Page 17 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Delaney smiled at her—tentative, polite, clearly pleased.
“With a twist,” Martha added gleefully, practically bouncing in her seat.
“Animal yoga!” Gladys clapped her hands together like she just solved world hunger.
What the actual?—
“It showcases the adoptable animals,” Goldie explained. “Helps them find their forever homes while raising funds.”
Delaney blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Her smile slipped, confusion replacing the pleasure. This was clearly news to her. Glamma had not warned her.
Then Glamma turned to me. Her gaze laser-focused.
Oh, shit.This wasn’t going to be good. I recognized that look—had seen it directed at my brothers and cousins before major life changes they hadn’t seen coming.
“And we think that Marc and Delaney should work together,” she said brightly, like she was suggesting something pleasant instead of my personal nightmare. “Marc can oversee the animals’ safety and welfare during the sessions.”
Every single head in the room turned to watch me.
My muscles locked up and tension shot down my spine. Heat crawled up the back of my neck, spreading across my face. There were too many eyes. Too much expectation.
People knew Delaney and I didn’t get along. Half of them heard us arguing at Ellie’s book release party at Plot Twist. We’d disagreed about our fundamental beliefs and had been loud, public, and embarrassing.
What was Glamma thinking?
Or—more accurately—what was sheplotting?
I stood, because if I didn’t, my chest was going to explode from the pressure of my rapidly accelerating heartbeat. Standing gave me something to do, a physical action to focus on. “I have concerns.”
The room quieted. I hated the silence almost as much as I hated the noise—both extremes felt like too much; sensory overload in different forms.
“Animals under stress can react unpredictably,” I started, my brain immediately cataloging every potential problem. “Elevated heart rates. Unfamiliar environments. Uncontrolled human movement. Yoga positions that put faces near hindquarters—that’s a significant bite risk. Not to mention a scratch risk, particularly with cats.”
I should have stopped.
I didn’t.
My thoughts raced ahead, tripping over each other, desperate to get out. I needed people to understand the risks. I needed them to see the logic.
“Also, prolonged holding or forcing participation could cause cortisol spikes—that’s the stress hormone—which could lead to aggressive behavior or fear responses. And if someone gets hurt, the shelter could be liable. There’s also the consideration of zoonotic diseases if proper hygiene protocols aren’t?—”
Delaney stood abruptly.
Her chair scraped loudly against the floor, the sound cutting through my explanation.
“I would never force an animal to participate,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut. “You’re assuming incompetence on my part, Marc. I’m trained and certified in leading yoga sessions with various animals. I ran weekly sessions at my last studio. We had protocols. We had safety measures. I know what I’m doing.”
I blinked, my brain stuttering as I tried to process her words and the anger in her voice simultaneously. “I’m not assuming incompetence. I’m stating biological facts. Knowledge you might not have from your specific field of expertise.”
The room sucked in a collective breath.
The words had come out wrong. I could hear it immediately—the condescension I hadn’t intended, the dismissiveness that I didn’t mean but landed anyway.
