Page 15 of A Box of Wishes
A few of the people smiling at him had learned what the box could do. With others, he’d argued over fate, faith, or the spirit of Christmas. Right then, none of that mattered. He tugged Ben back into the nook and they sat in silence, while somewhere in Rothcote a team of vets treated Ben’s cat.
The animal hospital called just before the lunch rush reached its peak, and Ben answered his phone with shaking hands. “Yes, I can come right away,” he said. “How is Morris?”
Ben’s earlier panic had eased under Ryan’s ministrations, but the fear was still there, flaring to life when the person at the other end of the line wouldn’t give him any reassurance.
“They didn’t say he was okay.”
Ryan wanted to touch Ben’s ice-white face. Wanted to wrap him in a hug and ease his pain. He knew it wouldn’t help. Ben would feel like his world was falling apart until he saw Morris was fine.
“It was the receptionist who called you. They might not know,” he reasoned, grabbing Ben’s car keys from the table. “Come on. I’ll keep you company.” Ryan didn’t trust Ben to drive in a way that wouldn’t get him killed. Not even the short stretch across town. He hardly registered where he was, so spun into his private hell, with his mind running disaster scenarios. But he went where Ryan directed him, and that was all that mattered.
The vet was smiling when he saw them.
Morris lay on a stack of towels in a small pen, an IV in one paw. His tabby coat was a mix of rough, untidy tufts and bald, sore-looking patches, but he was awake and mewed a welcome as soon as he caught sight of Ben.
“You can touch him.” The vet stood aside for Ben. “It was paint,” he said while Ben cradled the furry head and scratched around Morris’s ears, not bothering to hide his wet eyes. “Red paint, not blood.”
“But… but…” Ben stuttered in his haste to get the words out. “He was shaking and not responding when I found him.”
“The paint burned his skin, and he poisoned himself when he tried to groom it off his coat. We’ve cleaned him and given him fluids to help wash out the toxins. We had to shave patches of fur so we could treat the burns. But his heartbeat is strong, and he’s drinking by himself. I think he’ll be fine.”
Ben stroked the cat’s chops. “Can I take him home?”
“We’d like to monitor him overnight, just to make sure we’ve not missed anything. You can collect him tomorrow morning. He’ll be wobbly. Keep him inside, keep him warm, and watch him for the next few days.”
Ben’s face fell. No doubt he was thinking about his job, and Morris being alone in the house. Ryan touched his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on him during the day,” he said. “I can make him a bed in the office and keep him company while you’re at work.”
“You… you’d do that?”
“Of course. It’s no hardship. I like cats. And he’s so very like you.”
“Like me?”
“Sure.” Ryan smiled. “He was trying to take care of everything himself. Not wanting to bother anyone.”
Ben flushed a deep red, but the vet laughed. “You’re describing cats, Ryan. They’re independent creatures, more likely to hide away when they’re hurt than to go to a human for help. But if Morris has the two of you to look after him, he’ll be just fine.”
Distractions
Ben slumped in the passenger seat of the car, mind numb and body leaden. He should be ecstatic. Delighted. Out of this world happy after he’d spent the morning convincing himself that the vet wouldn’t be able to save his Morris.
It was surprisingly difficult.
Maybe the news needed time to sink in.
Ben wasn’t a rookie copper. He’d been in fights, had taken part in dicey operations, had been attacked. None of these had scared him as much as finding Morris on his doorstep, unresponsive and covered in blood. He shied from the images his mind replayed and startled when Ryan linked their fingers together.
“You can stop now.”
“Stop what?” Ryan squeezed his hand, and Ben felt a trickle of warmth and calm flow into him from the contact. Not a romantic touch, but grounding and comforting.
“You’ve been imagining the worst all morning,” Ryan said. “Don’t deny it. You’re still shaking and your eyes are so… But you can stop now. Morris is alive and he’ll be fine. The vet wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
Ben ducked his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. “He’s just a cat.”
Ryan’s fingers tightened almost to the point of pain. “Don’t lie to me. Or yourself. He’s notjusta cat. He’s your Morris. Your companion, who stayed with you so you wouldn’t be all alone. He won’t leave you now. You do him a disservice by thinking that he might.”
“You’d make a good counsellor,” Ben muttered, cheeks even hotter. He valued his cat more than he could explain to anyone. And he definitely wasn’t as callous as that had sounded.
