Interference, p.1
Interference, page 1
Interference
L.A. Witt
Contents
Interference
Preface
Content Warning
1. Anthony
2. Wyatt
3. Anthony
4. Wyatt
5. Anthony
6. Wyatt
7. Anthony
8. Wyatt
9. Anthony
10. Wyatt
11. Anthony
12. Wyatt
13. Anthony
14. Wyatt
15. Anthony
16. Wyatt
17. Anthony
18. Wyatt
19. Anthony
20. Wyatt
21. Anthony
22. Wyatt
23. Anthony
24. Wyatt
25. Anthony
26. Wyatt
27. Anthony
28. Wyatt
29. Anthony
30. Wyatt
31. Anthony
32. Wyatt
33. Anthony
34. Wyatt
35. Anthony
36. Wyatt
37. Anthony
38. Wyatt
39. Anthony
40. Wyatt
41. Anthony
42. Wyatt
43. Anthony
Epilogue
The Games We Play
Also by L.A. Witt
Also by L.A. Witt
About the Author
Artificial Intelligence
Copyright Information
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Interference
First edition
Copyright © 2024 L.A. Witt
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Cover Art by L.A. Witt
Editor: Mackenzie Walton
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at gallagherwitt@gmail.com
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Ebook ISBN 978-1-64230-189-2
Paperback ISBN 979-8-32410-401-6
Hardcover ISBN 979-8-32410-419-1
Created with Vellum
Interference
Disabled veteran Wyatt Miller is out of options. Six months after his eviction, every day is a struggle just to survive on the streets. Sometimes, the only thing that motivates him to move forward at all is his determination to protect and feed his beloved service dog, Lily.
Then a cold snap drives Wyatt to beg a veterinary clinic to board Lily… and puts him on the radar of someone who can’t stomach letting the dog or her owner sleep out in the cold.
On the surface, hockey star Anthony Austin has it all. The fans and cameras see a man with dazzling stats, a fairy tale home, and a red hot sports car. He and his longtime boyfriend are the poster boys for out-and-proud male athletes.
The limelight doesn’t see the cracks, though. His boyfriend has quietly moved out, and nothing Anthony says or does will bring him back. Anthony’s play is starting to suffer, and he’s too miserable to care.
When he sees the man pleading for a warm bed for his dog, Anthony doesn’t hesitate to open his home.
All he has in mind is keeping a man and his dog off the street. He has no idea Wyatt is about to upend his world—and his attempts at reconciling with his boyfriend.
25% of the author’s royalties for Interference will be donated to organizations assisting homeless and/or disabled veterans.
For Jason, who—while not a Maine Coon—is definitely the inspiration for Bear.
Content Warning
Combat PTSD, dying/death of a parent (cancer), experiences and trauma associated with homelessness.
Chapter 1
Anthony
“I thought Maine Coons were supposed to be smart.”
“Oh, they are.” Dr. Green, laughed as she watched my cat searching for his treat on the exam table. “But black cats are kind of like orange cats—not exceptionally bright.”
Oblivious to us remarking on his intelligence (or lack thereof), Bear looked around with wide yellow eyes, question marks floating above his head because he could’ve sworn his treat was right there a second ago. From the other end of the table, my other Maine Coon, Moose, licked crumbs off his paw. He’d already finished his treat, having had zero trouble locating it after I’d put it in front of him. Maybe the black cat thing was accurate. Moose was solid gray, and he was sharp as a skate blade. Sometimes too smart for his own good.
Bear, on the other hand…
I finally sighed, took pity on him, and gave his giant paw a nudge. He lifted it up and shot me a puzzled look, then snapped his gaze down and discovered the treat that had magically appeared. He immediately snatched it up and started crunching happily.
Moose, for his part, turned big yellow eyes on me as if to say, Dad, I didn’t get one. He hadn’t forgotten or misplaced his, though. He was just gaslighting me. Like I said—too smart for his own good.
And because I was a massive sucker, I dug out another treat for each of them. This time, I made sure Bear ate his out of my hand so he didn’t lose it under his own paw again.
Dr. Green just laughed and shook her head. “Makes you wonder how anyone thinks cats are boring.”
“I know, right? Never a dull moment with these two.”
“Could be worse.” She grimaced. “They could be Bengals.”
She knew of what she spoke—the sole reason I subscribed to the clinic’s newsletter was because there was always a hilarious photo or story about the four Bengals wreaking havoc on her house. My boys were handfuls enough; I did not need an army of speckled Tasmanian devils.
