonderful second half of her life.”
“She is.” Marcy sighs and says, “I got off the phone with the kill shelter. They’re transferring seven dogs and three cats.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
Marcy nods. “A few have some medical needs, but thanks to the donations that have been pouring in along with the adoptions, we’ll have plenty of money to cover the costs.”
“That’s so exciting,” I say. I needed this good news.
“We can thank Maddox and his friends for all their help too . . . and you. The combination of you working together has brought unprecedented awareness to the shelter. Bernice’s mom was telling me she’s a huge Rebels fan, and when she saw Maddox post about Miss Fennel the other day, she knew she had to bring her daughter in.”
“Maddox posted about Miss Fennel?”
“Do you not follow him on Instagram?”
“Uh, are you forgetting he broke my heart? Trying to ignore all aspects of him.”
Marcy smiles. “Well, I suggest you check it out on your lunch break.” She winks and starts to walk away. “Oh, and players from the baseball academy will be here later. They’re building the new office furniture.”
“What new office furniture?” I ask, completely confused.
“Didn’t I tell you? Maddox has a friend who works for an office supply company. They donated all new furniture and supplies. It’s in the back. Since the Rebels are out of town right now, he’s sending over some volunteers to build and move all the furniture. I’ll be staying late with them, so no need to worry about it.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
I put my hands on my hips.
Her smirk grows wider.
“You can’t be on his side,” I finally say.
“Sweetie, I’m not on anyone’s side.”
I point at her. “You’re favoring him.”
“I’m not favoring anyone. I see a man who’s trying to make a difference, show a change in his life, and I’m acknowledging the effort.”
“He’s doing this to get me back.”
“He’s doing this because he’s in love with you, and he would do anything to be close to you. Even if that means picking up animal feces just so he can catch a glimpse of you every few days. Sometimes we have to look past our guarded veils and see reality for what it is, Kinsley.” She gives me a soft smile and retreats to her office.
With a heavier heart than before, I go back to my office as well and open my emails, but as they all blur together, I keep thinking about what Marcy said . . . do you follow him on Instagram?
I do, but I haven’t checked it in a long time out of fear to see what he might be doing.
I glance down at my phone, tempted to check . . .
No.
I take a deep breath. I will not be sucked in.
* * *
“I’m only doing this because I can see how sad you are, and you’re desperate to see the man you’ve come to love. I get it. Breakups are hard on pets too. So, this is just for you,” I say to Herman as I curl up on the sofa and unlock my phone.
I spent all day keeping myself busy. I even stayed late to check out the new white furniture that’s so beautiful and makes us look so professional rather than a rundown shop trying to make a difference. When I got home, I took care of the dogs, went on an extra-long walk, fed them, fed myself, cleaned, took a shower . . . and now it’s only eight o’clock and I have nothing else to do. My mind immediately went back to Instagram.
Thank you, Marcy.
I said no, no, no, but then . . . oh poor Herman. I could tell he was missing Maddox, so I told him just this once I’d show him pictures to help him through this hard time.
This has nothing to do with my curiosity and everything to do with Herman.
“Now only a few pictures, okay?” I ask Herman whose head is resting next to my leg but couldn’t care less what I’m doing.
Thanks a lot, man.
I open Instagram and the first picture that comes up is of Maddox and Miss Fennel. Of course. He’s smiling with the cat, looking too adorable it hurts. And the caption talks about how Miss Fennel is up for adoption along with more animals at the shelter he volunteers at and to come adopt.
There’s a glint in his eye, a happiness in his smile, almost as if he’s been lifted from his demons and he’s living a hopeful . . . peace-filled life.
I click on his profile picture, forgetting all about showing Herman, and convince myself that I’m not going to show him because he might be jealous from seeing Maddox with other animals.
Slowly I scroll through his posts, seeing one animal after the other from the shelter, all adopted.
Fritz.
Harmony.
Gary.
Oreo.
Marvin.
Miss Fennel.
They’re all there, in his feed, and now they have homes.
I’m . . . I’m floored.
Tears well in my eyes as overwhelming sensations of regret and anger stir inside of me. Regret for what happened between us, and anger for how he treated me. They swirl together, colliding and clashing, making me feel so utterly confused. I pull up my messages and type out a text before I can stop myself.
Kinsley: Miss Fennel was adopted today.
I press send and then drop my phone to my lap, letting out a loud hiccup of a sob as my cluttered, tumultuous emotions hit me at once.
I swore it was over, that I would never speak to him again. But here I am, texting him, because a piece of me sees him trying, acknowledges his effort, and feels for the boy I grew up with. The damaged, broken boy seeking for anyone to care about him, to love him. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore that boy. Because if I were to be truly honest, that was the boy I fell in love with, many, many years ago.
The boy who slept with a cow for me.
The boy who let me borrow his baseball pants, so it didn’t look like I got my period while wearing my lucky white shorts.
The boy who, without even blinking an eye, told me to move in with him so I could pursue my dream job.
He has a brilliant
heart and even though he broke mine, shattered it into a million pieces, it almost feels like slowly, but surely, he’s putting me back together, one crooked, endearing smile, and one adoption at a time.
My phone buzzes on my lap and when I see it’s a text from him, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
“Oh God,” I whisper, sucking in a large gulp of air, preparing myself. This is it. There’s no returning after this.
If I answer this text, I won’t be able to ignore him any longer.
Then again, have I ever ignored him? I picked up his phone calls, just to hear his voice. I’ve checked on him when he’s been volunteering, and shamelessly, I’ve even watched a few games recently, claiming it to be background noise when in reality, I was hoping for one glimpse.
I pick up my phone and unlock it.
Maddox: She was? That makes me so fucking happy. Thank you, Kinny, for telling me.
Oh Christ.
I can hear his voice.
I can see the excitement in his eyes.
I can practically smell his cologne, as if he was sitting right next to me, arm around me, holding me close.
Kinsley: Yeah, to a little girl named Bernice. They happen to be Rebels fans.
Maddox: Then Miss Fennel is in the company of good people.
I chuckle and wipe at my nose with a tissue from the side table.
Kinsley: Thank you for the furniture as well.
Maddox: Ah, yeah, sure. No problem. I meant to get that to you a while back, but kind of lost track of everything.
Kinsley: You didn’t have to do that. We were okay with what we had.
Maddox: Yeah, but now you won’t get splinters from your furniture.
Kinsley: I guess not.
Maddox: Well, I’m glad you liked it. Not sure if Marcy told you, but we’re on an eleven-day road trip, so I won’t be in for a bit. Once I get back, I’ll be in to help out. I’ll bring some the guys too.
Kinsley: You don’t have to do that . . . and you don’t have to keep volunteering.
The Change Up Page 34
