by Aven Ellis
“I love it,” I say softly, putting my hand on his thigh. “It’s from your heart. That’s what it’s all about.”
“Yeah, it is,” Matt says.
He pulls up to a red light and shifts his gaze to me. “I have you to thank for that.”
“What?”
“When you told me it was time to grow up and be responsible,” he recounts. “I knew you were right. You hit the nail on the head when you said hockey gave me an incredible living. I’ve written checks for charity, and I’ve done stuff for the Demons Foundation, but I’ve never done anything more than that. I was too busy partying and being an idiot to be bothered with a big commitment.
“But with you, the words sunk in,” Matt continues. “I want to be more. For me. For you.”
I bite back tears. Just like he has inspired me to face my social anxiety, I have inspired him to use his position for good.
The light turns green, and I clear my throat.
“I’m so proud of you,” I say.
“I should have done it a long time ago.”
“You weren’t ready.”
Matt reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “But now I am. Thanks to you.”
Love for him fills my heart. Matt is such a good man, and I can’t wait for the rest of the world to see what I see in him.
“Now the next part,” he says, turning off onto a street. “Is for you.”
“For me?”
“Yep.”
Then he grins but doesn’t say anything.
“Tell me!” I cry, laughing.
“Okay, if you insist. The second thing I want to support is reading. You talked about how Harry Potter changed your life. What if we can give that gift to other kids? Even adults? I thought about developing some kind of program to fund the purchase of new books for schools and libraries and to distribute new books for summer reading programs. Maybe I could go to schools and read to kids. I can handle reading a children’s book if it inspires them to read.”
I can’t find the words to speak. Matt is doing this for me. Because this is something that changed my life, like hockey changed his. Both of his charity causes support things that are near to our hearts.
And while he hasn’t said he loves me, this tells me everything my heart wants to hear.
“I love it,” I say, fighting back tears. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. For believing that I could be something other than a partying, womanizing jock. You always believed in me, Holly. Even when you had no reason to.”
Before I can respond, the navigation system speaks up, telling us our destination is on the left.
Matt clears his throat as he turns into the parking lot for Le Chat Café. “We’ll talk more about that later.”
“Okay. But Matt?”
He pulls into a parking spot and turns to me. “Yeah?”
“You’ve always had this in you.”
Matt’s gaze holds mine.
“You see things in me I can’t see myself,” he admits. “And I’ve never understood why. Why you stopped to take a closer look. Nobody else has ever cared enough to look beyond the surface. I’m so damn lucky you were the woman to do it.”
I long to tell him I’ve always known this, I can’t explain the how or why, but my heart knew this the first night we talked. It’s crazy, but it’s the truth. I knew who he could be. I always have.
And now he’s become that man.
Matt squeezes my hand in his. “Come on, let’s go play with some cats.”
I let go of his hand and grab my tea. He picks up his frozen coffee and we walk through the parking lot, which of course is crowded with people due to Nate’s promoted appearance. He’ll be taking pictures and signing autographs, and as a beloved superstar for the Demons, loads of people have shown up. The turnout will be great for raising funds for cats in need.
I see people in line waiting to get in, dressed in Johansson jerseys. They spot Matt as we approach.
“Oh my God! It’s Matt Rhinelander!”
“Matty!”
“Rhines! You laid out that Wildcat the other night!”
“How’s the lip?”
I smile as Matt grins and waves to people.
“Lip is good,” Matt says cheerfully to the crowd. “I feel like a real hockey player with a good scar in development.”
We work our way toward the front because if he tried to wait in line it would cause chaos.
Matt enters the building, and I feel as though I have walked into someone’s living room. There’s a check-in desk against one wall, but the rest of the room has oversized sofas, cat trees, big cozy chairs, tables, and a roaring fake fireplace.
Cats are everywhere.
“Oooh!” I cry, watching a little white kitten chase a ball across the room.
Before I can say another word, one of the café workers hurries up to us.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll need to wait in line,” the woman says, nodding gravely.
I grin. She has no idea he plays for the Dallas Demons.
Matt flashes her a smile. “I’m here for Nate. I’m Matt Rhinelander, and I also play for the Dallas Demons.”
People are taking pictures of Matt with their cell phones while the crowd starts cheering. The woman’s face turns red.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I should know that,” she apologizes.
“No, it’s fine,” Matt says, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect you to know me.” Then he turns toward me. “This is my . . . I mean, this is Nate’s sister, Holly.”
My heart skips happily as I know he came close to saying my girlfriend.
“Hi, Matt, I’m Scarlett,” she says. “The director for Le Chat Café. Thank you for coming. And thank you, Holly. Let me bring you on back and show you around.”
We follow her past a line snaking through the café of people waiting to meet Nate.
