I’d fully intended to pick it up myself, but then Lexi went and got herself into trouble.
She swipes at the tears slipping down her cheeks as a soft mewl captures her attention.
“Colten,” Lexi says carefully.
“Yes, Wildcat?”
“There’s a cat on your bed.”
“I’m aware.”
“Why is there a cat on your bed?”
“Our bed,” I correct. “And there’s a cat on our bed because I know how badly you’ve always wanted one. I thought she would help you feel more at home here.”
She’s quiet for a beat as she reaches for the gray tabby. She’s a rescue who had her family surrender her when they had a new baby, and her foster family said she’s the sweetest girl, which I got a glimpse of when I went to meet her before heading into the office yesterday.
Lexi spots the blood coating her palm and pauses, but the cat headbutts the back of her hand, clearly unhappy with the delay in petting. “What’s her name?”
“Pancake.”
A soft laugh fills the space as she pets the cat’s head, careful not to get any blood on her soft fur.
“You bought me a cat.”
“You don’t do well with big changes. This way you and Pancake can make the transition together.”
A fresh wave of tears leaks from the corners of her eyes, but I recognize them as happy tears.
Women are so confusing with their emotions. Surely it’s not normal to cry when you’re happy and sad. Throw frustrated and angry into the mix, and it’s a wonder the emotional beings aren’t crying nonstop.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“You’re welcome.”
While she’s distracted by the cat, I slip my hands beneath her and carefully tug her leggings down her legs, earning me a yelp.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
“We need to get your cuts clean,” I say, pulling her sweater over her head and ignoring her indignant glare when she’s left sitting in nothing but a cotton bra and panties.
I shake my head and give Pancake a quick pat. “Don’t look at me like that, Wildcat. I’ve seen you in more compromising positions than this one.”
She huffs, her mouth opening to say something I’m sure would have been sassy, but I cut her off by lifting her back into my arms and carrying her into the bathroom.
Lexi hisses out a breath when I place her on the cool granite counter but doesn’t say a word as I busy myself gathering first aid supplies and lining them up neatly beside her.
Once I’m satisfied I have everything I need, I wet a cloth and carefully dab at her palm. The cuts have stopped bleeding, but that also means there could be dirt and grime under the surface.
She watches my every move, the tears from earlier finally drying up.
My girl has been through so many big changes the last few days, it’s not surprising that she’s emotional.
I move on to cleaning her other hand, stopping to wash out the cloth every now and then.
“I’m sorry for sneaking out,” she finally says.
I press my eyes closed and take a deep breath to stop myself from snapping at her. We’re already on precarious footing, and the last thing she needs is for me to yell at her. “It was a stupid thing to do.”
