He met Cass down in the kitchen for breakfast, opting to stay in his pajamas for now. He wanted to be comfortable and decided that was best considering what a shabby state his nerves were in. Cass made a French toast casserole for them to share, but LA had trouble finishing even just a few bites.
Every minute was a minute closer to that damn phone call.
Cass did his best to distract him and stay positive by putting on another show starring Alan Tudyk. This one was calledResident Alienand it was about an extraterrestrial who crash landed on Earth after failing his mission to kill all humans. As the titular alien, Alan then had to disguise himself as a small mountain town’s doctor to avoid getting nabbed by the government, and there was a local child who could see his true form.
It was great—LA now had a new appreciation for the phrasethis is bullshit—but he had trouble focusing. He missed a lot because he kept zoning out and staring at his phone, waiting for it to do something.
When it beeped with a text message, LA nearly flew off the couch. It was only a text from Brandon, confirming the art showing for tomorrow and sending him pictures of the new gallery display with his paintings. They exchanged a few more messages to decide on pricing for each painting. LA thanked him and also assured him that he would be there with Cass too.
Still had to figure out that human disguise thing—before LA could ask Cass about it, his phone rang.
Ugh.
It was his mother.
He let it go to voicemail and tried to get back into the show.
Not even the awesome comedic charms of Alan Tudyk was enough to soothe him, but damn if LA didn’t try to let them.
Cass was trying too, cuddling him close and being extra attentive. While it was sweet, it was a constant reminder of whatwas coming. Cass was only being extra snuggly because he was worried too. Not for all the same reasons of course, but still.
LA finally managed to get tuned into the show while making a few touch ups on the painting. He hadn’t decided what exactly he was going to do over the golden impression of his and Cass’s joined hands, but he knew it wasn’t done yet. It still needed something—
The phone rang and jolted LA so hard that he dropped his paintbrush.
“It’s time!” Cass gasped.
“Shit, shit, shit!” LA tried to pick up the paintbrush from the floor and immediately hissed in pain.
“You! Phone!” Cass waved his paws. “I’ll get that!”
“Thank you!” LA sat back on the couch, took a quick breath, and then answered it. “Hello?”
“Hugh Daytona,” the man said in a cheerful friendly tone. “I’m one of the senior counsel here at Hardwick and Coates. Most folks just call me Hughie though. That’s fine by me.”
“Lawrence Holmes. People call me LA.”
“Nice to meet you,” Hughie said. “Now, you got some time to talk with me?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Okay. It looks like I got some of your information already from our paralegal, Jackie. She has here that you’re an embalmer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t see that every day!” Hughie chuckled.
“Yeah.” LA instantly scowled. He was already preparing himself for the usual litany of funeral profession themed jokes he’d heard a million times.
“So.” Hughie sounded like he was smiling. “Why don’t you tell me about your injury? What happened?”
“Okay, well.” LA glanced over at Cass, who was still tidying up the mess from the paint. “Part of my job involves moving the decedents around. Sometimes, they’re a bit on the large side. We had a person who was easily in excess of four hundred pounds. The family decided to go with another funeral home, so a removal service came to pick him up.
“We were busy, so it was just me and the removal guy. He was, like, a hundred. I tried to get my manager to help us, but he said he couldn’t leave his desk because he was watching the phones.”
“Where was the rest of your staff?” Hughie asked.
“Either working a funeral service or out on another call.” LA sighed. “The family was pretty ticked off at one of our directors, so they were in a big rush to get their loved one to the other place as fast as possible. That, combined with my manager being a royal ass—I mean, not great about it, I knew that I couldn’t wait.
