Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
But there was no room even for relief. He’d pushed his body past the point of sense and now it was out of his control. Flashes of color would pull his eyes until the space around them made a tunnel. Sounds would jar and morph back into nothingness as his brain tried to process them. He was in an echo chamber, trying to make his carcass do as he commanded it.
Arms: pick up that box. Legs: support weight. Stomach: do not heave.
Despite all this, though, Cassidy was hyper-aware of River. Even though his body was unable to process basic sounds and movements, it seemed to be tuned like a satellite dish to the booth beside his, where River was an open wound, pulsing with a very different kind of pain.
"A hundred percent success," Cassidy said.
"Huh? Oh. Yup." River eyed the empty cages like they had no clue what they were supposed to do with them.
"Do you need help getting those to your car?" Cassidy offered.
River raised wide eyes gleaming with tears and then fled.
Cassidy followed them to the door outside. It was dark and the parking lot was a slush of gray snow and cigarette butts. River was squatting on the ground, spine pressed into the brick wall of the building.
The cold air rushed through Cassidy’s lungs, mercifully numbing him inside.
"Hey," Cassidy said softly.
River stood and turned away from Cassidy, wiping at their eyes and swearing.
"You gonna be okay?"
River nodded, then shrugged.
"Pretty stupid to work at a cat shelter if you don’t want any of the cats to get adopted, huh," they said shakily.
Their long brown hair fell around their face and Cassidy wanted to stroke it back. To hold their face in his hands and say, No, not stupid. Sweet. Caring. Sensitive.
"Just," River said breathily, wrapping their arms around their torso. "They’re my friends."
The words were almost stolen by the wind, but Cassidy made them out.
"I understand. I’m so sorry."
River laughed humorlessly. "Thanks. How did you do?"
"Good."
"Good." River nodded, then looked at Cassidy. "You look … not good. I mean, you look good. You seem … Jesus Christ."
"I’m not feeling my absolute best," Cassidy said mildly.
"What’s that called again? Where you super understate something for the opposite effect. We learned about it in English class."
"I don’t know, sorry."
"Thanks for checking on me," River said. "Looks like you should go home and get some rest. I hope you feel better."
"Thanks," Cassidy said. And then, before he had a chance to question or second guess it, he said, "Would you want to have dinner with me this weekend?"
River blinked once, twice, then cocked their head. If Cassidy had been in better shape, he might have had a prayer of following their nonverbals, but as it stood, he could only stand there, waiting for grace or dismissal.
"Yes?" River finally said.
"Good?" Cassidy asked.
"I mean, yes. I would. Dinner. With you."
River rolled their eyes at themself.
"Saturday night?" Cassidy asked.
River nodded, eyes huge.
"I’ll text you," Cassidy said. Then he managed, "Bye, River," before bolting around the corner to throw up, blessedly out of sight.
CHAPTER 13
River
"Okay, let’s see what we’re working with," Adam said, standing in front of River’s small closet in their room above the cat shelter.
River had texted an SOS to Adam after spending days trying on every combination of clothing they had and finding absolutely nothing they could possibly wear to dinner with Cassidy Darling.
Gus had come along to lend her sartorial eye because, as she put it, "Daddy only wears graph paper shirts and boring beige pants. Why is he helping you?"
"Ugh, I have nothing to work with," River groaned and fell onto their bed, twisting at the last moment to avoid landing on Croissant, the tabby who had quietly curled up in a perfect circle in the direct center of the bed while they weren’t looking.
Adam hummed tunelessly as he flipped through River’s clothes.
"Oh, River. I gotta show you my weird things," Gus said, perching on the side of the bed. "Daddy wouldn’t let me come back to your booth on Sunday."
River sent Adam a silent Thank you.
"Yeah, show me," they said, curious to see what Gus considered an oddity at Craftmas.
Gus held out her hand to Adam, who passed her his phone. In the last two years, Gus had become fascinated by photography and started an Instagram account where she posted images of bugs, lizards, and whatever other creatures appealed to her. Since she was too young for a phone of her own, she nabbed Adam or Wes’ whenever she could, often leaving Adam’s camera roll full of spiders, which terrified him.
"Okay, so!" Gus said with relish. "You know how Santa is, like, not real?"
"Uh, yeah?" River said hesitantly.
The last few years, it had been all Adam and Wes could do to keep Gus from running up to entire classrooms full of elementary school children and informing them all of this fact.