I smile, imagining Noah and Ezra out on the ice with little kids, trying not to curse or get frustrated by their parents.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just picturing it.”
“Me playing hockey? You’ve seen it plenty of times before.”
“No. I mean, you bossing the little kiddos around.”
“I’m a great boss.”
I snort out a laugh. “You’re something.”
“Hey, I was captain of an entire team for ten years. I know how to command a room.”
“Sure you do,boss.”
His eyes darken at the name, and I swear he’s about to yell at me, but another loud clap of thunder has the bar shaking.
I jump.
I look at Noah, expecting him to have a comment or two about me being scared, but he doesn’t. All I see is understanding.
“I hate storms,” he says, and I wonder briefly if he’s just saying it to make me feel better. Even if he is, I don’t care. It’s exactly what I need. “Especially at night when I’m ...”
Alone.
He doesn’t have to finish that. I understand it all too well.
Silence falls between us. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. Still, I feel the need to fill it.
“Wonder how long the power will be out,” I comment.
“Last I checked, the storm was expected to last until eleven at least. I’m sure we’ll be low on the priority list for restoration. Why? In a hurry to get out of here?”
“No,” I say honestly. Much like Noah, the last thing I want to do is go home and sit in my apartment alone while the storm rages on around me. I like the comfort of having someone else around too much. “I just need to text Izzy, make sure she can check on Beans while— Oh my god!”
“What? What’s wrong? What happened?” Noah shoves off the counter, on full alert, as I hop off my stool and race toward the door.
“Pork!” I yell behind me. “We forgot Pork!”
Then I push through the front doors of Stick Taps and step into the storm.
Wind and rain pelt me, and I’m instantly soaked. I don’t care, though. I care only about getting to the barn to grab the kitten, who is probably scared, uncertain, and desperate for warmth. It’s freezing out here.
I can’t believe we forgot about him. I can’t believe we abandoned him.
My feet feel heavy as I sprint to the barn, and I know it’s because the ground is waterlogged, and the parking lot already is one big mud pit.
When I finally reach the barn, I skid to a halt, my feet slipping in the wetness, and I fall to one knee.
It doesn’t matter, though. I pull myself up and wrench open the door. I hear the kitten as soon as I step through.
I run to the box I left him in earlier, and tears spring to my eyes at the sight.
He’s wrapped in the towel, his little face wet from falling into his food, probably. He looks so sad and so helpless. My heart hurts.
I scoop him up, holding him to my chest as he shakes in my arms.
