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“What’s that?” He moves to the small circular table near the kitchen area and begins to unpack canned goods, pasta, and other supplies from the bag.
A part of me insists that I should let this go, but I already know I won’t. That’s not the kind of person I am. I can’t let things go, even when letting go would be best for everyone involved.
I showed up to meet my mother at the roller rink for months after Aaron stopped caring whether she made our visits. I’d put on my cutest outfit, do my hair in the pigtails I knew she loved, and pray Mom would show up in a good mood.
After a while, I transitioned to praying she showed up at all.
I spent five consecutive months waiting in the roller rink lobby with Gram, my stomach sinking as the minutes ticked by with no sign of my mother, before Gram told me the visitations had been cancelled by the judge over at family court. I was sixteen when she finally confessed that she’d lied about that. The visits hadn’t been cancelled. She just couldn’t bear watching me get my hopes up every month only to have my heart broken again and again.
I wasn’t mad about it. I knew she was right. God only knows how much longer I would have sat there in the lobby waiting if Gram hadn’t intervened.
I never know when to give up, so I follow Matty over to the table and say, “It’s strange that on the one hand you’re this super prepared, thoughtful, loving family guy who’s gone to such lengths to make a safe haven for the ones he loves. But on the other hand, you’re choosing to do business with mobsters who could put those people in serious danger. Does that make sense to you?”
He turns to me with a sigh, but his gaze is less guarded than it was before. “I’m on my way out, okay? I’m almost done with the Sweetwaters. Then, I’m out of here, on my way to South America, and everything will be okay. My family, you, your gram—you’re all going to be fine.”
As if to express his doubt about all that, Clyde emits a horrendous belch, followed by a pitifulyewowowolthat’s soon echoed by my stomach.
“Agreed, Clyde,” I say.
“Agreed that you’re hungry?” Matty asks. “Because I have cat food for Clyde, and I can have chicken pot pies ready for us in about twenty minutes. I grabbed a few from the freezer in the bunker.”
“Yes, I’m hungry,” I say, before adding gently, “but I also think you should end things with the Sweetwaters now. Right now. Do not spend more time with mobsters, do not pass go, do not get murdered for harboring a stolen cat before the people who originally stole him get what they want. Whatever that is.”
He sighs. “Noted. I’ll take that under advisement. In the meantime, you can change if you want. Or just take your new clothes into the bedroom and settle in. The bottom drawer in the bureau is empty, and I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
“No, I can take the couch,” I say. “I don’t mind. I can sleep anywhere. Lumps and saggy cushions don’t bother me.”
“I should take it,” he insists. “I want to stay out here in case Clyde needs something in the night.” He nods over his shoulder. “And to watch the door. Just in case.”
My growling stomach cramps into a worried knot. “You don’t think someone followed us, do you? You lost Wimpy when we went down that gravel road.”
“I think I did,” Matty says. “But I don’t intend to take any chances. With you or Clyde.”
Not sure what to think about the warm, protected feeling that spreads through my chest in response to that, I nod, thank him, and wander over to collect my new things from the couch. In the bedroom, I discover the hiking boots are the perfect size but that the bras are way too small. There’s no way I’m wrangling my 36F girls into a medium sports bra and the black t-shirt I’m currently wearing hides the fact that I’m not wearing a bra a lot better than the blue and white flannel pajama top would. Besides, the fire has the treehouse feeling nice and toasty.
Electing to stay in my borrowed clothes, I head back into the kitchen, intending to offer my help preparing supper only to find Matty by the door, wearing nothing but a pair of dark black boxer briefs he’s just beginning to drag lower on his hips.
I spin, hoping to dart into the bedroom before he realizes I’ve caught him changing, but in my hurry, I misjudge the distance between myself and the wall behind me. I smack into it headfirst, hard enough to make stars dance before my eyes, stumble backward, trip over the edge of the rug, and fall flat on my ass on top of poor Clyde.
The next thing I know my arm is on fire and Clyde is on top of the roof of the litter box in the corner, doing his best Halloween cat impression, his betrayed blue eyes locked on mine.
Chapter Six
MATTY
Ihear a sharp thud and look up to see Nora bounce off the wall and trip over the rug. I have a beat to notice Clyde stretched out, half-asleep, behind her and realize something bad is about to happen.
But by the time I start across the room, it’s too late.
Fall + Cat + Surprise + Claws have equaled Nora bleeding on the floor.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Nora says, wincing as she sits up, holding her bloody forearm away from her body. “I’m so sorry, Clyde. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”
“He’s fine.” I crouch down beside her, taking her wrist gently in hand as I survey the damage below her elbow. The scratches are deep, but already the bleeding is starting to slow. “Let me get the first aid kit.”
As I hurry over to the cabinet, Nora says, “But I fell on him.” Tears creep into her voice as she adds, “With my giant body. I could have done major damage.”
I return with the kit, kneeling next to her on the carpet. “I think he’s the one who did the damage.”