“All of our cats live here until they are adopted,” Scarlett explains. “We keep the kittens up front because they are more agreeable to meeting new people and playing with each other. Some of our more tolerant, older cats are kept out there, too.”
We go from room to room, all set up like cozy living rooms with cat toys and trees. Volunteers are holding cats and playing with them, and I can’t wait to do the same.
“So people can come here and get their cat fix?” I ask, intrigued by this whole concept.
Scarlett laughs. “Yes. And all the money helps us care for the cats. We get a lot of adoptions, too. You can really see their personalities when you can spend time like this interacting with them.”
“We’re going to open the autograph line in a few minutes,” she says, popping open a door. “Nate? You have guests.”
Nate is sitting on the floor with orange and white kittens running all around him.
“Oh! Those kittens are adorable,” I say, immediately getting down on the floor. I scoop up a fluffy orange and white striped one, and it purrs loudly in response.
Nate grins at us. “Hey, glad you guys could stop by.”
Then he turns to Matt. “What’s up, Rhines?”
“Your sister insisted I play with cats today,” Matt says, grinning as he sits down across from me.
“Cats are fantastic. You’ll see,” I insist.
Matt leans back and retrieves a small ball, tossing it for a kitten to chase.
“If the kitten can retrieve, I’ll be impressed,” he teases.
Nate picks up a calico and strokes it behind the ears. “These guys are cute, but I have my hands full with Marabou.”
“I want one,” I say, putting down the kitten I’m holding.
“No,” Matt says.
Nate furrows his brow. “No?”
I laugh. “I told Matt to tell me no. No kittens. Or cats. I can’t do that without asking Harrison.”
I stroke the fur of another kitten who is rubbing against my knee as I sit cross-legged next to Nate. I check the nametag, and this cutie is Vyktor.
“Flynn would say yes to you,” Nate says.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But you could get one,” I tell Matt.
Matt sticks out his hand. “Oh, no, no. I know nothing about cats.”
“I could teach you,” I say helpfully.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nate interjects.
“What? Why?” Matt asks, a look of confusion on his face.
“Before we trust you with taking care of another living thing, we need to get you squared away, my friend.”
What? Why did Nate have to say that? I see the hurt in Matt’s eyes, and I immediately want to tell Nate to shut up.
“Where are you going with that, Johansson? I can’t be trusted to take care of a cat?” Matt counters, stroking an orange cat who is circling him.
Nate cradles the calico to his chest. “Don’t get defensive, Rhines. I’m just saying it might not be the right time to take on a cat. Not when you are trying to get your own life on track.”
Matt abruptly gets up.
“You’re right. A cat can’t do shots with me anyway. Or keep me from screwing around with girls. Complete waste of my time.”
And then he leaves the room.
I turn to Nate, fury exploding within me.
“You can be such an idiot sometimes,” I snap, standing up.
“What?” Nate asks, shock in his voice. “I was trying to help him. Matt’s not mature enough to take care of a cat yet! You’ve only been influencing him for what, eleven days? He’s doing great, but I don’t think he needs any other responsibilities when he hasn’t proven himself yet.”
I stand up. I’m so angry at Nate I’m shaking.
“You have no idea what Matt is capable of,” I say, my voice full of anger. “And I’m not influencing him. I’m his friend. I see things in him that other people, like you, refuse to see. So why don’t you try to support him instead of issuing mandates like everyone else in his life does, okay?”
I leave the room and look for Matt. I spot him down the hall, arms folded across his chest as he looks through a large glass window into another room of cats, one that is shut so you can’t go in.
I approach him and take a place next to him at the window.
“I’ll never be good enough for you,” Matt says quietly, his gaze fixed on the cats in the room in front of us.
“Don’t listen to Nate,” I plead.
Matt shifts his attention to me, and I see nothing but hurt in his beautiful blue eyes.
“I can’t be trusted to take care of a cat,” he says bitterly. “Nate will never trust me to take care of you.”
“First of all, Matthew Paul Rhinelander, I take care of myself,” I correct him. “But when I needed someone on New Year’s Eve, you were the one who helped me with my panic attack. You picked up on my distress. You were the one who calmed me down. Nobody knows that. But I do. I trust you. What anyone else thinks doesn’t matter.”
“He’s your brother,” Matt says, his voice anguished.
“I don’t care if he’s the President of the United States,” I snap. “I make my own decisions. And so do you. You’ve changed, Matt. You have. Don’t let one comment by my idiot brother undo that.”
I hold my breath, praying I have reached him. I hope Nate’s words aren’t going to change all the good things that Matt has done since his last episode of drinking that made him late for practice.
“You’ve found our super-special cats!”
We both turn and find a woman with a nametag approaching us. Helen, I read. She’s an elderly woman with dyed, flaming red hair and glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck.
“Special?” Matt asks.
