24. Chapter 24
Henrik
“A re you sure this is appropriate?”
“Of course,” Mal says, brushing my arm and squeezing reassuringly. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I thought it’d be a problem.”
“But isn’t there paperwork I have to fill out or an interview to complete or—”
“Henrik.” Mal laughs. “It’s just volunteering with cats. I’m sure Keith will have a form for you to sign, but you don’t need to worry. He’s always happy to have more help.”
I blow out a breath. “Okay.”
He rubs my arm again. “I’m not used to seeing you outside the house without a full, pressed suit.”
“Yes, well,” I say, smoothing my palm over my jean-clad thigh, “I didn’t think that would be appropriate where we were going.”
“Definitely not,” he replies, laughing again. “Although I miss the gray sweats.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” I breathe out. “Happy to.”
And I mean it. I want to know more about Mal. I want to be a part of the things that make him happy. I’m thrilled he invited me along in the first place.
We need to have a conversation. Soon. Once I can muster up the nerve.
“We’re here,” Charles says from up front.
I extend my cane, waiting as Charles rounds the Mercedes to open the door for me, ensuring a clear exit. Once on the curb, Mal takes my arm.
“I’ll call when we’re ready,” I let my driver know.
“I’ll be waiting, Mr. Larsen,” Charles replies.
The car door shuts, and as Charles drives away, Mal leads me forward. A bell jingles overhead as we pass into the shelter, and immediately, the smells of cat dander and astringent cleaning agents assault my nose.
“Well hey there, Mal. I see you brought company today,” a man says, his voice deep and gravelly. He steps closer, his gait slightly uneven, as if he has an injured leg.
“Hey, Keith,” Mal replies, keeping his hand on my arm. “This is my friend, Henrik. He’s here to volunteer with me today.”
I try not to let the friend label get to me. I understand why Mal wouldn’t want to disclose the nature of our relationship, even using the boyfriend ruse, out in the real world. It shouldn’t hurt.
Shouldn’t being the key word.
“All right,” Keith says, his tone laced with curiosity. “Nice to meet you, Henrik.”
I hold my hand out on autopilot, and Keith gives me a shake, his grip firm but not aggressively so.
“Likewise,” I reply. “Mal has told me a lot about this place.”
“Is that so?” Keith says. “Well, c’mon. Let’s get you squared away.”
Mal gives my arm a little squeeze, and I follow him over to a chair, which he all but plops me into.
“I’ll read you the form, okay?” Mal asks.
I nod, lips twitching into a smile as Mal sidles up next to me, his leg pressed against mine as he goes over the volunteer waiver for Catty Commotions. When he’s done, I sign where indicated.
“Looks like you two are ready to go,” Keith says. “Mal, I assume you’ll show Henrik the ropes?”
“Yep. We’ll stick together,” Mal replies.
Keith chuckles. “I’m sure you will. And those kittens of yours, they doing all right?”
“They’re good,” Mal says. “They’ll probably be healthy enough to rehome soon.”
I frown at that, but Keith is the first one to speak. “Heh. We’ll see about that.”
“Keith,” Mal says quietly, almost a warning.
“Right, right,” Keith replies. “Well, get on back there. Stella will be glad to see you.”
“Stella?” I ask as Mal gives me a little tug. I follow him further into the building.
“The oldest resident. She’s been here for years,” Mal says, leading me around a corner. The noise is louder here, numerous cats meowing.
“That’s sad,” I note.
Mal hums. “It’s the way it is. This is a cruelty-free shelter, though, so cats don’t get put down just because no one wants them.”
I frown again—not really having considered what happens to animals who don’t find homes—but Mal makes a happy noise as a door swings open, and I’m distracted away from that unsettling thought.
The chorus of mews intensifies inside the room, and Mal helps me navigate forward, chuckling slightly at whatever the cats are getting up to.
I shuffle slowly, not wanting to step on any number of tiny toes attached to the felines brushing against my legs, and when Mal comes to a stop, I collapse my cane.
