Chapter 2

Lila, sneezing and with tears in her eyes, asked, "Caleb, do you… achoo!… have a cat or something?"

Caleb steadied her, his eyes darting around the room until they locked onto me, tucked away in a corner.

I didn't mean to come back. It was just… pouring outside, with wind strong enough to knock one over.

This neighborhood had nowhere to crash for the night.

I wandered around a bit.

But then the property manager and security came after me with a big ol' net, like I was some feral stray. Scared me half to death, so I hightailed it back here.

And as soon as I got back, I saw them.

I was curled up in the corner, trying to make myself invisible, head down, tail limp.

Next thing I knew, Caleb grabbed me by the scruff, holding me up like I was garbage.

"Oh my gosh, a cat?!" Lila shrieked, covering her mouth, coughing and sneezing like it was the apocalypse.

"Probably some mangy stray that snuck in from the complex," Caleb said. "I'll toss it out, no big deal."

He flung open the door and chucked me outside—right as the property manager with the net showed up.

"What's the deal with you guys?" Caleb snapped. "Letting strays run wild in here!"

"Must be some resident's cat that got loose," the manager said. "Sorry for the hassle."

"Look at this thing—filthy fur, claws like daggers. No way it's not a stray."

Caleb's throw landed me in a muddy puddle. My fur was a mess, soaked and dirty. I just sat there, stunned.

The whole time, Caleb didn't even look my way—like I didn't exist.

I used to be his cat, a proper pet. Now? I was just a stray.

My back paw was killing me, but I didn't stop. I bolted into the bushes, tearing through the rain with no clue where I was going.

The pain got worse, and when I finally stopped, I saw it—a shard of glass stuck in my hind leg, blood pouring out.

Night was falling, and the rain kept getting heavier, drumming endlessly all around me.

I limped along, letting the water soak me, with no idea where to go

I'd always been a wanderer. Those three years in a human's home? Just a pit stop.

I hung my head, then stopped—something was in my way.

The rain wasn't hitting me anymore. I looked up and saw a pair of shiny black dress shoes. My eyes trailed higher.

A guy in a suit, holding an umbrella, stood in the middle of the road like some kinda weirdo.

Then he scooped me up.

Those sly, fox-like eyes narrowed, and I recognized that stupidly good-looking face.

It was Liam Ford, Caleb's arch-nemesis.

"You know what a stray cat's flower language is?" he said, ruffling my drenched head. "Come home with me, you scrappy little thing."

Humans were so damn fickle, always switching up on you.

No way was I falling for that again.

So I let him have it—hissing and yowling like a total lunatic, cursing him out in cat-speak.

All the while, I was wriggling and clawing like mad, desperate to break free from his clutches.

But the more I fought, the more my leg bled. All I did was wear myself out and make the wound worse.

My claws tore into his shirt, ripping it and even drawing blood, but this guy didn't let go.

He was a total badass.

A scrappy little kitten like me didn't stand a chance.

The rain was coming down in buckets, a roaring mess all around.

But the instant the door closed, all that chaos was sealed outside—suddenly, everything fell quiet.

My soaked fur clung to my skin, and even a slight breeze made me shiver.

Liam wasn't much better off—his shirt was shredded on one side, frayed on the other, soaked through and stained with blood where I'd scratched him.

I lowered my head and let out a soft, guilty meow.

Sorry.

He was catching my bad vibes for no reason.

Humans might be fickle, but then I remembered—Liam was the guy I'd seen at those cat shelters, filling food bowls, cleaning litter stations, swapping out kibble machines.

He did this more than a couple of times.

Maybe he just saw a soggy kitty in the rain and wanted to help.

While I was lost in my own little world, Liam suddenly bundled me up in a huge, fluffy towel, wrapping me tight and cutting out the cold.

Careful not to touch my hurt leg, he gently pressed the towel against my soaking fur, blotting the water away with such a soft, patient touch.

"This might sting a bit," he said. "Hang in there."