“I didn’t see him.”
He sucks in a breath. “We have to get your grandfather.”
“It can wait. He’s probably having morning coffee, ignoring my mother on purpose.” I slip my fingers into his hair.
He laughs, and I can breathe again. Causing him pain rips my chest open. “Let’s go.” He releases me and wipes his eyes.
I go to get his door, but he left it open. I make sure he’s in alright before getting back in on my side. I press my head back into the rest, trying to get in the headspace to drive. I pull back onto the road and glance over at him. He’s looking out the window, and I can’t read him. He reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lap.
I squeeze it, fighting a flood of emotions. “You don’t ever have to come back here with me. You don’t need to come to the wedding.”
He turns, gaze boring into my cheek. “Angel.”
I glance at him. “What?”
“I want this. I want to come with you. I shouldn’t have gone into town.”
“But—”
Wolfe cuts me off. “No buts. I’m coming.”
We pull up to Grandfather’s, and there are flashing lights. I shoot Wolfe a look, and he shrugs. I speed down his long driveway to find a massive fire truck parked in front of his house.
I barely park and turn the car off before I’m out of the car, running inside.
TWENTY-SEVEN
WOLFE
Ijog up behind Archangel to find him gripping his chest, but he’s not upset. He’s…laughing?
The fuck?
And then the scene registers. His seventy-seven-year-old grandfather is yelling at a group of firefighters. The head one is trying to talk him down, but Walt is not letting up. He’s gesturing at a tree and saying something about Terror.
Oh!
His Persian is up the great big candler oak. His grandfather is an odd one for a Southern man. Not only does he collect and restore cars, but he also breeds Persian cats. That’s where our cat came from. The first time Walt met Seaborn, he handed him Venom, and the rest is history.
Angel says he gets lonely on his big property by himself since his wife died, so he has “hobbies” to keep him sane. Can’t a man just like collecting cats and tinkering with cars?
“Grandad, if they say they can’t get the truck close enough to the oak to use the ladder, I don’t think they are lying,” Archangel tries to jump in.
“Back in my day?—”
I laugh to myself and go to take a closer look at the situation. “I might be able to get her,” I say to myself, grabbing the branch easily within reach and swinging myself onto it. I loved climbing this tree when we were kids. We’d spend a week at a time here in the summer with his grandad. They’d work on cars, and the rest of the time we’d explore the property. It was the only time I got to run around and be a kid. Those are some of my best memories from childhood. Before it all fell apart.
I easily get close to where the cat is and realize I didn’t ask a crucial question. “Hey, Walt?”
The argument stops, and everyone is looking for me.
I cup my hands over my mouth and call, “I’m up here.”
“What’s up, Wolfe?” Walt asks.
“What’s the cat’s name?”
“Terror,” he calls back. “After my late wife.”
