4. Wyatt

I’d known from the start that Anthony had more money than I did. After all, he wasn’t homeless. Anyone who had a landlord was doing a hell of a lot better than I was.

So I hadn’t really given much thought to Anthony’s economic status beyond being grateful he was willing to let me and Lily spend the night under his roof.

When I saw his silver SUV, however, it occurred to me that this man was… not struggling. I mean, it had been a while since I’d priced a car, but I was pretty sure the base price of an Audi Q7 was a lot more than I pulled in annually with my VA disability pittance. And now that I thought about it as I watched him clip Bear and Moose’s harnesses to the seat belts in the backseat, purebred Maine Coons weren’t exactly cats people gave away on Craigslist.

It gave me an uncomfortable feeling that was hard to define. I hated where I was in life, and being around a man who could drop a ton of money on expensive cars and luxury cats just made me feel even more conspicuous. I wasn’t stupid—I knew I didn’t look or smell great. I had the privilege of enough money to make use of laundromats sometimes, but there was only so much a person could do when they were outdoors almost 24/7. Especially since people like me had been pushed more and more into the grosser parts of town so we didn’t drive down property values by sleeping in the nicer parks or streets. The alleys and underpasses of downtown Seattle didn’t really bode well for keeping clean even when I still had a tent for shelter.

I’d been self-conscious enough about being in someone’s house and on their furniture. Now I was going to sit in his expensive car on his leather upholstery? And go to his undoubtedly nice and pristine house? Ugh. It was so weird to be grateful and embarrassed at the same time.

But in the two minutes we’d been outside the clinic, Lily had already started shivering, so I swallowed my pride, put my rucksack in the trunk, and joined Anthony in the front seats.

“Will she be okay up here?” Anthony gestured at Lily, who was sitting between my legs in front of the seat.

I glanced over my shoulder at the two cats, who were occupying the entire backseat. “It’s fine.” I petted Lily as she rested her head on my leg. “It’s just one ride.”

I didn’t like taking the chance, and back when I’d still had a car, I’d had a seat belt clip for her. Tonight, though, I was afraid—rationally or not—that if I pushed my luck and asked to stop and get a seat belt clip, I’d finally hit the end of Anthony’s patience and generosity. Right now, there was a heater blowing on Lily. She’d stopped shivering. The odds of us getting into an accident seemed relatively low compared to those of Anthony leaving us on the side of the road if I asked too much of him.

Also, Anthony’s cats were in the car, and he seemed to care immensely about his animals, so he wasn’t going to take unnecessary risks on this ride.

“It’s fine,” I said again.

He studied me uncertainly, but then shrugged and backed out of the parking space. We rode in silence for a block or so before he gestured up ahead. “If you’re hungry, we can swing in to one of those.”

I followed where he was indicating, and there were a few fast food signs glowing on either side of the road. My stomach growled again, same as it had when he’d mentioned food the first time. “I, uh… If it’s not too much trouble?” I reached for my wallet. “I can actually pay for it.”

He glanced at me. “You don’t have to. I was going to pick up something for myself, too.”

“Then I definitely want to pay.” I gestured with my wallet. “You’ve already gone above and beyond. Buying dinner is the least I can do.”

Anthony shrugged. “Your call.”

We settled on a burger chain, and he pulled into the drive-thru.

As soon as he rolled down the window, both cats started… well, not really meowing. More like chirping? Squeaking? Not the sounds I expected from cats that size, but okay. By the time we’d made it to the window, both were purring loudly. There was also some clicking I couldn’t quite identify until I looked, and I realized both cats were kneading on the seat; the sound I heard was their claws popping in and out of the upholstery. For a second I worried they were tearing up the leather interior, but then I realized there was a thick seat cover. It had gray and black cat hair all over it, and the edges looked like something had chewed on it.

I chuckled as I looked at Anthony. “Why do I get the feeling they know what a drive-thru is?”

The kind-of-sheepish smile was startlingly cute. So was the subtle blush. “They, um… They might be a little bit spoiled.”

“A little bit?”

The response to that was an unrepentant shrug.

I laughed, tousling Lily’s ears. “Eh, I can’t judge.” I almost mentioned how much I spoiled her, but… I really didn’t. Not anymore. I used what little money I had to make sure she had food and clean water, and I’d bought some blankets specifically to keep her comfortable at night. But the days of actually spoiling her had ended when we’d been kicked out of our last apartment.

I fucking hated myself for that.

Gazing down into her big brown eyes, I fought back a sudden rush of emotion.

We’ll get back on our feet, kiddo. And then you’re going to be the most spoiled dog in the world.

