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She doesn’t belong here.

When I finally reach the door, I start to open it. But I can’t hear my dad’s voice anymore.

I wake up in a panic.

I’m sitting in the vet’s waiting room the next morning when Quinn walks in. When our eyes meet across the room, I can see her concern, and I sit up as she comes over. She sits down next to me.

“I’m okay. Everything’s okay,” I tell her automatically, taking her hand in mine. I’m exhausted. I barely slept. But I can see that she’s worried and I don’t want that.

“What’s going on?”

“How did you know I was here?”

“You let me track your phone, remember?” She puts her hand on the back of my neck as I rub my face. I did. When I insisted she let me track hers. “Is everything really okay?”

“It’s fine.” I pull her into my arms. “Don’t worry.” I put a hand on her belly but I’m distracted.

“You were gone when I woke up. And I was worried.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t need anything. I just… I missed you.”

I laugh humorlessly. “You missed my obsessive, overprotective stalking? Isn’t that what you called it?”

“Yes,” she says sweetly. Then her expression turns worried again. “I see I was right to be worried. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed this casually before.”

She’s right. I’m a mess. I’m wearing jogging pants and a sweatshirt. I check my watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is.” It’s almost ten in the morning already.

“You didn’t go into work today?”

“No.”

“I can only imagine one reason you’re here.” She squeezes my hand and says gently, “Something happened to your kitty?”

My eyes instantly tear up and I press my fingers into them.

“Oh, Harlan.” She wraps her arm around me. “What happened?”

“I think she fell off the roof.”

“Oh my gosh.” She looks toward the empty reception desk, and the doors into the doctor’s offices, as I’ve been doing for the last half hour. There’s no one else here except for some guy with a golden retriever in the far corner.

“She’s alive,” I reassure her, realizing she might be wondering.

She sighs with relief. “I thought cats always land on their feet, though…?”

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean the feet don’t break.”

“Shit.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “I’m here, okay?”

“Okay.”

Does she know how good it feels to hear her say that?

The warmth that floods me when she cuddles into me and tries to make me feel better is intense.

Maybe I’ve been so afraid of losing my inheritance and my place in my family, and so focused on keeping my secrets, that it snuck up on me that I’ve become so much more afraid of losingher.