Page 30 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Theo sighed. “I can ask around. But realistically? A week? Maybe longer.”
A week.
Or longer.
Damn it.
I pictured my house—quiet, controlled, predictable. Then I pictured that goat prancing through, jumping and climbing like a tiny wrecking ball, destroying everything in his path.
“Marc?” Theo’s voice softened.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “I’ll figure something out.”
Theo’s relieved sigh crackled through the phone. He was a good guy. I wasn’t angry with him.
I was angry with the goat, who was currently staring at me like he’d orchestrated the entire thing.
“I wanted to thank you for last night,” Theo said, cutting through my spiral. “You were right to point out the stress factors. We need to do it safely. And … if we do this right, it could really help with our proposal.”
My throat tightened. “It’s the only reason I’m going through with it.” That and avoiding Death by Glamma. Both were highly motivational.
Theo lowered his voice. “Are you still working on the additional funding paperwork they sent us?”
I glanced at the ceiling like it might offer divine intervention. “Yes.”
“I’m not supposed to say anything,” Theo said carefully, “but Everly mentioned there might be someone from the foundation coming to town in a few weeks to evaluate our program in person. If we can show strong community support—safe, well-run events—it could go a long way in us being awarded that grant.”
The words sank into my chest like a weight.
This was why my skin was buzzing last night. Why I couldn’t let animal yoga turn into a disaster. Why I had to make sure we pulled off this disaster calamity-free.
If we messed this up, we didn’t just lose a fundraiser.
We’d lose momentum. Credibility. Our chance to expand, to offer better care, to stop having to turn people away when they begged us to take in one more animal.
We could lose the chance to help the ones who needed it most.
“I won’t let it fail,” I promised.
Theo was quiet for a beat. “I know you won’t.”
I ended the call and stared at my reflection, warped in the dark phone screen.
The goat cried out again, likely reminding me he existed. Like I could ever forget.
I turned toward the crate. “You,” I said, pointing, “better behave.”
He blinked slowly and chewed his hay like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Jane peeked around the corner. “Bad news?”
“The shelter’s full.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to work out the knots forming there.
She winced. “So … you’re keeping him?”
“Temporarily housing him,” I corrected through clenched teeth.
Jane looked far too pleased. “Is the barn set up? Fencing secure?”