Anthony pulled up, and after we’d reached the window, he collected our food. Then he pulled into a parking space. As I dug into a burger—oh my fucking God, food—Anthony tore off a couple of pieces from his chicken sandwich and twisted around.

The purring intensified as the cats each took some chicken from him.

And because I wasn’t a monster, I had of course bought a small hamburger for Lily. No onions, no condiments—just bun and meat. Her tail thumped against the floormat as she ate.

Behind me, the cats starting squeaking and kneading again.

Anthony shot a judgy look over his shoulder. “You already had some! You got the first bites, for God’s sake!”

More squeaking. More kneading. More purring.

He eyed them, then gave an exasperated sigh and tore off a couple more pieces of chicken.

I tried not to choke on my burger as I laughed. “You really are wrapped around their little paws.”

He grunted. “There’s nothing little about these paws.”

“That’s not really a denial of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He faced forward again, rolled his eyes, and finally got a bite of his own sandwich.

When I was about halfway through my burger, I slowed down a bit, and I turned to Anthony. “Seriously—thank you for all of this. You really didn’t have to help us.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He took a sip from his drink before putting it back in one of the cupholders between us. “It doesn’t make sense for me to have an empty guestroom while someone’s sleeping…” He gestured out the windshield.

I laughed bitterly. “You’re in the minority, thinking that way.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly. “I’ve got a neighbor who bitches constantly about how the homeless need to be ‘sent someplace else.’” Anthony rolled his eyes. “Dude’s literally got six bedrooms, three of which aren’t occupied, but he’s… ugh. I could rant about him all damn night.”

“He probably doesn’t like our aesthetic,” I muttered.

Anthony’s response was a humorless chuckle, and we continued eating.

My mind reeled, though. Six bedrooms? And this was Anthony’s neighbor?

Jesus Christ—how rich was this man who was scraping me and my dog up off the street?

About thirty minutesafter we’d left the restaurant’s parking lot, I realized Anthony’s car and cats were only the tip of the iceberg.

His house was insane.

For one thing, it was in Medina. Some of the palaces out here probably made people in Bellevue and on Mercer Island weep with envy.

For another, it was on Lake Washington. Like… right on the lake. This man had waterfront property in Medina.

He pulled the car into a four-car garage that had two empty bays and one occupied by a gleaming red Ferrari. There was also a motorcycle and a couple of snowboards. No idea what he did for a living, but he was clearly doing well.

Lily and I got out of the passenger seat while Anthony went around to get his cats out. As long as we were outside and the cold hadn’t settled in too badly, I took the opportunity to let Lily do her business. Anthony didn’t seem to mind waiting a moment, even after the cats were out of the car. Bear quickly found a leaf to entertain himself. Moose just glared at us.

Fortunately, Lily was trained to go on command, so I didn’t keep anybody waiting long, and in under two minutes, we were all heading inside. Bear was clearly disappointed that he had to leave his leaf outside, but he seemed to forget about it once he realized he was going into the house.

From the garage, we walked into a kitchen that not only rivaled my last apartment for square footage, it had a spectacular view. Even in the dark, I could tell he had a panoramic view of Lake Washington, and that dotted line of lights swooping down toward the water and expanding across the lake could only be the Evergreen Point Bridge.

Anthony undid his cats’ harnesses in the kitchen. Moose immediately trotted into the living room and heaved himself onto the giant cat tree by the window. Bear went to the food dish.

While the cats enjoyed their freedom, Anthony led me and Lily down the hall. I quietly prayed his guest room wasn’t on one of the upper floors; this house had to be at least three stories, and just thinking about the climb made every joint in my body ache with preemptive fatigue.

Luck was once again on my side today—the guest room was at the end of a long hall that didn’t have any stairs. Anthony pushed open the door and motioned for us to go in.

“It has its own bathroom,” he said as we stepped inside. “I always keep the drawers and cabinets stocked with anything a guest might need, so help yourself.” He gestured over his shoulder. “If you need to do any laundry, the laundry room is downstairs.”

IfI needed to do laundry. Right. There was no “if” about it.

“Thanks. I’ll, um…” I tugged at my jacket and made a face. “Probably take you up on that.”

He didn’t so much as wrinkle his nose. “No problem. The stairs are across the hall. Just go down, and it’s on your left.”

I nodded. I could handle that. Stairs wore me out, but I could manage, especially if it meant clean clothes.

Beside me, Lily sat down, and I patted her neck. “She, um… She usually sleeps close to me. If you’d rather she didn’t sleep on the bed, I can—”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “My boys both sleep with me. She can’t shed any worse than they do.”

