Winning Brynn (Seattle Strikers)

29. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Leo

" Dada!" Salem claps her hands together as I walk into the kitchen after practice. She's sitting in her highchair at the kitchen island, her face a mess of spaghetti sauce stains and smiles.

"Hey, baby girl." I kiss the top of her head and stroke the softness of her short hair. "I missed you today."

"We went to the playground this morning, didn't we, ladybug?" Brynn sings in the musical, high-pitched voice she reserves for my daughter.

"Oh, yeah?" I answer with a raise of my brows. And while it's been over a month now since Brynn has been her nanny, I can't help the small twist of anxiety I feel at hearing they've been out of the house. But I push it down. "Was it fun?"

"So much fun," Brynn says, speaking over her shoulder as she washes dishes in the sink. "Although, something weird happened..."

"Oh yeah?"

"A woman there thought I was Say's mom." She releases a weird, choked laugh. "Super weird, right?"

Is it weird?

If I saw a woman with a child at the playground, I'd assume she's the mother too. And of course, I know that all families look different. She could be an aunt, or a family friend, or a foster care parent, or a nanny, like in Brynn's case. But my first assumption, wrong or right, would still always be mother.

Not that I say any of that.

For some reason that I haven't put my finger on yet, Brynn seems even more off-kilter than she is on a typical day. So, I just nod along with a half-assed, "Sure, yeah, super weird," and move through to the living area.

I jump three feet into the air at what I find there.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Huh?" Brynn asks casually, but there's a wobble to her voice. "What?"

"Is that a rodent on my rug?"

Her face flames four shades darker, but she doesn't stop what she's doing. Doesn't look at me at all, really.

"Brynn," I say slowly. "Why is there a rodent on my rug?"

"Not a rodent." She tuts, rewashing a dish that didn't need rewashing. "That's Gordon."

"Gordon?" I peer closer at the thing in my living room.

"Yeah." She finally has the good grace to look me in the eye. Her expression is one of both mirth and trepidation. "After the chef. He kind of looks like him, don't you think?"

From where I'm standing, it appears that Gordon only has three legs and approximately 1.5 ears. "I'm sure Gordon Ramsay would be chuffed by the comparison."

She has the sheer fucking audacity to mutter "chuffed" under her breath with a laugh.

"You wanna tell me what Gordon is doing here?" I ask. "And what animal he’s supposed to be."

"Oh, sure, yeah, um..." She trails off, looking around wildly to find something else to busy herself with. Finally, her gaze settles on my daughter. Taking out a handful of baby wipes, she begins to wipe up the mess Salem made of her dinner. "Yeah, so...you have a cat now."

I blink.

What the fuck?

I fucking hate cats.

"He's missing a limb and half an ear, so I'm reluctant to call him that," I say with a derisive snort.

Brynn's mouth drops open as she looks at me, aghast. "How incredibly discriminatory of you." She leaves my daughter in her highchair in the kitchen and rounds the kitchen island, her eyes like daggers. "If a soldier loses a leg in battle, does that make them any less of a human?"

I'm not sure that's a fair comparison, but whatever.

"No, it would make them a hero."

"Exactly!" Her face takes on a victorious smile as she steps onto the rug and lifts Gordon into her arms. Scratching him behind the ear, she tells him, "You're a hero, aren't you, sweetie?"

My brows lift, incredulous. "Oh, well, if you'd told me he's a military vet, I might have given him a warmer reception."

Setting Gordon back down, she shoots me an unimpressed look. "Hardy har har."

"We can't keep the cat, Brynn." I'm gentle with my words yet firm with the sentiment.

There’s no way in hell I'm keeping a cat, especially not one who looks as if it's been dragged from some corner of an alley and is infested with rabies. I can't even remember if Salem has been vaccinated against rabies.

Brynn's expression collapses. "What?"

"It's a health hazard. Who knows how many contagious diseases it has, and, oh my god, has Salem touched it?" Anxiety swells like a storm, and my mind begins to spiral. "I need to take her to the hospital. She could have already caught something."

There's a touch on my arm. Soft, barely there, but I feel the heat of it like a burning steel rod that has been placed directly onto my skin.

It surprises me just enough to jolt me from my panic.

My eyes drop to Brynn's hand wrapped delicately around my forearm, her pink-painted nails so pretty against my tan that still lingers from the summer.

"Salem is fine," she says quietly, slowly, like I'm a small animal, and she's worried about spooking me. "I took Gordon to the vet. He's fully vaccinated and clear of disease."

Relief soars through me. My chest deflates, my heartbeat stops thundering, and yet, Brynn's hand remains on my arm.

"See?" she says with a grin. "We can keep him."

I say nothing, taking a step backward so her hand falls back to her side. For a moment, an expression of confused hurt flashes across her face before her mask goes back up. She shoots me one of her signature fake smiles and walks back into the kitchen to start fussing with Salem once more.

"We're not keeping him, Brynn."

She pretends like she doesn't hear me, but I see the flatlining of her lips and the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. Taking Salem out of the highchair, she props her on her hip.

