Page 51 of We Can Stay
Suddenly, I’m wide awake.
I feel like I might be sick, and this time, it’s not from my medicine. For some reason, not knowing is worse than just answering the phone and getting it over with so I click the green button and answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello? Is someone there?” I try again.
Still nothing—just the faint sound of breathing on the other end, letting me know that someone is definitely there. My throat tightens and my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.
“Who is this?” I try to put as much assertiveness into my voice as I can but it ends up coming out like a plea.
The call disconnects.
I sit there for a moment staring at my phone. I tell myself that this could just be a prank—middle schoolers being annoying—or even a wrong number. But my gut says that this isn’t just a prank or a coincidence.
I go to my recent calls and click on Sebastian’s name. He picks up on the second ring, his voice raspy with sleep. “Flick? What’s wrong?”
“Someone just called me,” I whisper. “They didn’t say anything. There was just...breathing.”
There’s a brief pause. “I’ll be right there,” he says. “I’ll call you when I’m there so you can open the door. I’m on my way.”
I nod even though he can’t see me and disconnect the call. Instead of staying in bed, I go into the kitchen to make myselfsome tea while I wait for Sebastian. It’s more to give my hands and body something to do rather than allowing my anxious thoughts to run wild.
It feels like forever before Sebastian arrives, although it’s probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes. Even though he calls to say he’s right outside, I still look through the peephole before opening the door. I see him outside wearing sweats and a hoodie, his hair adorably tousled from sleeping.
Despite the current situation, I can’t help but smile a little as I open the door and he steps inside. He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead before walking around to check the locks on all of my doors and windows. When he’s satisfied that the place is secure, he returns to the kitchen, sitting next to me on one of the barstools at the island.
He covers my hand with his. “I’m not leaving you here alone tonight, Flick,” he says firmly, “If you feel unsafe here, we can go back to my place or I’ll stay here with you but I’m not leaving you alone.”
Relief courses through me and my eyes prickle with tears. “I think I’ll be okay to stay here as long as you’re with me. I don’t want to leave Cat.”
He nods and squeezes my hand. “Okay, we’ll stay here then.”
“Thank you for coming here in the middle of the night.”
“Hey,” he says, standing and pulling my head against his chest in a hug. “I told you I’ve got your back and I meant it.”
Despite everything that has happened tonight, I realize that with Sebastian here with me, I feel safe.
CHAPTER 15
Sebastian
“Stop that owl!”
The woman’s voice pierces through the antiseptic-scented air of the clinic. I whirl around, ducking just as a barred owl swoops over my head, its talons barely missing my hair. The bird lands on the filing cabinet with a thud that rattles the metal drawers, its dark brown eyes wild with panic.
Why there’s an owl in my office at nine in the morning, I don’t have the energy to question. That’s just Tuesday at Pine Island Veterinary Clinic. The familiar chaos used to energize me—now it feels like another weight pressing down on already tired shoulders.
A woman bursts through the doorway, her fleece jacket covered in pine needles and what looks suspiciously like owl droppings. Her eyes mirror the bird’s desperation. “I found it in my yard this morning. It wouldn’t fly away when I approached.”
The owl mantles its wings, hissing like a cat. Even from here, I can see the awkward angle of its right wing—not broken, but definitely compromised. The way it holds the wing slightly extended tells me everything I need to know. “Apparently it can fly enough to terrorize my office, but you’re right. Probably can’t make it back to the trees.”
I grab a thick towel from the shelf, the terry cloth rough against my palms. The bird tracks my movements, clicking its beak in warning. Like most injured animals, it doesn’t understand I’m trying to help. Story of my life lately—trying to fix everything, appreciated by no one.
The towel lands perfectly, and I scoop the protesting owl into a carrier in one practiced motion. Its talons scrape against the plastic bottom, the sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Out in the waiting room, there’s already an owner waiting with a mange-riddled terrier while somewhere in the back, metal shelves crash to the floor—probably courtesy of the feral cat we’re trying to socialize.