“Hello, beautifuls,” Mal says lightly, greeting the room.
He sinks down and gives me a little tug, and, carefully, I follow him to the floor. As soon as my ass hits the ground, little paws start inching up my legs. I hold out my hands, letting the cats sniff and rub all over me, and Mal chuckles.
“I knew they’d love you,” he says.
“Is that so?”
“Mhm. You’re good with the kittens at ho—at your penthouse, too,” Mal says.
“They still need names,” I point out gently.
Mal makes a soft sound before clicking his tongue. “Come on, Stella girl. Come get your rubs out.” He shifts slightly, pressing against my side from shoulder to hip, before grabbing my hand and pulling it over to the cat in his lap. “This is Stella.”
I rub over her soft fur, feeling the rumble of her purr under my fingertips. “Why has no one adopted her?”
Mal shrugs, his shoulder jostling mine. “She’s older. Maybe fourteen or so? It’s hard to tell for sure. Most people want young cats or kittens.”
“She seems sweet,” I point out as Stella rubs her bristly whiskered cheek against the back of my hand.
“She is.” Mal is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Your family was shocked about the kittens.”
I chuckle. “No doubt. I’ve never been an animal person.”
“You seem like one to me,” he says, his hand brushing mine over Stella.
“Maybe I just needed the right person to bring me around.”
Mal is quiet for a moment, and I’m unsure how to take his silence, but then he says, “I really liked them. Your family.”
I hum. “They liked you, too.”
Wouldn’t stop talking about him, in fact, even after their weekend visit was over. I had to listen to Alma wax poetic for a solid fifteen minutes the other day when she called.
“Did they really?” Mal asks a little tentatively.
I nod. “They adored you.”
Like I do .
“They seem to really love you,” he says quietly, and my heart clenches.
“Mal…” I shift my hand from Stella over to Mal’s knee, squeezing gently, and he blows out a quiet breath. “Did you have anyone before?”
He understands what I’m asking. “No, it was always just me and my mom. And she never accepted me. Being gay, I mean.”
He told me as much, of course, but the idea of Mal being so alone digs at me. I keep my hand on his knee as he pets Stella. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, as if applying less weight to the matter makes it more palatable. “I haven’t seen her in a very long time. And, hopefully, I won’t ever have to again.”
“Yet you pay for her care. Why?” I have to ask.
Mal sighs, his fingers continuing to stroke Stella’s fur. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly. “I think I felt like if I didn’t show her the minimum amount of respect she deserves as a human being, then I’d be no better than she was to me. I didn’t want to be a monster.”
“Mal.” I turn my body, finding Mal’s arm and trailing it to his neck, grasping there lightly, fingertips in his hair. “You could never be a monster. Never.”
He lets out a shuddering breath I can hear as much as feel.
“She was a bad person, Henrik. A bad person hiding behind her faith. And now…she barely remembers it. And I hate that, even though I feel guilty even thinking it. I hate that she gets to forget. I hate that she’s still fucking with my life, and she doesn’t even know it. ”
My throat is tight as I lean forward and sink my face against the side of Mal’s head. He, of course, smells like coconut, and I wish it could comfort me this time, but the chasm in my gut remains, wide open and sore from the sheer hurt residing in each of Mal’s words.
“Did she abuse you?” I ask.
He leans more of his weight against me, grabbing one of my hands and tugging it around his body like a life preserver. “My psychiatrist would say yes, but it never felt like that exactly. Not at the time. She never hit me.”
“What’d she do?” I ask quietly.
“She…scared me. She made it clear I wasn’t allowed to be gay.
That it was a choice. A sin. And she held it over me like a threat, all the time.
That if I wasn’t a good, straight boy, she’d send me back to—” His words cut into a choked sort of sob, and I hold him tighter.
“I can’t, Henrik. I can’t talk about it right now. ”
“All right,” I say gently, kissing the side of Mal’s head. I’m desperate to know what happened in Mal’s past, but I won’t push him. “All right.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles.
