113. Rosalyn

ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN

ROSALYN

"Okay, Miss Edwards." The vet tech enters the little room. "You're good to go."

She sets a weird-looking box down on the exam table. It has holes in the sides and handles on top, and as I stare at it, I get it.

Embarrassment floods my cheeks, and I hug Charles closer to my body.

It's a cat carrier. Because normal people don't just carry their cat into the vet.

I press my lips together.

I fucked up again.

What if Charles had jumped out of my arms when I walked from the car into the clinic?

What if he'd run off?

I have the urge to pull the puke bowl out of my purse and use it.

Cats don't come when called.

Usually.

I look down into the feline eyes staring up at me.

You wouldn't have run away, right?

He blinks, and I know he's telling me he'd never dream of it .

My stomach settles a little.

The woman opens the top of the box. "This is for you to take home."

"Thank you," I say quietly as I stand.

My damn ankle twinges in protest, having been used far too much today, so I limp over to the table.

Shifting my grip on Charles, I hold him out over the box.

As I lower him, he sticks one paw out, slapping it down onto the top edge of the box.

Sorry , I mouth.

Traitor , he projects back.

The woman shows me how to secure the top, and I silently apologize to Charles once more before closing it.

"Thank you." I keep my eyes averted. "Do I pay you or on my way out?"

I came in sobbing.

I didn't know anything about Charles other than his name.

I carried him in like he was a bag of groceries and not a living creature.

And I've been shuffling around the exam room, my plastic ankle brace visible over my leggings, continually sniffing and wiping at my cheeks.

I really don't want to face anyone else here.

"Oh, um, Mr. Waller took care of it already."

My gaze jerks up to meet hers. "You talked to him?"

She nods, and I can't tell if the wary look she's giving me is because I'm generally pitiable or if Nathan was angry on the phone.

I was the one who gave her his information, so I shouldn't be surprised that she called him. But I guess I figured they just wanted it for the file on Charles. I didn't think?—

I didn't think.

I hug the box to my chest.

"We, um, actually recommend using the handles," the woman says softly.

Of course they do .

Tears prick my eyes as I set the box back down on the table and pick it up by the handle.

The woman hands me my purse.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Holding the carrier at my side, I walk out of the room and out of the clinic.