Now that Moose and Bear had finished their treats, I clipped their leashes to their harnesses. Moose jumped down with a heavy thud. Bear… Well, we’d be here all night if I waited for him to jump, so I just hoisted him up under my arm and gently set him on the floor beside his brother.
With Dr. Green on our heels, we headed out of the exam room and up the hall to take care of the bill.
Usually, this was when the techs and receptionists would start fawning all over the cats, which they both ate up like the little—well, “little”—hams they were. Whenever I took the boys out on walks, people gawked and took pictures, both because they were cats on leashes, and because they were huge. Bear was twenty-two pounds, Moose was creeping up on twenty-four, and neither cat was remotely overweight.
So, yeah—they turned heads. Half the time, people were so caught up in the cats, they didn’t recognize me or my boyfriend. Even people wearing Seattle Bobcats hats or T-shirts didn’t always notice Simon or me because they were mesmerized by Moose being elegant or Bear being ridiculous. Or both of them being huge.
Fine by me sometimes, that was for sure.
Today, when Moose and Bear strolled into the reception area, no one looked our way. Both receptionists and one tech were entirely focused on a guy standing by the desk.
I zeroed in on him myself, alarm prickling the back of my neck. He was scruffy with a dark beard covering his jaw, and the drab green Army jacket he was wearing had clearly seen better days. So had his jeans and boots, for that matter. His skin and hair were as dirty as his clothes, and his mismatched gloves were falling apart. He must’ve been homeless. God knew there were countless tents popping up in this area and all over the rest of Seattle.
He was agitated, too, but not in a scary or threatening way. In fact, he was pleading with the staff, and I thought he was on the verge of breaking down in tears.
“Please,” he was saying to the receptionists. “I… Look, I know it’s an unusual thing to ask. And I can’t pay much, but… I can pay. It’s just that every motel I possibly can afford is full and there’s supposed to be a bad cold snap tonight and the next few days.” He gestured down. “All I need is a place for her to stay warm.”
At his feet beside a battered and stained green rucksack, and wearing a dirty and weathered Service Dog vest, was a Doberman. She had floppy ears and an uncropped tail, so she didn’t look like the stereotypical intimidating guard dog. In fact, I might not have even recognized her, except one of my teammates had three Dobies who also had natural ears and tails.
She sat beside him, watching him as intently as everyone else in the room. My cats were maybe six feet away from her, but she didn’t even seem to notice them.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” Sue, the older receptionist, shook her head. “We do have kennels, but we have several patients staying here for observation. There’s just no room.”
“Have you tried one of the animal shelters?” Amanda, her coworker, suggested. “They can—”
“They’ll only take her if I surrender her.” He sounded as threadbare as his clothing. “And then there’s a fee to get her back, and if I don’t have enough money, there’s no guarantee—” He exhaled hard. “Please. Even if she can just spend the night in an exam room or something. Anything.” He gestured at his dog again. “Look at her. She barely has any fur. Our tent and blankets were stolen, and this”—he tugged at his jacket—“just isn’t going to be enough to keep her warm.”
<
“I…” The vet tech, Daryl, chewed his lip. Then he turned our way, and he straightened a little. “Dr. Green, what do you think?”
The vet had halted beside me, and she was watching the scene unfold. She glanced at the man, then his dog. “I, um… I mean, there won’t be anyone here. She’d be by herself.”
“That’s fine,” he said quickly, his eyes and voice full of both hope and fear. “Please. Anything is better than leaving her outside. She’ll freeze to death out there.”
As they went back and forth about a few possible logistics, one question kept banging around in my mind:
What about you?
Because, yeah, it was supposed to get stupid cold tonight, and it wasn’t going to let up for the next few days. A group text had even gone out advising everyone to leave early for practice tomorrow and to drive carefully, since it had rained recently and the roads would likely be icy.
Dr. Green and her techs exchanged looks while the man watched them, bone-deep fear written all over his face.
His dog nudged his hand with her nose. Then she whined a little and did it again. He petted her absently, but when she pawed insistently at his leg, he looked down at her. She gave another whine and leaned hard against him.
The man exhaled and moved to one of the chairs against the wall, limping as he went. As soon as he sat down, she put her front paws in his lap and her head under his chin. She seemed to be leaning so hard against him, she’d probably have knocked him over had he been crouching or standing. Eyes closed, he wrapped an arm around her and petted her neck with the other.
His hand was shaking.
