Once it was apparent he’d decided to behave, she settled in, allowing herself to relax and soak up the warmth of the crackling fire. That was nice. Galen never used to light it.
She peered around the room and noted that, in the past few months since she’d moved in, Lacey had really lent the place a warm touch all over. Cat had seen it at points, in transition, but seeing it all come together was something else. The soothing earth-toned walls and honey-colored hardwood floors made the living room feel like the welcoming great room at a ski lodge, compared with the almost sterile feel of the white walls and serviceable furniture Galen had preferred. It was nice and inviting. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if her brother liked the new look or if this was another one of those compromises that people in relationships did for their partner.
She was stretched out on the recliner in the corner, nursing her beer and contemplating that, when the smack talk got loud. This was the best part of football season, and she was as loud as the guys, name-calling and whooping it up. The Patriots were up by fourteen, and Galen had his sights set on Shane.
“I can already taste the lunch you’re going to have to buy me tomorrow when the Pats log this win. But, man, don’t feel bad. There’s always next week. And Eli’s such a good quarterback. Did you know, he’s the third-most-famous quarterback…”
“…in his family,” Cat deadpanned, as was expected of her. Her brother stuck his hand behind him from his perch on the beanbag chair in front of her for a low five, and she complied with a laugh.
“Say what you want, but he’s a come-from-behind kind of guy,” Shane said, from his seat on the couch next to Lacey, eyes glued to the set. “Anything can happen.”
“There you, go, Shane. That’s some team spirit,” Lacey said. She didn’t really care for football much, but she tended to join in on the jabber anyway, and always in support of the underdog. Another reason Cat loved her so much.
“I don’t know. He’s doing a lot of scrambling in the pocket. Maybe your O-line should start thinking about waking up and buying him some time?” Galen piped in.
Shane tipped his head and shrugged. “If a guy really knows what he’s doing, he doesn’t need a lot of time.” Was it her imagination, or had his voice gotten deeper? “He makes the most of the time he’s given.”
Galen spouted off about benefits and detriments of a quick-fire quarterback, but Cat stayed silent, suspicious eyes on Shane. He took a pull from his beer, his gaze still locked on the TV, in spite of the commercial break. A long moment later, she finally decided that he was actually talking football and not baiting her with sexual innuendos as she’d suspected. Until he winked. Or blinked? She was directly to his left, so she could only see his one eye. Son of a bitch, he was driving her nuts.
She popped a handful of cashews in her mouth and crunched them harder than necessary.
“Anyway,” Galen continued, “I think it’s good to have more than one secret weapon in your arsenal, you know. And speaking of secrets. Shane.” The intensity of her brother’s expression belied his casual tone. “Got anything you want to tell me?”
Terror hit harder than Holyfield, and Cat sucked in a panicked breath. Along with it came a wayward cashew, which lodged itself neatly in her windpipe. A little nugget of doom. Her mind reeled, the fear of being found out oddly no less potent for a moment than the fear of choking to death, and how sad was that? She tried to cough, but nothing happened. And that’s when it really hit her. She was actually in trouble here. She clutched at her throat, Shane’s voice dimly penetrating the sound of blood pounding in her ears.
“What do you mean, bro?”
They had no idea. She was dying and they had no clue. She wanted to scream, but no sound would come. Instead, she shot up, waving her arms, frantically pointing to her neck.
“Cat! Oh my God, she’s choking!” Lacey screamed.
Shane was on his feet in an instant and behind her in less, with his firm thigh planted between her legs. His strong arms wrapped around her without hesitation, his cupped fist just above her belly.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, his voice almost unnaturally calm. “Ready? Here we go.” He thrust up and in once, hard, sending the cashew along with some other nutty shrapnel flying out of out of her mouth at breakneck speeds.
She gulped at the air, desperate for oxygen like she’d never known it, despite having only been without for a short time. She’d held her breath under water far longer, but the forced deprivation had made even these twenty seconds feel like an eternity.