Chapter 18
SCOTT
Two months later, life with Holly has gotten even better.
Her aunt finally came home, and to say I won her over with my charm and handiness with a toolbox would be an understatement.
After working through her list of small things that needed fixed around the house, Holly and I decided to get our own place closer to the arena.
We also decided to move from friends to lovers to boyfriend and girlfriend. The status suits us, for now, although I’m already planning an eventual popping of the question in a way befitting my gorgeous woman.
Winston’s TV show wrapped up filming just before Thanksgiving, but after the holidays he’ll have two movies to work on. Between my hockey games and Winston’s demanding filming schedule, Holly and I vowed to make this relationship work. Even if it means we rack up a lot of air miles in the process.
Interestingly, Winston’s been too busy to torment me. The reason? Duchess. What a stroke of genius that was on my part. Ever since I brought her home, Winston has been obsessed—following her around, grooming her, curling up like he finally has someone else to rule besides Holly.
It’s been the best two months of my life. Peaceful evenings. Quiet mornings waking up with Holly’s sexy body beside me.
I’m in the kitchen making my protein shake when she sets her travel bag on the counter, sighing. “I hate to leave you like this, hotshot, but it’s only a couple of days. Are you sure you can handle Winston and Duchess while I’m gone?”
Her mother is having a face peel tomorrow, whatever that is, and asked if Holly would be there for a few days in Denver to help her recover.
And since she’s allergic to cats, that means I get cat duty.
I’ll be responsible for the entire cat schedule, which has gotten even more convoluted with Duchess added in.
Good thing the team has a bye week because I’ll be one busy, er, cat dad.
I give her my cockiest grin. “Baby, I play hockey in front of thousands. Two cats? Please. I’ve got this.”
She arches a brow, but her smile softens. “Okay. Just don’t let Winston trick you. He’s clever.”
“Don’t I know it? Go. I’ll be fine.”
She kisses me goodbye, long and sweet, then takes off, leaving me king of the castle—or at least at the beck and call of two finicky felines.
I go about my day, starting with cleaning my hockey gear.
They need a good scrub. I put them in the tub to soak and then decide to wash our bed linens.
Around the little house we’re renting, I have a list of things I’d like to do as a surprise for when Holly returns.
Shelves she’s mentioned wanting installed in the bathroom.
A pretty patterned wallpaper she picked out for her office, and such.
A few hours later, I move into our bedroom to put the fresh sheets on, only to find Duchess yowling on top of the mattress. Her body is elongated, tail between her legs, and the way she groans, something is off.
I go to move her, and she growls. That’s not like her. In fact, we’ve come to learn that I’m her person, much to Winston’s dismay. Nightly, while watching TV, I can count on her coming to lie on my lap. Winston prefers Holly’s lap, and somehow the entire situation works for us.
I check the time. “I get it. You must be hungry. Right. I need to keep on top of the schedule Holly has you both on. Come on. To the kitchen.”
I no sooner reach for the fancy cat food when I hear a sound that makes me freeze. Not Winston’s usual growl. Not the thump of him knocking something off of a shelf just because he can. But a low, guttural yowl sounding too much like worry, coming from the bedroom.
I rush back in and find Duchess sprawled there, sides heaving, eyes wide. Winston circles her like a guard, tail puffed, gaze flicking to me with something that almost looks like pleading.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Is she dying?
Duchess lets out another cry, and strains her body, her back end opening up. Something is coming out of… there. Something bigger than just a typical litter box dump.
Realization slams into me.
She’s in labor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” How did we miss the signals? Holly took her to the vet early on and no mention of kittens in her belly. I quickly Google how long a cat can be pregnant and learn they only have a two months gestation instead of nine.
Of course, Duchess’ labor day would happen to be the day Holly leaves.
I grab my phone, fumbling. “Okay. Don’t panic.” I’m the one panicking.
Winston growls low, like a coach demanding I get my ass in gear.
I kneel by the bed, phone wedged to my ear, trying to remember everything I’ve ever heard about cats giving birth. Which is exactly nothing.
“Breathe, Duch,” I soothe, as if she understands me. “You’ve got this. Easy peasy. Just like… um… a shootout. One puck at a time.”
She yowls louder. Winston shoots me a look sharp enough to cut glass.
Finally, Holly picks up on the other end. “Scott? I just landed. Everything okay?”
“Define okay.” A bead of sweat runs down my forehead. “I think Duchess is in labor.” I explain everything I’m seeing and hearing.
There’s a squeal, followed by frantic noise on her end. “What? Oh, my god! She is? Scott, listen—don’t touch her unless she needs help. Keep her warm and quiet. Winston will stay with her. Cats know what to do on instinct.”
“Holly, breathe. She’s doing fine. Winston’s standing guard like a celebrity security detail. And me? I’m cheering her on.” I chuckle nervously and glance at the pair, Duchess panting, Winston glaring. “Honestly, it’s the weirdest team huddle I’ve ever been in.”
“I should take the next flight back home.”
“No, really, it’ll be fine. Your mom needs you.”
Holly chortles. “Okay, if you’re sure, I trust you. Just be gentle. And call me the second the kittens arrive. Send a million pics. I wish I could see this.”
Her faith steadies me more than I expect. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got this covered. I’ll take care of the little family.”
“Our growing little family. I love you, hotshot.”
My breath catches at the unmistakable feelings in her voice. With these words I’ve never said to any woman other than my mother in my life. Now I want to say them back to Holly. I want to say it and mean it. Jeez, I almost tear up as my heart fills with warmth.
“I love you too, baby.”
“We did it. We really said it,” she chuckles. My grin can’t be contained, sitting on my face like a dopey, lovesick schoolboy. Of course, Winston growls, trying to ruin the moment.
“We did. Oh, shit—” Duchess bears down. I realize this is it. “The first kitten is coming. I gotta go. I’ll send photos. Love you, bye.”
When I hang up, I settle on the end of the bed and watch, with Winston at my side, both of us in a daze of awe and terror. For once, the cat and I share a look and probably the same thought: this is bigger than both of us.