Page 45 of The Darkness Within

“I’m ready right now.”

Hilarious. “Tomorrow is soon enough. Right now, the only thing you’re ready for is food, meds, and bed.”

His eyes find mine on the last word. Bed.

Is he going to ask me to stay with him again?

Am I strong enough to refuse him?

“Brewer?”

“Just…don’t. Let’s just go home.”

Maybe I need a new mattress? New sheets? A white noise machine?

I haven’t had trouble sleeping in the last seven years, besides the occasional nightmare. Why tonight?

Because you’re waiting for him to text you, to ask.

A soft, mewling sound catches my attention. Sitting up, I look around in the dark, trying to find the source. It stops, but then starts again when my head hits the pillow. Christ! What now? My gaze is drawn to the door, the one that leads to the backyard. Is someone out there?

Padding barefoot to the door, I crack it open, expecting to see Miles or Nacho smoking cigs, or Tex on the phone with a beau, but I see nothing. The sound comes again, and I look down. There, beneath the boxwood hedge, is a pair of small glowing green eyes. Bending to scoop it up, I cradle the tiny black hairball in my palm and shut the door.

I swear it isn’t much bigger than my hand, and it’s shivering, despite the balmy night.

“Hi there, little guy. Where’d you come from?” He must have gotten separated from his mama. Tomorrow, I’ll drive around the neighborhood and look for her, but for tonight…

I bring him to my bathroom, keeping him cradled to my belly as I fill the sink with warm water. A drop of my shampoo to make suds, and I wet a soft cloth. Gently, I wash the dirt from his emerald eyes and pointy ears. Then I bathe his frail body as he shakes, mewing pathetic little sounds that squeeze my bleeding heart. When he’s clean, I rinse him off, wrap him in my softest towel, and carry him back to bed. It doesn’t take long for his thin fur to dry into a dark fluff, like lint from a fuzzy sweater. He finally stops shaking, and I realize he might be hungry or thirsty.

Shit, I’m out of milk.

Since I eat most of my meals upstairs with the guys, I’m terrible at keeping my fridge stocked. His mews accompany me up the stairs, down the hall, and into the kitchen. Someone left the light on above the sink, lighting our way. Pouring some milk into a bowl, I set him down and place it in front of him. The little guy laps it up like he’s never drunk liquids before, his little pink tongue working overtime to catch it all.

“Poor little thing, you were thirsty.”

I might as well peek in on Nash while I’m up here. Tiptoeing silently down the hall, I push his door open a crack to see him in bed, lying flat on his face. His legs are twisted in the sheets, and he’s restless, mumbling words I can’t make out. He never reached out to me tonight, and I’m both disappointed and relieved. Before I slip out, an idea hits me. Looking down at the kitten in my arms, and then at the lonely, tortured man in the bed, I realize they seem like kindred souls, both alone, and lonely.

I place the little ball of fluff under Nash’s arm, and he burrows into Nash’s pit, mewling softly and licking his lips. Before I sneak out, the kitten is sound asleep, and Nash isn’t moving a muscle.

I can hear their voices before I reach the kitchen, echoing down the hall.

“Did someone lose a rat?”

That sounds like Nash. A rat? Figures.

“Where’d he come from? We don’t have a cat,” Nacho adds.

“We do now,” I say, popping into the kitchen. “Found him last night outside my door.”

Nash still hasn’t let him go or set him down. “What are you gonna do with him?”

“Figured I’d drive around the neighborhood after breakfast and see if I can find his mama.”

“I’ll go with you,” Nash volunteers. Big surprise. He’s clutching the kitten like he hopes we never find its mom.

“Food first.”

I start on coffee while Nacho cracks eggs into a frying pan.

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