She nods as she puts her glasses on. “These cats need special homes. They have issues. Some psychological, some medical, some both. They need someone who can see past the diagnosis. These cats have been given up on, but they can be wonderful, loving pets if given the proper care and a chance.”
I glance at Matt. I see the wheels turning in his head.
He understands these cats.
“Can we see them?” Matt asks.
I love you.
“I’d be delighted to show you them,” Helen says eagerly. “My name is Helen, and I’m a volunteer here. Let me get my key.”
She roots around in the pocket of the black Le Chat Café apron she is wearing and retrieves a huge, neon pink key chain with a ton of keys on it.
“Okey-doke, here we go,” she says, smiling. “And who do I have the pleasure of showing our super special kitties too?”
“I’m Matt,” he says. “And this is Holly.”
“Oh, lovely,” she says, turning the key in the lock. “It’s nice to meet you. Okay, come on in.”
She opens the door and we step inside. A few cats scurry when we step in, and one cat stares lazily at us from the top perch of a cat tree.
“This is our wall of fame,” Helen says, leading us to a bulletin board covered with cat information sheets in plastic sheet protectors. “These are all the cats in residence in this room. They have their names on their collars, so if you see one you want to know more about, you can grab their sheet. Anyhoo, I’ll let you two hang out here and get to know our cats, and I’ll check back on you later.”
“Thank you,” Matt says.
She smiles and shuts the door behind her.
As soon as we’re alone, Matt turns to me.
“I know what these cats feel like,” he admits.
“I know you do,” I say, wishing I could hold his hand in mine. “All they need is a chance. Just like the one you got from Peter. A chance to be the pets they are meant to be.”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
A longhaired orange and white Maine Coon strolls up to me and rubs its body against my legs. I sit down on the hardwood floor to pet it, and when it looks up at me, I see he has one eye missing. The cat purrs loudly in response to my touch. I lift the tag on the collar to see the name.
“Bubba,” I read aloud.
Matt goes over to the bulletin board and scans it for the cat’s information sheet.
“Here we go,” Matt says, taking it off the peg. He begins reading. “Oh, man. His owners gave him up when he was diagnosed with cancer. That’s why he’s missing an eye. The shelter rescued him from a pound and took on his treatment. He’s ten.”
Heaviness fills my heart. “Poor Bubba,” I say, scratching him underneath the chin.
Matt puts the card back and moves over to the cat tree, petting a black and white cat named Spot before sitting down next to me. Bertie and J.D. stroll over to greet us and flop down at our feet, pleased to hang out with us. Other cats grow bold and decide to come out and see us. We pet them all while taking turns reading their stories. We read about cats with kidney issues. Stress issues. IBS. Owners who couldn’t afford treatment or didn’t want to care for cats with an illness.
“They really have struggles just like humans,” I say aloud, gently cradling Bertie to my chest.
“I know,” Matt says. “Hey, look at that. Eyes!”
Matt points in the direction of a potted tree in the corner of the room.
“What?”
“Green eyes,” he says. “That cat is hiding.”
I look over, and sure enough, hiding behind fake the foliage of a tree, I see a pair of green eyes.
Matt gets up and slowly approaches. He sits down next to the base of the tree, and all of a sudden a black cat shoots out and runs across the room, diving into a play
tunnel to hide.
Matt laughs. “Did you see that? He shot across the room like a puck!”
He stands back up and searches for his card on the board. Meanwhile, I move over to the tunnel and lower down to the ground so I can peek inside. The little black cat looks absolutely terrified of me.
“He’s scared, Matt. This cat is petrified of strangers,” I say. I turn back to the cat with green eyes, empathy filling me. “I know how you feel. New people can be scary, can’t they?”
Matt is silent for a moment.
“His name is Simon,” Matt says. “And he has diabetes.”
I turn around, and Matt is still reading Simon’s card.
“He’s only four. Had owners who didn’t treat the diabetes. He also had severe neuropathy.”
“Nerve damage,” I repeat, my heart aching for this poor cat.
“Yeah.” Matt pauses to read before continuing. “He was placed in foster care for months, and he could barely walk. He’s terrified of strangers.”
“No wonder he ran from you,” I say, turning back to Simon. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”
“It says Simon dramatically improved with insulin, proper diet, home glucose monitoring, and medication. After much love, he came out of his shell with his foster mother but will need an owner who is patient, encouraging, and willing to take on his medical needs.”
My gaze meets Matt’s.
“This cat is both of us,” I say. “He needs someone to believe he can be a great pet if given the chance to thrive.”
“He’s scared of new social settings,” Matt adds, coming over and sitting down beside me. “He needs someone to make him feel safe and to be patient with his anxiety. He needs someone that will help him become confident and brave.”
Tears fill my eyes as I gaze at Matt.
“This is your cat,” I say, believing that Matt was destined to take Simon into his life.