26. Wyatt

“All right, boys.” Anthony sat down on the living room floor. “It’s your favorite day!”

From the couch where I’d been reading, I watched as he laid out a towel, several brushes and trimmers, and an empty box. “Kitty spa day?”

He snorted. “More like horrible kitty torture day.”

Bear apparently hadn’t gotten the memo, because he hopped down from his perch and immediately started trying to wedge himself into the box beside Anthony. The box wasn’t tiny, but it was definitely a few sizes too small for a cat that big. He still tried valiantly, though.

“Hey, buddy.” Anthony grinned, pulled Bear from the box, and set him on the towel. “Looks like you’re up first.”

I put my book aside. “So, the box is bait?”

Chuckling, he shook his head as he petted Bear, who was arching his back and turning in circles, purring loudly. “No, that’s just a bonus.” He tilted his head toward the box. “That’s for containing all the hair I’m going to pull off them.”

I blinked. “How much do you take off?”

“About enough to build another cat.” He started gently nudging Bear down, and the cat flopped onto his side on the towel. Anthony tugged the towel a little closer, then picked up a brush.

I couldn’t lie, it was cute as hell watching Anthony brush Bear and Moose.

For one thing, their personalities were bigger than they were. Bear rolled around on the towel, stretching his legs in every which direction and kneading in the air. His purring rivaled a tank engine—I’d never known a cat could purr that loud—and he seemed to love all the attention he was getting. When Anthony found a knot and had to work to untangle it, the cat was less than thrilled. He’d swat at Anthony’s hands, and at one point, he tried to bite him. Then Anthony would drop the remnants of the knot into the box, and a moment or two later, Bear would be purring and rolling around again.

Moose was somewhat more… opinionated about the whole process. He purred while Anthony ran the soft brush over his back and sides, but he did not like having his ruff or belly brushed. When Anthony worked out a particularly tight knot beneath Moose’s armpit, the low growl even made Lily sit up and take notice. While Bear quickly forgave those transgressions, Moose stayed spicy, swatting at Anthony’s hands and glaring at him.

The cats were entertaining, sure, but it was Anthony who really held my attention. I loved how gentle and patient he was with the cats. He talked to them softly the whole time. When either of them got really upset over a knot or a tangle, he’d leave it alone for a few minutes, running the softer brush over less tender areas until they’d calmed down. When one knot had Moose getting especially fired up, Anthony just snipped it out and called it a day.

Sometimes he’d just stop and pet them, telling them what good boys they were and scratching their ears or rumps the way they liked.

I barely kept myself from literally swooning. Men who turned to mush for animals turned me to mush. I already adored how Anthony talked to his cats all the time. Sometimes I could hear them upstairs before bed. Or he’d chat with them while he was making their breakfast and his own. Whenever he came home from being on the road, his eyes lit up and he had to stop and pet both of them. The fact that they both lit up when he came home was—God, that was adorable. Didn’t matter where they were in the house or what they were doing. As soon as they heard the garage door opener, they came thundering into the kitchen and jumped up on one of the islands, and they’d purr and chirp and knead as soon as he came in the door.

Someone who loved animals as much as he did? Someone who animals loved as much as his—and mine—loved him? How was I supposed to not turn into a stammering mess with heart eyes when I was around this guy?

Fortunately, he didn’t notice my brain shorting out because he was focused on the cats in question. After they’d been brushed, he started on their claws, putting each cat in turn in his lap like toddlers who needed their nails clipped. Bear squirmed and flopped comically, reminding me of a Muppet, but Anthony just held each paw still and carefully clip-clip-clipped all the offending claws. A couple of treats later, Bear had forgotten all about the torture and was sitting on his perch, staring outside.

Moose stayed still and quiet for most of the pedicure process, though if looks could kill…

“He isn’t happy, is he?” I asked.

“Nope.” Anthony clipped another claw. “He’s going to snap at me in a minute or two.” Clip.

I raised my eyebrows. “And you’re… okay with that?”

