Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
VIKTOR
At the end of the week, I hang up the phone from the vet, the words still echoing in my head.
I took Queenie in yesterday, but the vet just told me that her fever spiked overnight. The words ‘further tests’ scrape across my nerves like razors.
She’s just a cat. She’s just a pet.
I try to remind myself of that. But I’ve watched an overstimulated Sofia melt and calm beside Queenie so many times. Sofia loves to relax by stroking Queenie’s soft fur and listening to her purrs. The animal helps soothe the little girl in a way nothing else does.
And even though I might try to deny it to myself, I know that Queenie has a very special place inside me too, and I can’t stop that squeeze in my heart whenever I see her stretching across the couch like she owns the place. She’s more than a cat. She’s more than a pet. She’s family.
And now she’s sick.
Sofia has been distraught since Queenie fell ill, and her reaction tugs hard at me. Right now, the little girl is curled up on the sofa, arms tightly hugging herself. The house feels wrong without Queenie’s low purr filling the corners. Too quiet. Like something’s missing—because it is.
I hate this feeling. Powerlessness.
Avelina’s voice is soft. “I’m going to make her some hot chocolate. Could you do a puzzle with her to try and distract her?”
Sofia’s mind is spinning just as much as mine. I nod, anxious to help in any way I can, even though I’m in a state too. I sit next to Sofia, leaving a couple of inches between us. She looks over at me. Her eyes are red and tired.
I don’t know what to say.
Then I pat my knee.
She stares, hesitating. Then she crawls into my lap. She’s so small that it aches.
I sigh, leaning back, settling her in.
She clutches my shirt.
“The vet is taking good care of her,” I murmur, wishing I could instantly make everything better for both Queenie and Sofia.
“Is she coming home soon?” Her voice is tiny.
I hesitate. “I hope so. She’s strong—like you.”
She sniffs. My gaze follows hers to the armchair Queenie usually claims. The space seems more than empty right now—hollow, cold, and lonely. Albert gives a small whine as his head drops onto his front paws—he’s missing his best friend.
A thought flickers in my head.
It’s a little stupid. Maybe embarrassing. Probably useless.
But my mind is made up.
Because I’d do anything to take away that sad, empty look from this little girl’s eyes.
The store smells like cheap plastic and too-sweet perfume. The kind of place I’d never step into unless someone held a gun to my head.
Or unless a certain little girl is hurting.
Bright colors immediately assault my senses. Dolls, dinosaurs, and beeping plastic monstrosities line the shelves, making my eyes want to pop and escape their sockets.
I don’t know where to start. I didn’t have toys growing up—we were too poor. And I’ve certainly never been in a toy store.
Shifting from foot to foot, I rub the back of my neck. I haven’t got a clue how to fucking act in this place or where I can find what I need.
I stride through and scan the aisles, sweat breaking out on my forehead.
I hate places like this. Crowded. Loud. Disorganized.
It’s like a fucking zoo. Nothing makes sense.
Kids run past, squealing about action figures.
Two girls play tug of war and shriek over a Barbie doll they both insist they saw first. A boy crashes into me and bounces off, no apology.
And I feel the deep urge to pull out my notebook and jot down a fucking nine.
I grit my teeth. Focus, Viktor. I pull out my phone and search: Plush cat toy to reduce anxiety in a child.
But too many options pop up. Beanbag cats.
Heated ones. Battery-powered purring ones.
What the fuck? I don’t want a robot. I want something soft.
Something close to Queenie. It has to be non-stimulating and calming.
A sales clerk appears. Longish blue hair, maybe twenty, and wearing a ridiculous uniform.
I wince as his bright hair and even brighter uniform overstimulate my senses.
His badge reads Lawrence. He flashes me an obviously fake smile that makes him look like The Joker from Batman.
“Looking for something for your kid?” he chirps in an overenthusiastic and much too loud voice.
I hesitate. Sofia isn’t mine…but I wish she was. “Stuffed toy,” I snarl. “Cat. No bright colors. No electronics. No noise.”
Lawrence blinks. His creepy smile drops as he notices my menacing appearance. “Uh, um, of course…follow me, sir,” he stutters, like I’m a grizzly bear in a pet store and he’s afraid I’ll maul him.
I trail him as we walk past aisles of complete chaos.
Lawrence keeps flicking his obnoxiously swishy, bright hair every two seconds, and that repeated movement is overstimulating my vision.
Why do I feel the sudden urge to flee—to run for the fucking hills as fast as my legs will carry me?
“Why the hell is this place so fucking manic?” I growl under my breath, careful to make sure that none of the little rascals hear my cursing.
