Chapter 5 Lucian #2
He freezes. Then his mouth splits into a grin so wide it should be illegal. “Oh, my God. Sir Sassafras the Sassy Ass Cat. Lucian, that’s—” Orion doubles over, laughing so hard I half expect Kelsey to come check if he’s dying. “This is the best day of my life.”
I glare at him, deadpan. “I am so glad my humiliation brings you joy.”
Orion’s laugh still fills the room, loud and unrestrained, and between laughs, he says, “You cannot be serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am dead serious,” I mutter.
“His previous owner gave him a fuck ass name, so I’m trying to come up with a nickname he responds to.
He’s three-legged, loud, and smug as hell.
Keeps trying to groom my hair, and he likes trying to impersonate a scarf by draping himself around my shoulders. ”
He’s the first thing I see every morning.
He sprawls across my chest like I’m his personal mattress, purring loud enough to rattle my ribs.
When I leave for therapy, he watches from the window until I come back.
When I sit on the couch, he climbs into my lap, tucks his head under my chin, and falls asleep like it’s his full-time job.
Orion wipes his eyes. “Unbelievable. Lucian Sterling—the guy who once threatened to relocate a neighbor’s yappy dog to another zip code—now spooning a cat with a royal title.”
“I’m not spooning him.”
“Sure, buddy.”
I glare. “He just… sleeps nearby.”
“On your chest?”
I scowl. “He’s twenty pounds, it’s a good core workout.”
Orion grins like he’s won the lottery. “We’re going to have to smuggle Ass.”
That gets a snort out of me before I can stop it. “Come again?”
He smirks. “You heard me. We are going to have to smuggle Sir Sassafras the Sassy Ass Cat. TSA’s not ready for that kind of royalty.”
“Yeah, great. Let’s add felony animal trafficking to my recovery milestones.”
He chuckles. “Relax. We’ll get him a carrier. Emotional support cats fly free, right?”
“Pretty sure that’s a myth.”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. The idea of traveling still knots something tight in my chest. Flying. Crowds. Music. Her. Every part of it feels like a bruise I haven’t stopped poking.
But Orion’s still watching me the way he did when I was stuck halfway between fury and fear after the accident. And for once, I can’t tell if he’s dragging me back into the world or just refusing to let me sink. Maybe both.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But if he freaks out on the plane, I’m blaming you, and you have to deal with him.”
Orion grins. “Please. I bet he is calmer than you are.”
He’s not wrong. Sir Sassafras has the emotional stability of a monk. Meanwhile, I’m a car crash wearing shoes.
We say our goodbyes and go our separate ways as I try to figure out our next steps.
Once I get to my truck, I sit there for a while, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel.
The air inside is still and heavy, somehow settling in my chest and making it hard to breathe.
I’ve been thinking about what Orion said since he left, what I feel every morning when I wake to my damn cat sleeping on my chest, like I am something worth curling up next to.
The idea still feels foreign. Being worth anything.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and hit the call button. My therapist answers on the second ring.
“Lucian?”
“Yeah. Sorry to call out of the blue.” I shift in my seat. “I just—uh—I needed to check on something.”
He hums, that patient tone that says take your time, I’ve got all day.
I sigh, leaning back in the seat. “I’m gonna be traveling soon. My buddy roped me into a trip to Nashville, and I… don’t know if I can pull it off.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat to encourage me to continue my thought.
“And,” I add quickly, because if I stop, there is a good chance I’ll lose my nerve, “I got a cat.”
Another pause. “You have a cat?”
“Yeah.” The word feels heavy in my mouth. “He has three legs, and he’s a very vocal cat. He’s sweet as hell, but he’s kind of attached, and I can’t just leave him with a sitter. I was wondering if you could help me make him—what’s it called—an emotional support animal or whatever.”
“That’s actually a great idea,” he says, not missing a beat. “Do you have his name and your travel dates?”
I hesitate. “His name is… Sir Sassafras the Sassy Ass Cat,” I add flatly, because it’s better to rip off the Band-Aid now.
To his credit, the man doesn’t laugh. Not out loud, anyway. “I see. A very regal name.”
“He came with it,” I mutter. “I tried to change it, but he didn’t like any of the nicknames I used.”
That admission hangs there for a second. I can practically hear my therapist smiling on the other end of the line.
“I can take care of the paperwork tonight,” he says gently. “Send me your travel details, and I’ll have everything ready before your flight. You’ll be set.”
I swallow, throat tight. “Thanks,” I say, as I stare out the windshield at nothing. “Don’t get sentimental, though. I still hate people.”
He chuckles. “Hating people is not the same as isolating yourself from recovery. This—traveling, seeing people, taking responsibility for an animal who clearly brings you comfort—is a big step. You’ve made more progress in the last month than I’ve seen since the accident.
And whether you admit it or not, this isn’t just about music.
You’re reconnecting with things that bring you joy, and that’s what matters. ”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “Appreciate it.”
“Lucian?”
“Yeah?”
“When you put yourself out there, you need to remember, you don’t have to be fine. You just have to keep going.”
The line clicks dead, and the cab goes quiet again.
I sit there, staring at the empty seat beside me, my reflection faint in the windshield. For a second, I imagine Sir Sass sitting there, watching me with those big eyes that always seem to see straight through the armor.
“Guess he’s official now,” I murmur.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can almost hear his tiny chirp of a meow—warm, smug, and forgiving.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence doesn’t feel empty. It just feels… still.