He shrugged as much as he could without jostling Moose. “Nah. I just know to expect it.” Clip. “He has some tells, so I know when to get out of the way.”

“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t sure how someone got out of the way of a giant mouth on a creature sitting in his lap, but okay.

Clip. “He’s a good kitty. He just doesn’t like—”

Moose lunged for Anthony’s wrist, but Anthony deftly got his arm out of the line of fire. Moose was now upright in Anthony’s lap, standing nearly eye-level with him. His ears went flat and he hissed, which… Okay, he was just a housecat, but he was fucking huge, and he looked scary as hell, hissing like that with his ears down. I couldn’t imagine having him do it right in my face.

Apparently not fazed in the least, Anthony cocked his head. “You finished?”

Moose glared at him.

Anthony looked right back at him. “I only have a few left, drama queen.”

Moose’s ears slowly came back up, and he gave a little huff as he tucked his paws under his body.

“I know, buddy.” Anthony petted over the cat’s neck and back. “It sucks. But it has to be done.”

For a couple of minutes, they just sat like that, Anthony talking softly to Moose while Moose settled down. To my surprise, Moose actually started purring, if not as loudly as Bear had.

Anthony gave Moose another minute or so to just chill and purr. Then he picked him up and resituated him in his lap so he could finish clipping his nails. Moose still complained, and he squirmed a little, but aside from a halfhearted nip, there was no more violence.

“There.” Anthony set him on the towel and started petting him. “See? You’re all done. That wasn’t so bad.”

Moose arched into Anthony’s hand. Then he reached for the treat can and tapped it with his paw.

“I know, I know. I haven’t forgotten.” Anthony picked up the can and opened it. Now Moose was purring as loudly as Bear had earlier, and he delicately took each treat from between Anthony’s fingers.

As did Bear, who had come down from his perch now that there were treats in play.

“You already got some,” Anthony told him even has he fed him a couple. “Little scam artist.”

I laughed. “Says the guy who probably falls for it every time.”

He flipped me off.

Then he looked at Lily, who was staring longingly at him from where she leaned against my leg. “Uh… Can she…?”

“Sure.” I patted her neck, which made her tail thump. “She can have one or two.”

Anthony smiled. He tossed a treat to Lily, who snapped it out of the air and made both Anthony and Moose jump.

Bear didn’t notice. He was fascinated with a crease in the towel and was trying to figure out how to murder it.

Anthony gently nudged him off the towel. “Sorry, buddy. I need to put all this away until the next bloodletting.”

Bear seemed confused by his eviction from the towel, though he seemed confused by almost everything, so who knows? As Anthony started rolling up the towel, the big black cat found something else to occupy his attention: the box beside Anthony.

The box which was almost entirely full of fur and a few claw clippings.

“Uh, Anthony?” I nodded toward Bear. “You might want—”

Too late.

Bear dive-bombed the box, landing in a crunch of cardboard and a puff of floof.

Anthony groaned. “Seriously, dude?”

Bear looked very pleased with himself.

And somewhat confused.

Because… Bear.

Eventually, Anthony managed to collect everything and get the cat hair wrangled back into the box. Then he disappeared for a few minutes, returning a moment later in—

Oh, fuck me.

It was already hard to keep from staring at him no matter what. When he strolled back into the kitchen in a black tank top and gray sweats? Fuuuck.

As he rinsed out and refilled the cats’ water bowls at the island, he met my gaze. “You want a glass of wine or something?”

“Oh. Uh. I mean, if you’re having one, I won’t say no.” I chuckled, gesturing at the cats. “Something to take the edge off after traumatizing your boys?”

“Pfft. They’re not traumatized.” He nodded in the same direction. “They’ve already forgotten.”

He had a point. Bear had the memory of a goldfish anyway, and Moose was passed out on the top tier of the cat tree. Traumatized indeed.

Anthony put the water bowls by the cat food dishes on the counter, and then he refilled Lily’s too. Once he’d finished that, he said, “Okay. Wine. You have a preference? Red or white?”

“Long as it’s not champagne.”