I wanted to say, “You’d be surprised.” After all, shorthaired dogs were like shorthaired cats—they could shed a lot. But I didn’t want to talk him out of allowing Lily to sleep next to me; she was clingy under the best of circumstances, and after the last few months, well, I was probably her security blanket as much as she was mine.

So I let the subject drop. “Do you mind if I grab a shower?”

“Not at all.” He paused. “Though now that I think about it, I didn’t put towels back in here last time someone stayed—anyway, let me get you some towels.”

“Thanks.”

He brought a stack of towels along with an empty laundry basket. He also brought the bag of food for Lily along with a huge bowl for water.

“She’s welcome to eat in the kitchen,” he explained. “But this way the cats stay out of her bowl and out of her way, and she can sort of settle in here.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

Then he left me to it.

Of course, priority one was my dog. I took off her vest again so she could relax, and then I filled her food and water dishes about halfway, just so she wouldn’t stuff herself and get sick. I was afraid for a hot minute she wouldn’t like the food, but she dove right in and crunched happily.

With Lily fed, I focused on myself and that shower that sounded absolutely amazing.

I was halfway undressed when I realized Anthony hadn’t asked me to take off my shoes on the way in. Maybe he didn’t want to know what homeless socks smelled like? And all things considered, my battered old boots were relatively clean, so at least I hadn’t tracked anything into his house.

I sat on the edge of the bed to unlace my boots. After I slid off the left one, I carefully removed the right. I debated taking off my prosthetic, too. Showering while wearing one wasn’t a good idea, but I was too afraid of pushing my luck with Anthony to ask if he had something I could use as a shower chair. Especially since regular chairs weren’t safe for that; they needed non-skid feet.

One shower with my prosthetic on wouldn’t be the end of the world.

I pulled some clean clothes out of my rucksack and took them out of the plastic grocery bags I’d used to keep them dry. They were, fortunately, still as clean as they’d been since my last trip to the laundromat. I always kept a couple of sets of clothes clean just in case I couldn’t do laundry for a while; at least then if what I was wearing got wet or something, I could change into something clean. I took what small comforts I could get out there.

I found my shaving kit in the rucksack, and took that and my clothes into the bathroom.

When I turned on the light, my heart jumped. The shower was not only huge and inviting, it had a removable showerhead and a bench.

Was I dreaming? Because like two hours ago, I’d been on the verge of panicked tears over where my dog would sleep tonight. Now I was in a palatial house, my dog had more food and comforts than she’d had in ages, and I had access to a shower with a place to sit down.

Forget dreaming. Was I dead?

Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing was for damn sure—this shower was heaven.

Hot water. Actual pressure. No fear that someone would steal my prosthetic if I took it off (which I did, leaving it just outside the shower stall). No worrying that, if I wore it into the shower, it would slip out from under me and put me on my ass. No stressing about how long the water would last or if someone would start banging on the door to tell me my time was up.

And more than anything, I didn’t have to rush through my shower for fear that something might happen to my dog. Partly because I could see her through the fogged-up doors—she’d come in and lain down on the rug by the sink—and partly because I believed to my core that my host would chew glass before he did something to an animal.

I ran the showerhead over some aching muscles, especially in my neck and back, and basked in the relief. I didn’t want to abuse Anthony’s hospitality or waste water, but I admittedly indulged in a longer shower than I needed. For a good several minutes after I was clean, I just enjoyed the warmth and the relaxation.

But I did want to be a good houseguest, so I didn’t stay in too long.

His towels were big and soft, not the tiny gritty things I’d used at homeless shelters. I also didn’t have that usual anxiety over needing to rush out so someone could use the facility or to make sure my few worldly possessions—and my dog—were safe.

Which also meant I could do things like shave. I didn’t mind having a beard, especially when I was facing a winter of sleeping outside. But I hated when it was unkempt like this. Tonight, I had another luxury that I hadn’t in a while: time to do some actual beard maintenance.

I dug into my shaving kit, and I indulged in taking my sweet time trimming the edges and tidying it all up. My hair was longer than I would’ve liked, but a comb worked wonders, and suddenly the man staring back at me in the mirror was familiar. Too thin, especially in the face, but more… me than I’d been in ages.

I leaned against the counter as a weird sense of fatigue settled in. I was always exhausted—came with the territory of sleeping on the streets—but this was new. It was less like I was about to collapse and more like… I could collapse. I was in a warm, safe place where I could lie down, close my eyes, and surrender to sleep like I hadn’t been able to in months.

I felt weird.

But I felt good.