Page 106 of Phishing for Love
“Tess, slow down your breathing,” Aaron instructs me in a calm voice.
I realize then that I’m breathing too fast. I make a conscious effort to take in slow and even breaths.
“That’s it.” He spares me a brief, concerned glance, his lips tightening when he glimpses my tears. Looking away, he keeps his eyes fixed on the road.
Not once does he promise me Ash will be okay. I don’t want him making promises he can’t keep, yet I’m also desperate for reassurance, however false.
The emergency clinic is fifteen minutes away. Aaron gets us there in ten.
There are no parking spaces so Aaron double parks right outside the entrance. He puts on his hazards, leaps out the car, and runs around the front to yank open my door.
“Get him inside. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
I nod, my throat too tight for me to speak. I clamber out the car holding Ash and then I’m rushing through the doors, begging for help. The receptionist and a vet wearing surgical scrubs rush toward me and relieve me of Ash, while I tearfully explain what happened. The vet rushes Ash down the hallway and the kind-faced receptionist steers me to a chair, which I collapse into.
And then Aaron is there, a big, strong presence in the chair next to me.
“He’s with the vet?” he asks.
“Yes. They didn’t say how bad he is.” My voice cracks on the last two words and he places an arm around my shoulders. I lean into him.
“I’m so stupid,” I berate myself. Why didn’t I throw that bouquet away? Why didn’t I know lilies are poisonous to cats? What kind of cat owner am I, anyway?
“Stop blaming yourself,” Aaron says evenly. “You weren’t to know.”
“You knew,” I whisper.
“I know too many things,” he says after a loaded pause. “Trust me, you don’t want what I have in my head.”
I tilt my face to stare up at him. Whatever grisly knowledge he carries around, it’s carved in the bleak lines around his mouth, the haunted shadows in his eyes. For a second, his gaze is unfocused, as though he’s fallen into a dark crevasse of memories, but then he blinks and says softly, “Stay as you are.”
Don’t become like me, are his unspoken words.
I look away.
“From what you’ve told me, Ash is a fighter.”
“He is,” I confirm with a wobbly smile.
“Don’t give up on him.”
“I won’t.” I realize suddenly that in the rush I left my purse and phone behind. “Can I borrow your phone?” I ask. “I left mine at the house.”
“Sure.” Aaron passes me his phone. I open Google and type “cats and lilies.” I receive hundreds of search results, but one phrase grabs my eye:There is no antidote to lily poisoning.
I let out a gasp, and Aaron plucks his phone from my grasp. “Okay, we’re not doing that.”
“I have to know what could happen.”
“No, you don’t,” he argues. “That kind of knowledge will only freak you out. He’s in good hands. There’s nothing more you can do for him, except be strong.”
Resentment rises, but I push it down. I know he’s right. “You don’t have to stay. You can go if you need to.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly.
An hour or so later, the doors open and the vet emerges, glancing around the waiting room.
I jump to my feet and Aaron joins me. His hand settles on my shoulder, firm and comforting. “Breathe,” he says softly.
