The cold shell I’ve been forming around my heart melts like ice in the center of my chest, as I watch her pet the kitten’s fluffy ears. Holly smiles to herself, and I feel like a devil for thinking about her as anything but a victim in need of my help.
I tell myself, this, right here, is how it should be. I can be here for Holly, like a father. I can put a roof over her head and food in her belly. I can comfort her when she's sad or frightened.
All these things are within my power.
Of course, part of me wants more of her—a hell of a lot more—and I suspect it always will. But that's too goddamn bad. I’ll curb my desires for Holly the same way I suppress the urge to drink. By staying busy and keeping as much distance between us as I can.
She crosses the porch and throws her arms around me.
“Thank you, Cal,” she says. “For everything.”
I pat her back stiffly, praying she can’t feel other things stiffening against her.
Chapter Twelve
Holly
Cal bought me a present. My insides take on a buoyancy, as though my chest were filled with puffed-rice cereal snap-crackle-popping.
Normally Kenzie’s the only one who gives me presents. A new lipstick for my birthday. A bag of M&Ms just because. Cal seemed concerned I wouldn’t like the stuffed toy, but he shouldn’t have been worried. I love this kitten, with her big wide eyes and little pink nose.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, patting me. I sense his muscles tensing. So far today, he hasn’t held me as tightly as he did at the party last night.
I wonder if it’s me, if he’s realized he’s not as attracted to me now that he’s seen where I live and knows what I come from.
I pull away from Cal’s embrace, cradling the kitten in my arms. Looking at her fills my head with visions that feel like memories of an idyllic childhood. I can imagine what it would’ve been like to have slept in the same bed with my favorite stuffie night after night. Most of the time, recalling my early childhood is like trying to capture fog in a net. I was only four years old when I entered the foster care system, after my pre-school teacher found bruises on my arms, and other places.
Cal and I head back inside his apartment. I stifle a yawn as I reclaim my seat at the table. The sun’s barely set, but even after my afternoon nap I’m still dog tired.
“Are we going out to look for Kenzie?” I ask. “We could check the bar where she used to work, see if anyone there’s seen her.”
“Do you think she’d go there?”
“Not really.” I yawn into the back of my hand. “But it’s a start.”
“The only place you’re going is upstairs to bed.”
“But shouldn’t we do something?” Even as I say the words, I can barely keep my eyes open.
“We need to keep you out of sight. I’ve got my partner looking into Steph, and I’ll give the bar a call later tonight.”
“But...” Anxiety squirms like an eel in my stomach. Does he really expect me to just sit and wait around while my friend is missing?
Cal shakes his head. “No buts. You’re no help to McKenzie if you can’t even stand up.”
I follow him up the carpeted staircase, then close myself in the bathroom to do my business and wash the makeup off my face. I take my leggings off but leave my tank top on. When I emerge, Cal’s just about finished changing the sheets.
He sees me and does a double take.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
His mouth twitches. “Nothing.”
I help him lay the blankets on the bed. He pulls back the covers. Sliding between his sheets feels a lot like curling up in his lap. I’m cocooned in the scent of him, with my arms wrapped tightly around my plush kitten.
The way he looks at me lights my whole body up like Christmas Eve. I sparkle on the inside. Men have been looking at me with interest since before I started growing boobs. But for the first time in what feels like my entire life, I actually want a man to look. This man.
He grabs one of the pillows off the bed. “I’ll be in my office working. Just holler if you need anything.”
“Where are you going to sleep?” I ask.
“Downstairs, on the sofa.”
“Does the sofa pull out into a bed?” His sofa is barely long enough for his legs. Where will he put the rest of him?
“It doesn’t,” he says. “But I’ve slept on worse.”
It doesn’t seem fair that he should have to make himself uncomfortable. Not when he could be sleeping in his own bed...with me.
Heat rushes through me like a fever. Sharing a bed with Cal would be as far out of character as me hosting a baby shower. Unthinkable. Yet, it’s all I can think about.