Page 43 of Cruz

“I did. That was sweet to think about me. And her. I’d like to go see her. Maybe on Sunday, because it’s the first day I have off where the shelter’s hours line up with mine.” When I sneak a peek up, Cruz looks inordinately happy about that, like he’s a kid who just got promised his first long awaited pet.

“I was thinking about getting her if you weren’t, but I’d have to get a place of my own, and that could take some time. I think she’d be a good fit. She’s older, so she’d probably just like to sleep all day in a bed or one of those window hammock things.”

His eyes dart away, to the window over the kitchen sink. I remember how he kept looking there the first night he was in the apartment. It felt so wrong on night one. I was so angry. I’m not angry now. I’m the furthest thing from it. It takes all my strength not to reach across the table and set my hand on top of his.

“Maybe the club has taught me to be sentimental, but likely not. I think I’ve always had it in me to collect the broken and unwanted people and things around me.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I want to ask him more, but his voice is heavy and sad. “I think she’s a beautiful cat.” She has lovely tabby markings, brown with splashes and streaks of orange, and white on her paws, her nose, and the tip of her tail. “Old cats likely don’t get adopted very fast.”

“I thought about that too. And how hard the change must be for her, going from a loving home to a shelter. She’s got to be so confused.”

“I’ll go for sure on Sunday.”

“You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I’m pressuring you and making you feel guilty.”

“You’re not. I want to go see her. I’ve been thinking about her a lot.” I thought about her extra because Cruz was the one who saw her and took the time to send her to me. He cares about her situation, where most people would just overlook her, and if that doesn’t say so much about the person he is… “She seems perfect. But it would be a big adjustment for her. I’m a bit worried if she’s used to someone being around all day and then gets to spend all day in an apartment. What if she’s lonely? What if I don’t know what to do?”

“There’s the internet. Lots of forums are out there with great advice. When I was here you kept popping up to check in on me. Okay, I’m not a cat, but I think she’d be fine,” he says with a smile.

“You’d come and see her, wouldn’t you?” Wow. Now would be a great time to shut up. I cringe a little hoping I don’t sound too desperate, but Cruz’s face gets even softer.

“I’d like that.” His voice is soft too.

The silence after feels thick and strange, so I grasp at anything I can to fill it. “How’s the clubhouse and the training going?”

“It’s fine.”

“Even with your knee?”

“It’s fine too. I have a brace on.”

I try to swallow down my concern, but it doesn’t work. “That sounds serious.”

“It’s serious enough, but nothing that I haven’t dealt with before. It comes and goes. I’ll be alright if I rest it for a few weeks.”

“You’re training the men with your knee as bad as it is?”

“It feels better to keep moving. I’m not pushing myself past what I can do. I don’t want to injure myself beyond repair. I’m careful.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, before drawing in another measured inhale. Is he trained to do that? “Liam wanted me to talk to you.”

I’m not entirely surprised. A little, maybe. Hurt snakes through me, black as tendrils of smoke. “That’s why you’re here tonight?”

“Yes and no.”

That’s not an answer, but it’s not not an answer either. “What does he want you to talk to me about that he can’t ask me himself? I think we’ve got the worst of it out of the way.” I shouldn’t say things like that. Shit can always get worse. Always.

“He thinks that there’s something wrong. That you seem sad.” Cruz leans forward a little. “Are you sad, Sloane?” There’s so much honesty in his eyes, and maybe even a little bit sadness too. It gives them a slight sheen.

I clear my throat. “Are you sad, Cruz?”

“I don’t know what I am. All I know is that I’m trying to be whatever it was before I met you, and it’s not working out very well.”

As usual, his completely unguarded honesty breaks down my resistance faster than I can arm myself. The way he just says what’s on his mind and tries to parse out what he’s feeling out loud is mind blowing.

“I… wow. I see.” I feel like an asshole for not telling him the truth and for shutting down when he so fearlessly opened up.

I’m scared. I’m afraid of the way my brain misfires constantly when Cruz is near and how it goes into overdrive when he’s not. I’m scared of everything I feel, all the time. I hate that for nearly two decades, I didn’t feel the wind, and now it’s snapping at me, chilling me down to my bones. I’m a train about to derail after running so perfectly smooth.

I want to tell Cruz that I miss him. That I never expected to feel lost when I had my shit together and when I had a perfectly good life, and that it makes me furious. I want to tell him about the heat that sears me down to my bones, and how my soul has been rocked. If I describe the ache that haunts me, would he understand? How could he, when I don’t, and when all of this is crazy to begin with?