Page 49 of Back to You
I saved him and, stupid me, I got attached. He was too young to be away from his mother, so I bottle fed him every few hours, giving up precious sleep and going to work the next morning a zombie. Finch was weak and sickly, and I found myself praying for a miracle. The vets didn’t think he’d make it.
They were right.
I held his tiny body close as he died, sobbing my heart out for the little life I’d loved and lost. I only hoped that his last few days of warmth and comfort were enough. That I’d done enough, somehow. I’d done what I could, but the loss punched a hole through my heart.
In a way, it’d been like losing Mom all over again.
“He died,” I murmured. “I wanted him to live so badly. When he passed away in my hands, I told myself I would never love another kitten, not the way that I’d loved Finch. Maybe that’s why I’m not as attached to Grandma Gin’s cats as I could be. Maybe I’m a little bitter. I don’t know.”
“You wouldn’t want to adopt a kitten with me someday?” he asked softly.
“Maybe someday,” I agreed. “For now, we get Custard.” I ran my hand down the lanky feline’s back. He flicked his tail, then moved just out of reach before laying his boxy had back down again. I scoffed. “Asshole. He hates me.”
“Nah.” Dane was grinning, though. He knew. He’d seen the way Custard went out of his way to avoid me, all the while lavishing his attention on Dane. “Cats don’t have human emotions. You can’t say he hates you, because cats don’t hate. You just haven’t done enough to earn his trust yet.”
“And you have?”
He beamed. “What can I say? I’m a natural cat-daddy.”
I just rolled my eyes.
* * *
“Think we have time to grab some groceries before we meet the tattoo guy? We have an hour, right? About that?” Dane looked up from his phone, where he was no doubt flipping through Reddit threads. Turns out, my boyfriend was a Reddit addict.
“It’s at three, so yeah, we have time if we speed-shop,” I said.
“You know me, Hols. I always speed shop.”
I snorted softly. “Right, coming from the guy who spent fifteen minutes agonizing over what kind of cheese to buy to put on our burritos.” He’d literally stood in the dairy aisle, inspecting every block he could get his hands on. In the end, he decided on sharp cheddar. It wasalwayssharp cheddar.
“Don’t judge my love.” He pointed at me in warning. “Cheese is something you don’t just make a split-second decision on. You should know that. We’ve only been friends for a hundred years.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know how fuckinganalyou were about it until we started dating,” I retorted.
“Because Mom was the one who bought the cheese in the family when we were kids! I trusted her intuition. I mean, c’mon, she birthed me, soobviouslyshe’d know what kind of cheeses I’d like.” He paused. “Maybe I should call her next time we have to buy cheese.”
I laughed. “You’re insane. Cheese is cheese.”
“It’s like I don’t even know you.” He scowled at me, but I saw through his poker-face. He was minutes away from laughing his ass off. I could see it in his eyes. “But okay, let’s go get some grub.”
After breakfast, Dane and I had driven around and visited a couple of tattoo parlors near the RV park we were staying at. We found one we liked, and set up an appointment to get our matching Zelda ink done. As luck would have it, he was able to squeeze us in later this afternoon.
And true to his word, Dane didn’t linger in the cheese aisle. He made a face when I grabbed a bag of shredded sharp cheddar and a bag of colby-jack, but he didn’t argue. We might’ve been speed-shopping, but our cart filled up fast. Frozen pizzas, chicken tenders, hot wings and Hot Pockets—all the convenience food we could get our hands on.
By the time we got to the check-out, my stomach was grumbling just thinking about food. Dane elbowed me in the side with a wink, and I rolled my eyes. “What? I’m hungry, sue me.”
“We’d better nuke you something before we get inked. Don’t need you getting hangry.” He tossed the box of Hot Pockets onto the conveyor belt with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Or maybe…” He plucked two king-sized Snickers bars off the shelf and added them to the growing pile of junk food. “There. Done.”
“Two-hundred dollars later,” I teased. “Never shop hungry.”
“Too late.” He chuckled.
In the line ahead of us, a frazzled young mother was shifting her weight from foot to foot while the cashier rang up her meager amount of groceries. I glanced up to see a young face smiling shyly at me.
“Hi.”
Sitting cross-legged in the cart was a little girl of maybe three or four. Her head was completely bald and her skin was pasty white. An oxygen tank was tucked beside her, with a long plastic tube feeding up to her nasal cannula. Cancer? My chest constricted. Damn, she was so young. No child should have to suffer through that.