The clinic staff had fallen silent, but he didn’t seem to notice. For long moments, there was no sound in the room except the dog’s tags jingling whenever she or the man moved. The way he was breathing—hard and ragged, but not hyperventilating, as if he were struggling to stay in control—reminded me of an old teammate with anxiety when he was fighting off a panic attack.
The dog kept nudging the man. Pawing at him. Licking his face. Leaning into him. And he just kept on petting her and clearly trying to bring himself down.
The clinic staff and I exchanged worried glances, but no one said anything.
After a few minutes, his breathing started to even out. The dog pressed her head under his chin again.
“I’m okay, baby,” he murmured to her, and kissed the side of her head. She licked his chin, which got a near soundless laugh out of him. “I’m okay,” he said again.
Right then, something tugged at my leg, and I looked down to see that Bear had wandered off. He was now busily trying to climb into an artificial plant, unaware that he’d tangled both me and Moose in his leash in the process.
My face burned as I stepped out of the loop and reeled my cat back in. I was usually extra vigilant about where my cats were and what they were doing when they were on leashes, especially in the vet’s waiting room, but I’d been distracted by this man and his dog. Fortunately, aside from the Doberman, there were no other animals in the waiting area, and the only thing Bear had disturbed was a magazine rack and the potted plant.
I hoisted him up into my arms. He was heavy as hell, but at least if I was holding him, he wouldn’t get into as much trouble.
While Bear tried valiantly to reach for a display of pamphlets on the counter, I returned my attention to the man and his dog. In the moment or two I’d been distracted, he’d gotten up and was moving back to the counter where Dr. Green was frowning over something Daryl was saying.
At the high counter, the man looked down at his dog, and his voice came out slightly unsteady. “Lily, watch my six.”
She immediately moved between his legs, facing behind him, and sat down.
He rested his forearms on the counter and watched the people who were, I hoped, helping him.
Finally, Dr. Green turned. “I can probably put her in an exam room tonight. I’d…” She sighed. “I would be happy to let you stay with her, except for liability reasons, we can’t have—”
“That’s fine,” he said quickly. “As long as she’s safe tonight, I’ll… I can figure something out for myself.”
The hope and relief on his face were almost more heartbreaking than the fear, and my mouth moved before my brain caught up:
“I have a spare room.”
All heads turned toward me. Well, the dog was fixated on the door behind her owner, Moose was licking his paw, and God only knew what Bear was looking at. But all the humans in the room were definitely focused on me now.
I hadn’t thought before I’d spoken, but now that I’d said the words, I stood by them. “I’ve got a spare room,” I repeated. “And you wouldn’t have to leave her here alone.”
Chapter 2
Wyatt
The clinic was completely silent as the man’s offer hung in the air.
I stared at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. Was he… Was he offering to let me and Lily stay with him? In his house?
He cleared his throat and went on, “If she doesn’t get along with cats, there’s enough room to separate them. If we—”
“No, no, she’s…” I shook myself. “She’s good with cats. But…” I blinked. “You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t,” he acknowledged. “But if she shouldn’t be sleeping out there, then neither should you.”
I held his gaze a moment longer. “Are, um…” I looked down at myself, shame twisting in my stomach because I wasn’t stupid—I knew what people thought when they saw me. No one who’d been living like I had for any length of time looked or smelled pleasant. Meeting his gaze again, I raised my eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
I didn’t spell it out because he could probably put the pieces together well enough—did he really want someone like me in his house?
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m sure.”
The dark-haired woman who I assumed was the veterinarian cleared her throat. “Has the dog been around cats before?”
I nodded. “Yeah. The, um… The lady who trained her had cats. She made sure every dog she trained was socialized to be around them.” I managed a near soundless laugh and gestured at Lily. “She might try to play with them more than they’d like, but she won’t hurt them.”
The receptionist gave a quiet, nervous chuckle. “Well, his cats aren’t exactly lightweights, so…”
I turned to the man, and that was the first time I really noticed his two cats. I think they’d registered vaguely, but only now, as my panic was receding in favor of cautious relief, did I truly take them in.
Holy shit. Those cats were huge.
I stared at the one sitting beside him. Its head was above his knee, and he wasn’t exactly a short guy. It was gray and fluffy with long tufts on the ends of its ears, and its yellow eyes were fixed on—I assumed—Lily. It wasn’t growling or giving any signs of being hostile—ears up, posture relaxed—though its long tail twitched slightly.
When I lifted my gaze, I had to laugh at the equally huge black cat, who was perched on the man’s hip like a toddler and straining to bat at the corner of a framed photo on the wall. “Oh my God. I knew Maine Coons were big, but they’re… big.”
