Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Savannah
We’re driving home from the ballpark—I took a rideshare to the game so I could spend my time in the car reading—when Brayden declares that we need to make a stop.
“What’s even open now—” I begin, then cut myself off. Liquor stores here are open for another hour. We have whiskey at home. We’re married but we’re not really married and if he wants to drink…he just can, I guess.
So I don’t say anything as Brayden pulls into a shopping center and parks three spaces away from every other car. He digs out his wallet from his front pocket. “Here.” He hoists a credit card between two fingers. “Get whatever.”
“Whatever…?” I ask.
He peers out the windshield at one of the stores, a giant pet supply depot. “You like cats, right?”
I try to reign in my confusion. “Yeah?”
“So go get a cat.” He says it like it’s obvious, like I’m the one who’s acting weird.
“I do want a cat. From a shelter, not some kind of kitten mill.”
“They work with a local animal rescue.” Brayden shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I checked the other night. I was bored.”
So you decided to see about getting me a cat? But I unlatch the door handle. Brayden stays put. “You’re not coming in?” I ask. “I thought we were supposed to do couple stuff in public.”
He blinks a few times as if he’s surprised that he’s invited, then pops the lock on the door. Once we’re both out of his truck, he extends his hand to me, the way he did when we were dancing. There’s no one else around—few cars, even fewer shoppers. We don’t really need to pretend.
Still, I take his hand. Walk with him toward the store, pausing outside to get a cart from a line of them when Brayden intercedes. “I got this.” And he takes the cart from me.
Inside, the store is overly bright. We navigate our way through various aisles that sell pet food and toys and beds until we get to a neat row of kennels containing various animals.
The dogs all seem happy to see us—a few put their paws up on the metal wires of their kennel and bark happily—but most of the cats don’t even budge.
An attendant comes over. She has green hair, a clipboard, and a lanyard full of animal-lover pins.
Her name badge reads Suzanne. “Can I introduce you to a new dog or cat companion?” she asks before she seems to register who Brayden is and almost swallows her tongue.
“Oh! You’re—” Then her face scrunches. “I thought you were in Boston.”
Brayden’s hands go tight on the cart handle. His mouth pulls into the approximation of a smile—one entirely different from his real one. “That’s Blake,” he says tightly. “He’s the one who left for Boston.” His voice cuts a little on left.
Suzanne steps back. “Uh, sorry about—”
“I’m gonna wait in the car.” Brayden slides the cart toward me and flips his credit card into it. “Get anything you want.”
I consider all the ways Brayden might get up to trouble in a strip mall with nothing more than a pet store, a closed bank, and a shuttered bakery. “Be good.”
“I won’t.” And he stalks off, leaving me to wonder what I’ll come back to—or if he’s even going to be there at all.
It takes two trips to bring everything out. First, I push the overloaded cart through the parking lot. Okay, the truck’s still there, though it’s too dark to tell if Brayden’s still in it.
When I finally get the cart up to the vehicle, Brayden jumps out and takes over for the last five feet. “You could’ve texted,” he says.
“I got it.” Even if I’m breathing hard.
“You shouldn’t hurt your—” He waves toward my face. “You know.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but if he wants to push the cart, I won’t complain.
He examines the cart’s contents. “No cat?”
“You think I got cat food and no cat?”
“I wasn’t sure.” He shrugs a little helplessly.
Something in the gesture makes me want to kiss him. A kiss just for being here and not having left. For apparently just sulking rather than going to get a drink. There’s no one else around the parking lot—no one I can use an excuse to hug him as they snap a photo. “Wait here.”
I go back to the store where Suzanne is holding the pet carrier. “You take care of this little one, and she’ll take care of you,” she says.
“I promise I will.” Though it takes two tugs of Suzanne’s arm to get her to let go of the handle.
The carrier is almost weightless as I transport it across the pavement.
Tiny mews echo from inside. “Shh, Baby.” She needs a better name.
That’s something Brayden and I should do together.
That’s a couple thing, right? When I get back to the car, the back is loaded, neatly, and Brayden is leaning on the bumper.
He eyes the pet carrier I’m holding, the smallest size they had. “Can a cat even fit in there?”
I hold up the carrier; Baby gives another mew.
