45. Cat-astrophe
cat-astrophe
. . .
Cade
“Wait here,” I ordered, setting Ellie on her feet and hoping she’d listen for once in her life while I made for the door.
She followed hot on my heels instead. “‘Wait here’? No way! I’m coming with you.”
We burst into the corridor, where emergency lights flashed along the ceiling, washing everything in a crimson glow.
Ellie sucked in a breath.
“Whiskey’s gone!” she cried, head whipping frantically down both directions of the corridor. “Either the alarm frightened him, or he went looking for Mac. I need to find him.”
“Come on.” I took her wrist and pulled her toward the nearest staircase, remembering all the emergency procedures Grandfather had drilled into me. “We need to get to the main deck first.”
Ellie stuck to my side like glue, and we reached the deck just as the alarm cut off, leaving my ears ringing.
The yacht had plenty of lighting—rivaling the stars—but we were surrounded by the inky black surface of water. Darkness stretched for miles on all sides.
Crew swarmed the deck in a flurry of motion, shouting orders.
Other guests had already gathered near the port-side railing.
I spotted Madison and Piper first, both clinging to each other next to a frazzled Lovejoy.
A quick head count showed no sign of Harrison, Vlad, Candace, Fletcher, or my mother.
The last one didn’t sit well with me with the man overboard alarm. My mother might actually be dramatic enough to jump off her balcony for attention. She’d done similar theatrics before.
A cry of relief left Ellie. “There’s Whiskey!”
She darted past me and most of the group to reach my grandfather—who held Whiskey in his arms like a newborn baby. He doted on the cat with a warm smile, making me squint.
Since when did he tolerate pets, let alone coddle them? The man had never allowed me and Harrison so much as a hamster as kids.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re all right.” Ellie scrunched Whiskey’s face and smothered him with kisses. “I was so worried about you. Is he okay?”
Grandfather let Whiskey paw at his hand. “He’s doing just fine. And what a dashing life vest he’s wearing.”
I stared at the man I no longer recognized. He liked the cat’s outfit?
While Ellie gave Whiskey even more kisses and head scratches, my grandfather rubbed the cat’s fluffy belly. “You just missed the show. They already fished the schmuck out.”
“Schmuck?” I frowned, glancing over the railing. No sign of any people or flotation devices or rescue boats. “Who went over?”
“The preppy one who uses too much hair gel. Sounds like he had a few too many drinks.”
Fletcher.
I sighed. “How bad was it?”
“He’ll be fine,” Grandfather dismissed, seemingly more interested in the cat. “Harry and the Russian already went to the lower deck to retrieve him.”
My shoulders loosened immediately, but the relief was short-lived because, with the emergency over, I became all too aware of Ellie wearing just her tiny black lingerie. It’d made my grandfather’s brows rise, and garnered other lingering glances from the crew.
Ellie couldn’t seem to care less—every ounce of her attention was on Whiskey—but I should’ve grabbed her a jacket when we raced out of the room. I couldn’t even offer her my shirt because I wasn’t wearing one.
Looking almost comical in a huge fluffy white robe and matching slippers, Mac strolled over while Ellie rained more kisses on Whiskey. He rubbed his face like the alarm had interrupted a nice nap—or maybe a bubble bath. But my eyes caught on his robe.
I reached for his sleeve. “Give me this.”
Mac yanked his arm back, scowling. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Get your own robe.”
“Hand it over, Mac.”
“Dude, no way. I’m only wearing boxers under this—”
“Mac.” I looked pointedly at Ellie’s tiny little slip, then did a double take. She was so distracted petting Whiskey, she hadn’t noticed that lifting her arms raised the whole thing higher up her body, showing off the bottom of her ass.
I swallowed a groan and held out a hand to Mac.
He muttered a few curse words under his breath.
“You owe me,” he grumbled, glaring daggers at me while he shrugged off the robe—leaving himself in a pair of tiger print boxer shorts two sizes too small. “I hate you so much right now.”
I took the robe and wrapped it around Ellie’s shoulders.
“Oh!” She stopped petting Whiskey long enough to put her arms through the sleeves and tie the belt at her waist. She gave a grateful smile, cheeks turning pink. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize what I was wearing.”
I nodded as she ran her hands over the soft fabric, and Mac’s scowled deepened. He crossed his arms over his hairy chest, left in just his teeny tiny boxer shorts.
“It wasn’t my fault!” an angry voice yelled over the crowd, pulling everyone’s attention to the stairs. Vlad and Harrison supported a soaking wet and spitting mad Fletcher, his arms slung over their shoulders.
A few too many drinks was an understatement. He was hammered.
Harrison muttered something to Fletcher, who scoffed.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t fall—” His gaze darted around at everyone before locking in, and Fletcher pointed in our direction. “That dumb cat tripped me on purpose!”
Ellie sucked in a breath.
“Whiskey is not dumb,” she called to Fletcher, who scowled.
“He’s the stupidest creature I’ve ever met. He walked into a wall before he tripped me.”
Ellie bristled. “He’s going blind and struggles more at night, you big bully—”
“Ignore him.” I caught her wrist before she could launch herself at Fletcher.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She tried to shrug out of my hold, but I held tight. “No one talks about my cat like that.”
Fletcher pushed away from Harrison and Vlad, stumbling forward.
“Your little blind angel destroyed my Rolex,” he spat. “He’s a pest that should be put down.”
Ellie gasped, going deadly still in front of me, while Lovejoy stepped forward with a nervous laugh. She lifted her hands placatingly. “Why don’t we all just take a moment to practice our breathing exercises together?”
But Ellie’s breathing was picking up, and she spluttered—too angry to form words.
“Fletch, go take a walk,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. I wanted to deck him myself. “Now.”
He jerked his head back, nostrils flaring. “You’re taking the cat’s side, too? This is so dumb. I’m done with you all.”
He scowled as he stumbled past us, dripping salt water onto the deck on his way to the door. I exhaled, just happy he was leaving—until he caught sight of Whiskey in Grandfather’s arms and froze midstep, glaring daggers. “What are you looking at, you stupid little shit?”
Whiskey wiggled until he escaped my grandfather, then jumped down and trotted toward Ellie, but Fletcher wasn’t done. He faked a lunge forward, making Whiskey freeze and arch his back, hissing at Fletcher.
“Stop taunting him,” Ellie demanded with her own far-less-intimidating scowl. She tugged her wrist free from me so she could crouch, holding her arms out for Whiskey. “If anything, you should be apologizing to Whiskey.”
“Are you mental?” Fletcher moved closer to the cat, who let out a low hiss. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“Fletch,” I warned evenly, only to be ignored.
He struck quickly—yanking Whiskey up by the scruff of his neck, earning a cry from Ellie as she jumped forward—before swinging the cat back and hurling him over the railing.
Time slowed, and we all watched in horror as the cat soared through the air, paws outstretched and tail straight as an arrow, before hitting the dark water with a minuscule splash.
“Whiskey!” Ellie’s scream made my blood run cold. She lurched toward the railing, but I grabbed the back of her robe and bunched the cotton in my fist.
Ellie couldn’t swim, but she’d jump in after Whiskey in a heartbeat.
And no way in hell would I let that happen.
I moved before I could think—pushing Ellie toward the man behind me. “Mac, keep her safe.”
Not waiting for a response, I ran and leapt over the railing, launching into a practiced dive toward the dark water.
It was a stupid move. Moronic, even. Amateur hour at its finest. Anyone with even a crumb of swimming experience knew not to jump into unknown waters at night.
Yet here I was, throwing every safety rule out the window to save a fucking cat who didn’t even like me.