We’re both quiet for a moment, the only sound keeping us company the gentle purring and occasional meow of the cats around us.
“Just so you know, Mal,” I say cautiously, slowly, “you don’t have to be okay around me. You don’t have to hide your pain. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I know, Hen,” he says softly. “I know that. It’s what makes this so easy.”
He sniffs as my heart beats roughly, a loud crescendo in my body and my mind. But then Mal shifts back slightly, dislodging my arms from around him.
“Let’s talk more about your family,” he says. “Your parents always accepted your sister?”
I nod, clearing my throat, as another furry head bounces against my hand. “They did. They’ve always been supportive in just about everything we do. I don’t think I appreciated that as much as I could have.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice a little more even now. If the distraction helps, I’ll talk all day.
“When I was nineteen, during my freshman year of college, I found out about my Retinitis Pigmentosa. I was staying up late, studying like mad for my finals week, and there was this almost blurry spot in my vision, or, like…this missing piece of info, off to the side. I figured it was fatigue, but it didn’t go away, even after my exams were over. ”
I pause, petting another cat vying for my attention.
“When I went to the doctor and received my diagnosis, my parents went supernova. They were determined to find out every single thing they could to help me. But I knew it was out of my control. I’d lose some or all of my vision over time, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. ”
“I can’t blame them,” Mal says softly.
“No, I can’t either. Not now. But back then? I did. I just wanted to live my life, and I was determined not to let my impending blindness change the course I’d set out for myself. All they wanted was to coddle me, and I didn’t take that well.”
Mal’s hand bumps into mine, and he steals it away from the cats, twining his fingers with my own.
“In the end, it took nearly twenty years for the disease to progress to full vision loss,” I tell him. “My rods went first—my peripheral vision—and then my cones. And here we are.”
“I think,” Mal says slowly, twisting my hand, toying with the digits, “your parents are very proud of you.”
My lips quirk into a smile. “Yeah, I think they are.”
Mal gives my hand a squeeze before disentangling us. “I’m going to start cleaning up. You can stay here and act as a scratching post.”
I chuckle lightly, spreading my legs out in front of me and jolting slightly when a wet nose brushes my cheek.
“I would’ve liked to see ‘college Henrik,’” Mal says from across the room. “I bet you were hot, all buttoned-up and smart but rocking the mysterious stoic-guy vibes.”
I quirk a brow. “Is that how you see me now? Except old?”
“You’re not old ,” he says in exasperation, making me chuckle again.
“Did you go to college?” I ask.
“Mm. No.” He starts scooping some litter. “I was just focused on getting out of Iowa.”
“Iowa, that’s where you’re from?”
“Yeah. I worked a lot of entry-level jobs after high school. Food service, retail, telemarketing once. Trying to make enough to get by. To move on,” he says, the last few words almost too quiet to hear.
“Well, I’m glad you ended up here,” I say.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He makes a pleased sound, and I can’t help but wonder what Mal would be doing if he weren’t so driven by money. If he wasn’t in survival mode just to make ends meet.
“What would you do?” I ask, voicing my thought. “If you could pick. What’s your dream job?”
Mal is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought much about it. I guess, maybe, something like this.”
That chasm inside me breaks open a little more, warm and aching.
If Mal could choose anything, he’d want this. Being among the animals that keep him calm. Caring for them. Helping them.
How could Mal possibly think himself capable of being a monster?
“Maybe someday, you could have that,” I say softly.
“Maybe,” he mutters, not sounding the least bit convinced.
I want to convince him. I want to tell him I’ll help make his dreams come true. I want to tell him I’ll care for him through good and bad. That I want him to stay. That I don’t want him to be my escort any longer.
I desperately want to believe I have a chance with this beautiful, vibrant, hurt man.
But I’m terrified the moment I reveal the truth, I’ll find myself more alone than ever before.