Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Will do,” I whisper back.
It’s a promise I intend to keep until I hear Leo curse loudly from the other room. He sounds really upset.
I jump off the mattress and throw on my dress, afraid Greg’s broken something special. But when I hurry into the living room, the only thing obviously amiss is the cat play structure lying on its side near the windows.
It doesn’t appear to be broken, however, just…horizontal.
I start forward, intending to help Leo lift it back into place, when he holds up a hand, fingers spread wide. “Stop. There’s glass on the floor. I don’t want you to cut your feet.”
I stop, my gaze lifting to the window, which is indeed shattered. I wrap my arms around my midsection, bracing myself against a gust of cold December wind. “Okay, be careful. Should I grab a garbage bag or something?” I ask. “Something to tape over the window?”
Leo drags a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that would be great. They’re under the sink in the kitchen, and there’s duct tape in the drawer closest to the dining table. But once we’re done, I have to get dressed and head outside. I’ve already looked everywhere Greg could be hiding in here, and there’s no sign of him.”
“Oh no,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “You think he—”
“Went through the window,” Leo finishes, a worried expression clawing into his forehead. “Yeah, he did. The little shit is gone.”
twenty
. . .
Leo
I’m a cat dad failure. I should have replaced the windows years ago. I’ve known they were ancient and energy inefficient since the day I moved in. The realtor warned me five fucking times that vintage windows are far more easily broken than modern glass.
But she kept fretting that a thief could use the weakness to break in. I’m a large man living on the third floor! I figured I was safe.
I never imagined Greg would do something like this.
“But I should have,” I mutter as Caroline and I pause in front of yet another dark alley. “I fucking should have.”
“What?” Caroline asks, not waiting for an answer before calling, “Greg! Greee-eeg! Where are you pumpkin? Come out and see us. We have treats. Smoked salmon, your favorite.”
She falls silent, but there’s no answer from the alley ahead, just silence and a soft skittering sound too faint to be coming from Greg.
“I should have known he’d knock the play structure over, shatter a window, and make a break for it,” I say, hands balling into fists in my coat pockets.
“How could you have known that?” Caroline asks. “That thing was huge. I’m still not sure he pushed it over. It might have fallen on its own.”
“Oh, he pushed it, all right.”
Caroline arches a challenging brow. “Greg’s a big boy, but he can’t weigh more than fifteen pounds.”
“Eighteen,” I say, “but size doesn’t matter. His evil gives him strength, like a supervillain. I should have remembered that and bolted the fucking thing to the wall.”
She huffs out a tired laugh. “Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, I guess.” She reaches over, giving my arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. He can’t have gone far.”
I sigh. “Maybe not, but it won’t matter if he won’t come when you call.”
“Maybe you should try again,” she says. “You’re his dad.”
I shake my head. “No, he hates me. Hearing me call for him will only make him run faster and hide harder.”
Her brow furrows. “I think you two need therapy. It’s obvious you love each other. You just don’t know how to show it. As soon as we find him, I’ll call my friend Tyge from college. He runs a pet hotel in Connecticut. He might know someone who can help you and Greg work through your issues.”
My lips curve as I gather her close, hugging her to my chest. “You’re the sweetest.”
“I’m not,” she says. “I’m not even sure pet therapy is a real thing. I’m grasping at straws because I’m riddled with guilt.”
I pull back, frowning down at her. “Why? You did nothing wrong.”
“I heard something breaking when it happened.”
“So did I,” I say. “And I decided to ignore it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not until I begged you to ignore it.”
“So?” I shoot back. “I like it when you beg. And it was my house and my maniac cat who loves to break things when I have a special friend in the bedroom. Honestly, this is all on Greg. If he hadn’t already broken every vase and statue in the joint, I would have been more alarmed by the sound of shattering glass.”
Caroline studies my face in the glow of the streetlamp farther down the street. “Every vase and statue, huh? How many of those did you have?”
I shrug. “Not that many. Maybe…four or five?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Four or five? In the past year!”