He made a face. “Not in this house. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared again, and it sounded like he was heading down a set of stairs between the kitchen and dining room. He’d gone down there last time he’d stepped out to get us some wine, but it hadn’t really registered where he might be going. In a house this opulent, I couldn’t say I’d be surprised to find out it really did have a subterranean wine cellar.

A moment later, Anthony returned with two bottles. As he pulled down a couple of glasses, I got up and crossed the living room to the island.

“Two?” I grinned. “Are we each killing a bottle tonight?”

He shrugged. “Eh. I’ve got tomorrow off for once, so I don’t plan on stopping at one glass. Figured I’d bring up a second bottle just in case.”

“Fair enough.” I picked one up and peered at it. “It’s a little small to do keg stands, but—”

Anthony burst out laughing, just as I’d hoped. “Oh, man.” He pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer. “I haven’t done one of those in ages.”

“Yeah? What’s your best time?”

He quirked his lips as he started opening one of the bottles. “About twenty seconds, I think.” With a challenging look, he asked, “What about you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

He blinked. “No shit?”

“Yeah. And I only stopped because it was so fucking cold, my mouth was going numb.”

“Uh-huh. Suuure you did.”

“I did!” I showed my palms. “That shit was cold! And I’ll have you know that soldiers can fucking drink.”

He laughed as he poured a generous amount of red wine into each glass. “So can hockey players.” He put the bottle down. “Ooh, you know what would be fun? Beer pong between soldiers and hockey players.”

“No way.” I took one of the two glasses. “You guys would have an unfair advantage!”

“What? No, we wouldn’t!”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you guys maneuver pucks. We’ve got good aim, but like, at a distance. And with scopes and shit.”

He smirked, picking up the other glass. “We could have your boys stand on the other side of the yard if it makes it easier.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, behave or we’ll make it on ice skates.”

“Beer pong on ice skates.” I swirled my wine. “That sounds… disastrous.”

“I know, right?” He laughed, then held up his glass. I clinked mine against his, and we both took a drink.

I didn’t know wine—like all the vintages and the flavors and whatever—but this was good. Not as dry as the red wines I’d had before, but not overly sweet either.

“Wow.” I picked up the bottle again. “This is really good.”

“Isn’t it? My mom went a little nuts when she visited and did one of the winery tours on the Eastside. She gave us, like, a dozen bottles.”

“Seriously?” I laughed and put the wine back on the counter. “My mom always says she doesn’t care if any of us drink, but she’s not paying for it.” I paused. “I mean, she gave my brother and sister-in-law a bottle of wine for their wedding, but other than that…”

“Eh, mine’s the same way.” He gestured toward the couch, and as we moved into the living room, he continued, “But she bought so damn much, it was going to be a nightmare to get it all home. So she ‘gifted’ us a bunch of it and shipped the rest.”

I laughed, easing myself down onto the couch beside Lily. “So she’s just giving you her overflow.”

Anthony sat on the other end of the couch and shrugged. “It’s some good wine, so…” He raised his glass again, then took a sip.

“Can’t argue with that.”

Comfortable silence settled in between us, and I basked in it. Of course I enjoyed our conversations, but I also enjoyed this stillness. Being in the company of someone who didn’t look at me like I was shit on his shoe. The absence of that constant bone-deep fear for my survival. For my dog’s survival. Every minute in this house was the calm after a firefight—the moment when all the wounded had been treated and the damage had assessed. When the enemy was confirmed to be neutralized. It was the release of breath as peace settled in, regardless of how temporary that peace inevitably was.

It was only a matter of time before this place, this man, and this peace were a memory, but I’d promised myself I’d revel in every moment of it for as long as it lasted. And after he’d taken away the ticking clock—when he’d said Lily and I could stay even after she was finished with her meds—I’d been hit with a sense of overwhelming peace I hadn’t known since the first time I’d come home after a combat tour.

I didn’t know how to explain any of that to Anthony, but I was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to try.

“I, um…” I idly fingered the stem of my glass and avoided his eyes. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about. About, um… About you letting me stay with you now that Lily’s done with her meds.”