Brayden frowns, then sneezes, then sneezes again.
Oh no. “Are you allergic to cats?” I ask.
His shoulders go stiff. “Wasn’t allowed to have allergies.”
“That doesn’t even—” I cut myself off before I can say make sense. I’ve met Brad and Barb. That makes sense for them. “So you’re not allergic?”
He peers more closely at the carrier. “Don’t think so?”
“Here, let me take her out in the truck.” We pile into the rear cab of his pickup, shutting the doors.
Carefully, I open the front gate of the carrier.
Baby has huddled herself against one of the walls.
She trembles faintly against my hand. “I think she just needs a moment to adjust.” Doesn’t everyone.
After a minute, she calms down enough that I can scoop her up and draw her out, her tiny kitten claws against my hand—not like she’s angry but like she wants to make sure I don’t let go.
When I finally get her out and settled in my lap, Brayden’s eyebrows creep toward his hairline. He examines the cat’s ears—a little too big—and her eyes—a little too small—and the tufts of her grayish fur. “Really?” he says.
I cradle a hand around her defensively. “It’s not like anyone else was going to adopt her.” She seemed so forlorn inside her little pen. I didn't want to know what would happen if no one took her home. “You said I could get whatever I want, and Baby is what I want.”
“Baby?” he asks.
“That’s what her name card said. We can call her something else.”
He extends a finger cautiously toward Baby as if he’s never patted a cat before. Before I can say give her some time to smell you, Baby takes a swipe at him, her tiny needle of a claw drawing blood.
Brayden snatches his hand back, swears, sucks the cut, and dumps on a little bit of hand sanitizer I give him from the bottle in my purse. “Name her whatever you want. I don’t care. She’s your cat.”
He opens the door—faster than I can tell him not to in case Baby escapes—and shuts it just as fast, then puts the truck in gear. I slide Baby back into her carrier, then latch it, before buckling a seatbelt around it.
“Are you gonna sit up front?” Brayden asks.
“Are you gonna act like an asshole?” I fire back.
He mutters something that sounds I’m trying not to before we ride back to the house in silence.
When we arrive, I carry Baby upstairs, get her a litter box set up in the spare bathroom no one uses, set her food bowl in the kitchen, then unpack her toys in my room.
When I open her carrier up, she comes out cautiously.
In the half-light of my room, her eyes are luminous.
She’s cautious as she explores my bedspread, paws making tiny biscuits as she kneads the blanket.
She purrs—so faintly at first that I almost don’t hear it, then louder and louder.
I snap a picture and send it to Victoria.
Snap another and send it to the Morningside group chat.
Forrest and Katia send back little hearts.
I should just leave it at that. I have papers to read.
I feel like I’m never gonna not have papers to read.
Instead, I start a new text. Type and hit send before I can stop myself.
Me: look at my new cat [picture]
Asher: that’s an ugly cat
Me: she’s perfect, right???
Asher: So when do I get to meet your perfect, ugly cat?
That’s what a friend would ask…right? Asher and I are friends. Just friends. He gave me a ride. Brought me back my shoe. Nothing about this situation is inappropriate. Still, I changed his name in my phone to AA, just in case Brayden decides to snoop.
That would require him noticing anything about me.
Though he seemed to notice when he found me and Asher in that bridal room at the party.
Noticed enough to get angry. Noticed enough that he didn’t notice me spying on them from the bathroom when I cracked the door after I finished changing.
Surely that wasn’t jealousy, even if his jaw went stiff, his hands balled into fists.
Asher pressed him into the wall—hard. Brayden shoved his finger into Asher’s chest. Told him to stay the hell away from me.
Like a real husband would if a teammate started showing interest where he shouldn’t.
Except Brayden isn’t really my husband, and he doesn’t get a say over what I do.
Our agreement says I can’t sleep around.
It doesn’t say I can’t have friends, even male friends.
Even friends Brayden told specifically to stay away from me.
Especially ones Brayden told specifically to stay away from me.
Brayden isn’t my husband any way but legally. He’s my boss, and your boss doesn’t say who you can and can’t be friends with.
I still haven’t answered Asher. So I grab my phone and type.
Me: the cat would love to meet you