Lawrence darts a look at me. “It’s a toy store. This is how they’re supposed to be.”
“Can’t you ban kids from the place?” I snap. “They’re too much. I can’t focus with all the goddamn noise they’re making.”
“Children are who this place is for,” Lawrence squeaks. “It would be bad for business if we were to ban kids…” His voice trails off as his eyes run over my tattooed arms and large muscles. “Um, sir, what line of business did you say you were in…?”
“I didn’t,” I hiss at him. I can see he’s weighing up whether to call for security. Calm the fuck down, I tell myself. “Just show me the stuffed cats, and then I can get the hell out of here.”
He nods quickly and speeds up his walk, finally stopping at a wall of plush animals. Including cats of all sizes. Thank fuck for that!
He plucks a gray one off the shelf. “Bestseller. Embroidered features. Superb quality.”
I take it. Roll it between my hands. Then I press my thumb to its nose. And I look up and glare at Lawrence. “It’s plastic!”
Lawrence gulps hard. “Huh?”
“The nose. It’s plastic. It’s hard. It’s no good for nose boops.”
“Nose, uh, what…?”
“Nose boops!”
He gives me a blank look. Christ, does he have a death wish? Because he’s getting on every single one of my damn nerves now.
“Find me one with a velvety nose,” I snap.
But his brow crinkles in confusion. Don’t they fucking teach these kids anything in school these days?
“The nose has to be velvet,” I tell him slowly. “Comforting. Soft. Squishy.” Christ, I never thought I would be saying the word ‘squishy’ out fucking loud.
“This one?” Lawrence says, pulling another off the shelf.
It’s the same colors as Queenie—white with black and orange patches. I squeeze it in my hands. It’s fluffy and feels nice. And when I rub my thumb over the nose, it’s perfect. “I’ll take it,” I announce.
And as I follow Lawrence to pay for it, I find myself desperately hoping Sofia will like it.
But worry starts to worm through me. What if it’s not good enough? What if it doesn’t calm her?
So, I look around myself.
And when no one’s looking…
I brush my nose against the stuffed cat’s nose.
Quickly and briefly.
And then I exhale. Yeah, it feels just right. Just like Queenie. Comforting. And I imagine Sofia giving it a nose boop with her cute little button nose. It’s perfect.
Two boys rush past with toy lightsabers. This whole experience is making me feel raw. Exposed.
I sigh. I was never that kid. I didn’t have stuffed animals or bedtime stories.
I had cold streets, colder fists, and brothers who taught me to fight.
But here I am. Buying a stuffed cat for a girl who matters enough to make me want to give her what I never had—to make me want to give her the world.
As we walk, I see a pull-along dog that I think Leon will love, so I get that too. Then I see some plastic pink tiaras, and without a second thought, I grab one for the toy cat and put it on top of her fluffy ears.
I reach the cash desk. “Wrap it.”
“Gift wrapped?” the female cashier asks, startled at my abrupt tone.
I grit my teeth. Remember social niceties, Viktor. “Yes. Uh, please.”
“Sure thing!”
I watch as she wraps it. Then she rings me up, talking loyalty programs and some other shit I have no interest in. I pay cash. Leave fast.
The air is sharp outside.
And I take a breath like I’ve just escaped a torture chamber. I hate the noise, smells, the buzz inside stores. Today was a battle like usual. But lately…it’s been a tiny bit quieter. The anxiety is not gone. But it’s muted.
With Avelina and the kids, the sharp edges dull. I can breathe. I don’t have the words to describe it. But I feel it inside me.
Like I’m finally somewhere I don’t have to fight to exist.
But I shove the thought aside and head to the SUV. Because there’s still a sick cat at the vet—and a little girl waiting at home.
The house is quiet when I step back inside. It’s a much different quiet to what it normally is.
I wander around a few rooms until I find Sofia curled up in the rec room, a weighted blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Avelina sits beside her, holding her hand gently.
Leon is napping on the other sofa, his soft curls falling across his forehead and his cheeks pink with sleep.
Avelina looks up when I walk in, a question in her eyes.
I only told her that I needed to go out on an errand, and I didn’t explain what I had in mind.
I hold the bag up.
Sofia’s gaze flickers, curious but wary.
I approach slowly, silently trying to gauge if she’s too overstimulated for this.
Especially because the stuffed toy will be something new.
She seems okay for now. I kneel beside her and set the bag down.
“Sofia?” I start quietly, not talking too loudly.
“I know it’s not the same, but I thought maybe for now… this could help?”