25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Cat

I drum my fingers on the kitchen counter as Stella unwraps a red velvet cupcake from the school bakery. The sweet aroma fills the air, but it does about as much to lift the mood as a fart in an elevator. “Spill it. What’s bothering you?”

She shrugs, her small shoulders drooping as she picks at the frosting, her finger tracing aimless swirls in the white fluff. Normally, there’s a spark in her eyes, a mischievous glint that says she’s up to something. Today, though, they’re dim, like someone dialed down the brightness.

“Stella?”

“Dad still hasn't talked to me about quitting dance. But he found time to coach the Rockets.”

“Ah, mierda,” I mutter under my breath, sliding onto the stool next to her. The legs scrape against the floor with a grating sound that matches my mood. Sometimes I seriously want to kick Leo’s ass. Like right now.

Her head snaps up, her hazel eyes—carbon copies of Leo's—widening. Then her lips twitch, a ghost of a smile flitting across her face before the frustration takes over again. “I know what that means.”

Of course she does.

“Look, your dad can be as dense as a potato sometimes, which means you have to be the assertive one here.”

She bites her lip, gnawing on it until there’s a faint indentation in the soft flesh. “Yeah, but maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Before she can respond, the front door opens and a moment later, Leo walks into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late. Stopped by your grandmother's after practice.”

My mouth opens and closes as I blink a few times. Did I hear him right?

His lips press into a tight line for a minute as he stares at me. “Why do you have to look so surprised?”

I clear my throat, rubbing my palms against my leggings. “I just wasn’t expecting you to go there on your own. But, uh, how did it go?”

Stella shifts beside me, her chair creaking as she starts to slide off, abandoning the cupcake she’d been mutilating. I reach across, catching her hand in mine, and give her a reassuring squeeze, then turn my attention back to Leo. “Actually, before we get into that, you and Stella need to talk. Like you were supposed to over a week ago.”

Leo scratches the back of his head, ruffling his blond hair. “Sorry, kiddo. Time got away from me. What’s going on?”

As he takes a seat across from his daughter, I grab one of the cupcakes myself. My stomach is rumbling. I hate having such an early lunch period, especially on days when eating dinner won’t be until later.

Stella doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she grabs the cupcake and shoves the whole thing into her mouth. Her cheeks puff out, and frosting oozes from between her lips. When she tries to speak, it’s a garbled mess of sounds.

I take a bite of my own cupcake, then lean forward, tilting my head and blinking a few times.

She rolls her eyes and swallows hard, her throat working overtime. Finally, she turns to her dad. “I don't want to do dance anymore, Dad. I hate it.”

Leo's eyes widen, his jaw going slack. He looks like someone just told him hockey players are about to go on strike again. “Why didn't you say something sooner?”

Her gaze drops to the floor, her shoulders hunching again. “Because you always talk about how much Mom loved watching me dance. I didn't want to make you sad.”

Leo's face crumples faster than a paper bag in a rainstorm. He reaches out, pulling his daughter into a hug. “I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. Your mom . . . she would want you to be happy, not suffering through something you hate just to make me feel better.”

I take another bite of my cupcake, trying to give them some privacy while still being present. After all, I promised her we’d do this together.

The rich red velvet flavor explodes on my tongue, and I have to bite back a moan. Dios mío. This is better than sex.

Well, most sex.

Leo brushes Stella’s dark brown hair back behind her ears. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to, okay? We'll find something else you enjoy. Maybe that CrossFit class you like so much?”

Her face lights up like Times Square on New Year's Eve. “Really?”

He nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I mean it. I'm sorry I didn't notice how unhappy you were. I'll do better. I promise.”

As I watch their interaction, a warmth spreads through my chest, like I've just downed a shot of good whiskey. It's moments like these that make me feel truly needed, truly part of this family. Without me, who knows how long it might have taken for Stella to speak up?

“Now how about you go watch TV and let me talk to Cat.”

Her head whips back and forth between us, an asymmetrical smirk spreading across her face. “Ooh, are you finally going to ask Cat on a date?”

I nearly choke on my cupcake, coughing and sputtering. Leo's face turns an impressive shade of red, like a lobster left too long in the pot.

“Stella!” we both sputter in unison.

She winks as she hops off her chair, skipping out of the kitchen.

The room falls into an awkward silence, the kind that makes you hyper-aware of every little sound—like the clock ticking on the wall or the hum of the refrigerator. I take another bite of the cupcake, chewing slowly to avoid having to speak first. Coward's way out, I know, but sue me.

Leo clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I've come to recognize. “About that talk with your grandmother . . . She agreed to look at some brochures, maybe even visit a few places.”

“Holy shit! How the hell did you manage that?”

“We made a deal. She agreed to consider assisted living if I . . .” He trails off, glancing around the room.

“If you what?” My voice comes out a bit scratchy for some reason.

He takes a deep breath in, then lets it out as he finally looks at me. “Stella’s not wrong. I’d like to take you on a date. If you want to, that is.”

My heart does a weird little flip in my chest and I bite my bottom lip, completely caught off guard by his admission. But the momentary elation dies. I wipe my nose, which is suddenly itchy and my ears heated. “Was that the deal? You had to ask me out?”

He blinks a few times, his eyes downcast. “Yes and no. She . . . it was to admit my feelings. And part of that is me wanting to take you out. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I—”

I start coughing, the itchiness from my nose suddenly spreading to my throat, as if I swallowed a cactus. And it’s getting worse. Saliva floods my mouth and I have to concentrate on swallowing.

Leo purses his lips as he reaches over and places a hand on mine. “What's wrong?”

I open my mouth to speak, but the words come out garbled and slurred. “I don' know. My thongue feelth funny.”

His eyes widen, his face draining of color as he leans closer. “Fuck, your lips are swelling. What are you allergic to?”

“Choc’late.” My voice is barely recognizable as my throat begins to tighten, my tongue feeling like a lead weight in my mouth.

“Then why did you eat the cupcakes? You know red velvet is made with cocoa, right?”

“I thithn't know. I thon't bake!” Tears well up in my eyes, hot and stinging, as my chest constricts, each breath becoming more labored. Not sure if it’s also from the allergic reaction or panic because now I know I’m having an allergic reaction that’s getting worse by the second.

Leo jumps to his feet so fast the chair topples over, crashing to the floor. “We need to get you to the hospital. Now.”

Everything becomes a blur after that. Even when I grab my bag, fumbling for some Benadryl. Not that it matters because swallowing is damn near impossible. Leo's strong arms guide me to his car, his voice a constant reassurance in my ear.

The car lurches into motion, tires squealing against asphalt. The world outside becomes a dizzying smear of colors, streetlights and buildings blending into an incomprehensible mess as he runs red lights without hesitation.

Breathing feels like trying to suck air through a straw, each inhalation shallow and frantic. The pressure in my chest intensifies, and a pitiful whimper escapes my swollen lips as tears stream down my face, blurring my vision.

I’ve never been in this situation before. I have no idea what to do. I didn’t even know I’d react like this. I only know about the allergy because when I had chocolate as a kid I broke out in a rash. But this... this is something else entirely.

“It's okay, Cat. You're going to be okay,” He reaches across the center console, his large hand engulfing mine, and squeezes. “We’re almost there. I’ve got you. Okay? I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

He takes a hard right, and as we screech to a halt in front of the emergency room, only one thought manages to break through the panic—I really hope I get the chance to go on that date.