Page 52 of Slots & Sticks
The dogs sniff the parcel as it changes hands, but their enthusiasm is nothing compared to the ferocity with which the kitten tears into her meal. The lump of chicken meat is almost half as big as she is, but she chokes most of it down in a matter of seconds.
“Looks like that was a hit.” Dot rests her elbows between the seats, both to body-block the dogs and to watch her newest pet eat. “Next up: I got us matching bracelets.” She hands one to me. It’s a beaded design with RENO spelled out in all caps. “I was gonna grab a pair with our names on them, but there was no Camden.”
“There never is.” I hold out my wrist for Dot to snap the bracelet in place. It’s a little loose, but I promise myself that I’ll never take it off. “Are they friendship bracelets?”
She blushes a little. “I was thinking they might be more-than-friendship bracelets?”
She tries to make it sound light, but her voice wobbles. Her fingers fumble with the clasp, and I catch the tiniest tremor before she hides her hands in her lap. She’s braver than she knows, sitting there pretending she didn’t just hand me her heart spelled out in beads.
Yup, it’s official, I’m going to be buried with this thing. “I’d like that.”
“Great.” Dot coughs. “So, that’s gonna make this last gift a tiiiiny bit awkward. I got you a shirt, since you ruined yours chasing Skinbad…” She removes a t-shirt from the bag and hands it to me. It’s the familiar green and purple of the Vegas Venom.
“Ha! Perfect.” I shake the jersey out. “I’m surprised they had these here.”
“Well, the selectionwaslimited.” A mischievous smile makes her lips twitch. “Which is why I had to get you that particular one. It was the only number they had.”
I turn the shirt around and swear. Dot cackles with glee. I’m going to be stuck driving home wearing Viktor Abbott’s number. If he finds out that Dot got me this, I’ll never live it down.
An hour later, the rain drums a tattoo on the roof of the car. I glance up at the rearview mirror and see Dot, with my muddy shirt folded inside-out in her lap as a makeshift bed for Soot. Skinbad is curled up against Bo’s belly. The bigger dog is stretched out across both seats. All four of them are sound asleep.
I smile and start to sing under my breath. I have to stay attentive if I’m going to keep my family safe on the long drive home.
It’s the same quiet from the hotel room—the one I never wanted to end.
My brain’s been buzzing since we left the shelter, ricocheting off cliffs and barked orders and kitten claws. But now? All I hear is the hum of the road. The patter of rain. The sound of her breath, soft and steady behind me.
Chapter Twelve
Dot
The first night with all the animals is not an easy one. Everyone but Camden slept for most of the drive home, so we arrived with lots of energy for causing trouble. Skinbad runs around the house screaming, Bo gets the zoomies, and Soot runs off as soon as we put her down. Camden and I tear the house apart looking for her and finally locate her in the living room under the TV stand where she has, naturally, peed on the carpet. For such a tiny cat, she can hold alotof urine.
My heart unclenches. All that noise, all the chaos—it’s proof we brought something fragile back to life.
“Wow.” Camden wrinkles his nose. “Jesus, that smells bad.”
“She was probably dehydrated.” I cuddle the kitten to my chest. “Good thing Mira included some cleaning supplies in our order.”
“Our… order?” Camden asks.
Mira’s efficiency should impress me, but Camden’s tone makes me grin. He still can’t decide if she’s a miracle or a menace. Maybe both. But for someone who hates losing control, he’s letting me steer—and that feels new.
The doorbell rings.
“That’ll be the delivery guy now!” I shout over Skinbad’s shrill yapping. Bo adds her much deeper barking to the chaos.
Camden restrains the dogs, but the poor delivery guy can’t get a word in edgewise over the noise. Mira ordered the essentials on the ride home: a folding crate large enough to accommodate Bo, a litter box with compostable pellets, dry food for the dogs—in the same brand the shelter used; I’ll switch itlater, once they’ve had their vet appointments—and wet food for Soot, and a handful of cleaning supplies that we were running low on at the house. Dad has kept old dogs foryears. I know what to expect.
Camden sets up the crates while I feed the animals. Skinbad gobbles his meal down in three bites and immediately homes in on Soot’s dinner. She hisses and swipes at him. She may be small, butno oneis getting between her and her chow.
Bedtime is a mess. Skinbad screams when we put him in Moppet’s old crate. He throws a tantrum until we let him in to sleep with Bo in her bed. I’m eager to get Cam alone again, but as soon as we leave the room,Bostarts barking.
“Let’s wait it out,” Camden suggests. He pulls me in for a kiss.
Bo doesn’t quit, and it’sreallyhard to feel sexy in my parents’ house with an anxious dog barking on the lower floor. In the end, we pass out on the couch with the kitten sleeping beside us in Mitzi’s crate and the dogs less than ten feet away. Camden sleeps in his boxers and his Abbott shirt, since his dirty clothes are in the dryer.
It’s not what I’d hoped for, but my heart is full. Soot purrs in her sleep, the dogs sigh against the floorboards, and for the first time in weeks, the house doesn’t feel empty.
