Chapter 9 #2
He swung his gear bag over his shoulder, stepped into the quiet house, and immediately tossed his helmet onto the couch.
Sure enough, Mulligan would find it. The tiny furball had curled up inside it yesterday as though it were a throne, his little body tucked into the padding like it had been built for him.
Tate had stood there for ten minutes just staring, heart melting into a puddle at the ridiculous sight of a kitten ruling his equipment like a conquering king.
“Mulligan, come on, sweet boy…” His voice softened to a ridiculous croon the second he spotted the grey fluff darting out from the shadows. He chuckled to himself. “I sound like an idiot, but you like it – don’t ya, Mulligan? You want some snackies, baby?”
The kitten’s ears perked at the familiar word, his paws skittering across the hardwood as Tate headed for the kitchen.
He yanked open the drawer where he hid the tubes of foul-smelling gel treats that Mulligan was flat-out addicted to.
The second the metal sliders of the drawer made a whoosh sound, Mulligan came barreling around the corner, tail high, meowing with a raw urgency that would’ve put a fire alarm to shame.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Tate muttered, cutting open a tube with practiced precision.
He dropped into a crouch, holding it steady as the little predator latched onto his jeans in excitement, climbing and clawing, trying to get closer to the plate where he was squeezing the tube.
Mulligan was purring so hard that Tate swore the floorboards vibrated.
“Shhh, little fella… just a bit so it doesn’t give your tummy troubles. We don’t want to go to the vet again, do we?”
His tone was gentle, almost fatherly. Heaven help him, that’s exactly what he’d become—a brand-new, fumbling, clueless father to a three-pound ball of fur.
A few nights ago, he’d raced Mulligan to the emergency animal hospital at midnight because the poor thing had vomited after scarfing down too much food, then had diarrhea an hour later.
Tate had been near tears, frantic that he’d broken him somehow.
The vet had kindly explained his kitten’s stomach was just too small and suggested new food, new toys, and even a different litter box.
Tate had bought everything on the list before sunrise.
And if he’d felt like a fool then, it was nothing compared to the swell of pride he felt now, watching Mulligan’s whiskers twitch as he licked the treat tube clean.
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, Tate sighed, already bracing himself. He hit call, pressed it to his ear, and barely got out a hello before his sister’s voice blasted through the speaker.
“Tell Justin I’m interested and yes,” Gina rushed out, her words spilling over each other like a waterfall - instead of saying ‘Hello’.
“In a nunnery – sure thing,” Tate muttered, rolling his eyes.
“No – not a nunnery. I want to have his babies…”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are never having that conversation.”
“Fine – I don’t have to have Justin’s babies, but he can attempt them all he wants,” she shot back, giddy as ever. “In fact, if he wants to name a time and place, then I’ll quit my studies and meet him…”
“Gina!” His voice snapped like a whip. Mulligan paused mid-lick to glance up in concern, his little face wide-eyed.
Tate stroked a soothing hand down his kitten’s back.
“You and Justin are not dating. I am not setting you up. Nothing is happening. My sister does not have sex. Nothing! I am calling you for a reason – a favor…”
“Favors imply that I get something in return,” she said sweetly. “And I want Justin Aldonard – on a platter – with a bow… and nothing else. I’m not even picky where the bow goes. Forehead, elbow, belly button…”
Tate’s jaw tightened. “Does Mom hear you talking like this?”
Mulligan leaned into his hand as if to calm him down, tiny rumbling purrs vibrating against his palm.
“You are on your own with Aldonard – and I need you to come feed my cat while I’m at an away game.”
“Are you going to talk to Justin for me?” Gina quipped.
“No.”
“Then your answer is no, too.”
He ground his teeth.
“I want to meet the kitten,” Gina began, “And I have yet to see a photo, but if you aren’t willing to go to bat for your most favorite sister who has the hots for…”
“Only sister,” he shot back, interrupting her fascination with the team’s goalie. “And because we are related, you cannot have ‘the hots’ for anything in this universe or the next.”
“Then why should I drive thirty miles out of my way to feed your cat when you’re just going to bite my head off for not doing something correct according to you when I leave?”
“Well, don’t leave the garage door open next time.”
“It must have popped open.”
“Gina, I have cameras in the house and you were talking to Nettie when you left – and didn’t even bother to close it,” he muttered hotly, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll pay for your gas - for a month.”
“No. You already bought me the car – thank you again for that.”
“It was your birthday, and you’re welcome. Now, can you drive over and feed Mulligan for me?”
“Can I have two tickets to the next home game?”
“Two?” Tate asked, surprised and wondering who his sister was dating, if she was panting after Justin so hard. No guy in his right mind would sit next to his date and listen to her go on and on about the guy unless…
“I figured I’d bring Nettie with me,” Gina said slyly.
And there it was. His stomach flipped, that familiar spark shooting through him at just the mention of her name. He refused to let it show. Not one laugh, not one slip.
“Done,” he said simply, his voice flat enough to hide the electricity rattling his bones.
“You’re kidding. Seriously? Feed your cat and… wait a minute – are you putting me in the nosebleed seats?”
“Shut up – and a free ticket is a free ticket. Besides, we both know you can’t see anything but Justin, so maybe I should get you tickets behind the goalie net.”
“No – because then he’s on the other side of the ice part of the game.”
“I know,” he replied, chuckling.
“Thanks a lot, Tate.”
“You’re welcome,” he quipped, amused despite himself. “I’ll leave you directions on the counter and…”
“I’m feeding a cat,” Gina interrupted warily. “I don’t need directions… do I?”
“He’s a kitten and yeah. His little tummy gets gurgly, and sometimes you have to play…”
“Oh my gosh,” she interrupted, bursting out laughing. “You are totally whupped by that little furball.”
“I’ll text you,” he blurted, cutting her off and hanging up before she could twist the knife further.
Mulligan blinked at him, still licking his chops. Tate leaned down, scratching the kitten’s back just above his tail.
“Your evil auntie is going to feed you tomorrow night… and when she kicks off her shoes, feel free to poop in one. Okay, buddy?”
Mulligan hissed like a warrior, his tiny chest puffed out.
“That’s right, Killer. You teach her who’s the boss around here,” Tate crooned, his grin softening. He scratched that magic spot, watching Mulligan arch and twitch with unbridled joy. “That’s right – and we both know that boss isn’t me… is it?”
Mulligan meowed in agreement, sealing the truth.