"Brynn," I say loud enough that she has no choice but to look in my direction. "We are not keeping the cat, you hear me?"

"If you take him back, you're basically sentencing him to death."

Fuck me.

I almost laugh at her dramatics, but I'm smart enough to not lose my composure.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh," she snorts, "you think people will be rushing to adopt him?"

I look down at Gordon once more. He's this little silver thing, striped with black and white. A tabby, I think, with white paws that look like socks. He'd be cute if it weren't for the fact that he looks like he’s had a fight with a hacksaw.

"Do you know what happens to animals who aren't adopted, Leo?" she carries on.

"Can't say I've ever put much thought into it," I admit.

She looks me dead in the eye. "They kill them."

That makes me pause, not for long enough that it stops me from doing what I need to, but enough that I feel a tiny stab of guilt in my heart.

"He's not staying, Brynn."

Her foot stomps. "Will you stop using my fucking name?"

"What the hell else am I going to call you?" I shake my head. "And stop swearing around my daughter."

"You just don't have to use it in every damn sentence. And...hey, what are you doing?" Her voice raises as she watches me grab the cardboard box from atop the island, which I assume is what she used to bring the cat here, and walk over to Gordon. "Don't you dare put him in that box!"

I ignore her, swiping him off the floor.

Then I stride toward the door, my gaze focused straight ahead. I can't risk looking her in the eye right now. The shrill panic in her voice is almost enough to derail me completely.

"If you do this, you're killing him!" She's shrill now, nearly screaming.

I make it to the front door and swing it open.

"Where is your humanity, Leo?"

Fuck, I think she's crying.

"I knew you were cold, but I didn't think you'd be a murderer!”

The door slams shut behind me.

"Hello." The woman behind the desk at the animal shelter smiles politely as I approach.

Wordlessly, I set Gordon's box on the counter in front of her, doing my damndest not to look inside of it. I can hear him, though, the shuffle of his claws against the cardboard as he shivers in fear.

If you do this, you're killing him.

Fuck off out of my brain, Brynn. We're not keeping the cat. My building doesn't even allow pets.

"Are you here to surrender an animal?" the woman asks, her eyes soft as she looks down at the quivering ball of fluff.

Why did it sound like she said sacrifice ?

"Yeah," I say, but my voice cracks as I do. "Yes," I try again, stronger this time, if not a little too loud.

My gaze swings around the room we're in. Gray, dank, and cold, lined with metal cages containing animals with sad eyes and scruffy coats. To my horror, my heart dips with an inexplicably fierce desire to take them all home.

"Do you really kill the animals who don't get adopted?" I ask quietly, as if in fear of being overheard.

The woman falters, her eyes flashing with discomfort. She clears her throat then steels her shoulders. "Some get euthanized, yes."

Shit.

"Would you still like to go ahead?" she asks softly, her head tilted to one side.

I freeze.

Fuck.

I don't want the cat. I hate cats. They're tiny assholes with a superiority complex who think a great gift is a half-massacred bird left on their owner's pillow.

I don't want one around my daughter, even if he is at a disadvantage with reduced hearing and a missing limb. And that's without mentioning that he'd be living thirty stories above ground level, where access to wildlife is limited.

Would it really be so bad to keep him? He doesn't need much more than a litter box, and I could get some of that cat repellent to spray on the furniture to stop him from scratching it.

No.

I can't seriously be considering keeping him.

Shaking myself out of my temporary lapse in sanity, I nod my head. "Yeah, I'd still like to go ahead, please."

She shoots me a dubious look in response but keeps whatever she's thinking to herself. Busying herself with something beside the desk, she says, "I just need you to sign a couple of things, and there will be a fee."

"Sure, yeah, whatever." Glancing down at Gordon in his box, his silver-striped fur glinting in the light as he trembles, I swallow around a lump in my throat. "Do you think he'll get adopted? I know he looks a bit funny, and he's missing some significant body parts, but that won't put people off...right?"

I trail off, looking at the woman hopefully.

She forces her mouth into a reassuring smile but not quickly enough to hide the grimace that flashed across her face first. "I'm sure he'll be fine." But she doesn't sound convincing.

And I'm not blind.

Poor Gordon is repulsive.

He certainly wouldn't be my first choice if I was in the market for a pet.

"Oh, shoot." She sighs. "I'm all out of forms. Will you be okay if I go and print one off for you quickly?"

I nod silently, not even looking at her as she disappears into another room.

My attention is fixed solely on the small, helpless creature curled into a ball in the box in front of me. So tiny. So fucking defenseless and terrified and pitiful. It's as if Brynn has coached him into exactly how to behave to give him the best shot of piercing through my icy heart.

Because, fuck me, I think it's working.

I might be a cold bastard, but am I a murderer? Could I really leave Gordon here in good conscience, knowing what's likely to happen to him?

Ah, shit.

The epiphany hits me like a dump truck driving above the speed limit—unwelcome and painful.

Fuck it all to hell.

"Goddamn you, Brynn Wolfe," I mutter through gritted teeth, picking up the box with the fucking cat inside and turning toward the door. "Come on, Gordon Ramsay. I guess we're going home."