Anthony sat up a little, watching me uncertainly. “What about it?”

“I…” I swallowed. “I guess I just wanted to make it clear that when I say I’m grateful you’re letting me stay, I’m…” I gnawed my lip, not sure how many cards to show. I didn’t want to fish for sympathy, but I did want him to understand just how much he’d done for me. Finally, I took a breath and met his gaze. “The morning you told me to stay instead of going back out… When I came into the kitchen that morning, I was going to ask if you could take me to surrender Lily to a Doberman rescue.”

His jaw fell open. “What? You were… Are you serious?”

I nodded slowly. “I can’t put her through that life again. She’s…” I gazed down into her soulful brown eyes as I petted her. “It killed me every time I woke up to her shivering. And I know she was scared out there.” My voice got a little thick as I made eye contact with Anthony again. “She kept doing her job the whole damn time, but I know she was scared. And hungry. And cold.” I grimaced. “That skin infection—I felt horrible for that, and I know it could’ve been something so much worse. I… I couldn’t do that to her anymore.”

Anthony seemed like he had to fight to swallow, and he took a swig of wine as if he needed something to get things moving. “But what about you? What would you have done without her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. The important thing was that she’d be someplace safe.” I inhaled deeply. “You letting us stay here—that meant I didn’t have to let her go. So when I say thank you for that…” I trailed off.

He stared at me for a moment. Then he swallowed again. “I… God, I had no idea you were going to give her up. But I’m glad she’s still with you.” He hesitated, then shyly added, “I’m glad you’re both still here.”

I didn’t know if he meant he was glad we were still here in his house, or still alive and together. I didn’t press, though. Either way, he was the reason for it, and I’d never felt gratitude like this in my life.

I smiled and clinked my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”

His gentle smile made the room sway more than the alcohol. “Cheers.” Holding my gaze, he took a sip. I did the same.

The moment threatened to get way more fraught than I could handle, so I cleared my throat and gestured at his giant flat screen. “Is there, um… Are there any games on tonight?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re really getting into watching them, aren’t you?”

I half-shrugged. “Now that I’m finally starting to understand the game, yeah.”

His chuckle let me release my breath. I was glad I’d said what I’d needed to say, but I was equally glad we were lightening the mood.

“Well, the East Coast games have already started.” He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “But we should be able to find a central or western game that isn’t—ooh, New York is playing in Denver tonight. That’s guaranteed to be a spicy game.”

I grinned. “Oh, yeah? Rivals?”

“Big time.” He glanced at me. “New York has never forgiven their star center for accepting a deal in Denver. One of Denver’s defensemen seriously injured one of theirs a couple of seasons ago. And then Denver has knocked them out of the playoffs the last two years in a row.” He grimaced as he found the game on his sports network. “They’re, uh… Not each other’s biggest fans.”

“Wow. Yeah. This will be spicy as hell.” I gestured at the wine bottles. “Think we’ll need the second one?”

“Probably.” He started the game, then picked up his glass and sat back against the cushion. “I’d suggest a drinking game for every scrum, but we’ll both need medical attention by the second period.”

“Hah!” I held up my glass. “I’m a soldier. I can hold my damn liquor.”

He cocked a brow and pointed at the screen. “Maybe see how much these guys butt heads before you talk shit.”

Pursing my lips, I glanced at the screen. Right then, the commentators were discussing a clip from what was apparently the last meetup between these two teams. There was a full-on brawl between like eight players, and I did a double take when I looked at the scoreboard and realized it was only the first period.

“Holy shit,” I said with a laugh. “Okay. Yeah. No drinking games.”

Anthony laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

We held off on the drinking games, but we did end up cracking open that second bottle of wine. By the second intermission, we were both buzzed enough to be laughing our heads off over everything, drawing weird looks from Lily and the cats. Yeah, we were probably being stupid, but I didn’t care. It was fun. It felt good.

And what could I say? There was something jaw-dropping about Anthony cutting loose and laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. He had such a beautiful smile anyway, and when he wasn’t wound up…

Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous.

