Page 14 of Interference

“They can’t while they’re working, but they need it.” He turned to me. “They’re still social animals, you know? And sometimes I don’t think she knows the difference between cats and dogs, so this”—he indicated his dog with his coffee cup—“is great for her.”

“It’s probably good for them, too.”

“Yeah?”

I sipped my coffee and put the cup down on the end table. “I walk them a lot, so they see dogs all the time. I don’t want them to be too friendly, especially with strange dogs, but it’s good for them to be comfortable around them.”

Wyatt nodded, and the corner of his mouth curled slightly. “So you actually walk them? The leashes aren’t just to take them to the vet?”

“Oh, yeah. They both love being outside. I don’t let them roam outdoors, but I take them hiking, or we walk on some of the local trails.”

“That must turn heads.”

“To say the least.” I chuckled as I watched Bear and Lily playing while Moose scowled down at them. “There was one time I was out with them and my boyfriend, and these two teenagers just went nuts over them. Taking pictures, petting them, the works. And like, the whole time, we were standing there wondering if they realized who we were because one of them was literally wearing Simon’s jersey.”

Wyatt cocked his head. “His jersey? What do you mean?”

“Oh.” My face heated for some reason. “He and I…” I tilted my coffee cup toward the framed photos behind him.

Brow furrowed, he turned around. His spine straightened, and when he faced me again, his eyes were wide. “Wait, you’re a hockey player? Like, a pro?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We both play for the Bobcats.”

“Ooh.” His gaze swept around the room, and I suspected some pieces were clicking together. “Wow. I had kind of guessed you were a tech guy or something.”

Shaking my head, I laughed. “Oh God, no. I’m lucky I can work my iPhone.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Yeah, I know how that goes.” His gaze drifted to our pets. Lily was staring out the window, and Bear was trying to bat her ear again. Much to his frustration, though, it was just out of his long reach. In that situation, Moose would’ve figured out that if he got up and moved closer, the problem would be solved. Bear… Well, this was the same cat who’d lost a treat under his own paw earlier this evening, so I wasn’t surprised he couldn’t figure out this puzzle.

Was that really today? It felt like years ago that I’d been in the exam room with Dr. Green, unaware of Wyatt’s existence at all.

Now he was here in my house with his dog. Intellectually, I knew it was a bizarre scenario, and it should’ve been surreal and maybe even unsettling how easily this man had gone from a stranger to a houseguest. But as I sat here drinking coffee with Wyatt while our pets hung out, it made sense. Of course he was here. Of course Bear was trying to get Lily to play with him.

I wasn’t sure if that made sense, but there it was.

Unaware of my thoughts, Wyatt said, “So people really notice your cats but don’t recognize either of you?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Especially if it’s just one of us. If we’re together and someone is familiar with the team, they’ll usually catch on sooner or later.” I shrugged. “If it’s just me, they almost never notice.”

“Which is good, right?” He studied me. “I always hear people who are high-profile are big on privacy and don’t always like being recognized in public.”

I nodded. “Oh, yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong—it’s fun to meet fans. I’ll never say no to someone who wants a photo or an autograph. It’s great, you know?” I exhaled. “But there are definitely times I just want to walk my cats or buy groceries or something.”

“I bet,” he murmured.

The silence threatened to get uncomfortable, so I gestured at his dog, who was still staring out the window while Bear tried to grab her tail. “So it’s okay for her to interact with other animals and people?”

“Sometimes. There’s a reason her vest says do not pet, because believe me—people try. But she needs downtime and socialization, too.”

I chuckled dryly. “I can relate.”

“Right?” He watched her and Bear, a soft smile on his lips. “She’s never completely ‘off’, though. She’ll wake up out of a dead sleep to alert on me.”

I straightened. “When you’re asleep?” I tried to imagine what kind of health issues required that kind of vigilance even while someone was asleep. And how dangerous that must be for someone in his situation.

Wyatt’s face colored a little, and he avoided my eyes. “She’s, um… She’s a PTSD alert dog. She’ll calm me down if I start having a panic attack or something.” He swallowed. “And part of my PTSD is nightmares. Bad ones.”

“Oh. Wow.” I mentally rewound to this evening at the vet’s office, and the way she’d jumped up and guided him to a chair. It wasn’t a surprise now that I thought about it; he’d been on the verge of tears, pleading with them to help keep his dog safe for the night. In his shoes, I’d have been panicking too. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I managed, “I can’t imagine.”

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