During the third period, after yet another fight, one of Denver’s players was arguing animatedly with a ref.

Anthony swung his glass at the screen so wildly, he almost unloaded its contents all over Moose, who was sprawled across the coffee table. “Oh my God, that’s Lars Olsson. We were teammates… I don’t know, three seasons ago?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. He was a rookie.” Anthony cackled. “One of those guys who was so timid, he wouldn’t even check someone unless he had to.” He gestured at the screen with his glass again. “Someone’s balls dropped.”

I snorted. “Hey, it happens eventually, right?”

“It does.” Anthony took a swig of wine and then reached for the bottle to top us both off. “He’s a nice kid. Loved hanging out with him.” As he put the bottle back down, he added, “Fucking hilarious on Casino Night.”

“Casino Night?”

“Mmhmm. It’s this charity thing teams do every year. All of us—the players—deal blackjack and roulette and whatever.”

“Like, for the fans?”

“Yep. Super fun. And Lars”—he nodded at the screen—“had this huge crowd at his table the whole night because he’s funny as hell.” Anthony paused. “Well, and every woman and half the men in Seattle thought he was hot, so…”

“Oh, yeah?” I grinned. “So you must get a big crowd at your table, too, don’t you?”

To my surprise, he actually blushed. “I, um… I get a few, yeah. But not like him.” He chuckled as we watched the teams onscreen set up for a faceoff. “He’d just make up rules randomly, talk all kinds of shit to everyone. People were so used to him being this scared kid on the ice, but in person…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“That whole thing sounds fun as hell. The casino thing.”

“Oh, it’s a ton of fun.” He turned to me. “It’s coming up in… February, I think? I could probably swing you a ticket if you want one.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, then brought up his wine for a sip. “It’s great, and it’s all for charity.”

Some of my demons elbowed their way in to remind me that I avoided casinos like the plague because fuck crowds, but I ignored them. Maybe I was just too drunk to think much about my trauma, but the idea of watching Anthony play dealer at a charity casino event sounded like a blast.

“Could be fun,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” His giant hopeful—and somewhat drunk—grin made me absolutely sure I wanted to go, demons be damned. “You want to?”

“Sure.” I returned his grin. “As long as I get to play at your table.”

“Deal. Just, uh—there’s a reason I play hockey for a living. Math is… not my strong point.”

“What? You only have to count to like twenty-one.”

“Uh-huh.” He held up his glass. “And you think I could count to twenty-one right now?”

“Are you…” I gasped melodramatically and put a hand to my chest. “Are you saying you deal while inebriated?”

His cackle did more to make my head spin than all the wine I’d put away. “Dude, I’m always shitfaced by the end of the night.”

“Well then.” I grinned. “Sign me up.”

“Excellent.” His amusement faded a little, and he rolled his eyes. “Fair warning, they do have some reporters there each year. And there’s this one guy—Cole Tandy. Ugh.” Anthony tsked. “I fucking hate that asshole.”

Alarm surged through me. “So I should avoid him?”

“Everyone should avoid him. Always.” He made a face. “He’s one of those gossip columnist, shock jock wannabe types, so he’s always sniffing around for dirt.” Anthony rolled his eyes again. “He’s harmless, but he is so fucking annoying.”

I smirked. “I suppose flirting with him to distract him would be counterproductive?”

“Oh, you can try.” Anthony brought up his glass again. “But I’d be afraid he’d take you up on it.”

“Eww. No, thanks. But Casino Night—that does sound like fun.”

“Cool.” He flashed me a smile that was surprisingly sweet despite his silly drunk mood. “I think we’ll have a lot of fun.”

Hell yeah. And if it wasn’t until February, then I had time to get my head around the idea of being in a big, crowded place.

And if he wants me there in February…

Then he really does want me here until then. Maybe even after that.

I slowly pushed out a breath and smiled into my wineglass. Even through the alcohol, that post-battle peace sank in all over again.

I wasn’t home. I didn’t have a home. Not yet.

But I was here.

And everything about this was the best place I’d been in a long, long time.