The Brick Yard by Carol Lynne Page A

the couch and held a tiny bottle of milk-replacer to the cat’s mouth. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as the kitten greedily sucked, getting more on his face than down his throat. “You need a name.”
    According to the veterinarian, the kitten was female, four to five weeks old. She’d been severely malnourished and full of worms, but the vet had given her medicine for the worms and assured Lucky that as long as she was fed regularly, she should pull through.
    He’d made Dray go with him to the pet store to stock up on supplies, including a litter box, milk-replacement, a tiny bottle with extra nipples and a small stuffed animal. The last was something the vet had recommended. Evidently, kittens liked to cuddle when they slept. He had to take the vet’s word for it because he’d never had a pet—unless, of course, he considered the rats and cockroaches he’d grown up with.
    Lucky ran his finger against the soft pad of one of the white paws. He had no idea how to go about naming something, but he didn’t want to rush it. He knew a name stayed with you for the rest of your life, so it needed to be special, needed to be right.
    He heard the knock he’d been expecting. “Come in,” Lucky called.
    Dray used the spare key Lucky had given him and entered the apartment. He shut the door and smiled down at Lucky. “How’s it going?”
    Lucky wiped the kitten’s mouth with a corner of the towel before resettling the bottle in the kitten’s mouth. “Good. We’re trying to come up with a name for her.”
    Dray pointed to the kitchen. “Mind if I have a beer?”
    “Not if you bring me one, too,” Lucky replied. He tore his gaze away from the kitten to watch Dray walk across the living room to the kitchen. There was something in the hunch of Dray’s shoulders and the set of his jaw that bothered Lucky. “How’s Brick?”
    Dray opened the fridge, removed two bottles, and closed it. “He’s having a hard time this evening. Told me I could use his bed from now on because he’s found he sleeps better if he sits up in his recliner.” He passed a beer to Lucky before sitting on the sofa beside him. “I told him I’d take him back to the doctor as soon as he can get an appointment. I think he needs to be put on oxygen—or at least have it available to him.”
    “What? He seemed fine this morning. Well, not fine, but not bad enough to need oxygen.” Lucky wondered if Dray was being an alarmist. He knew from talking to Dray that the time would come when Brick’s lungs wouldn’t be able to draw in enough breath, but it was too soon for that.
    Dray stretched his arm across the back of the couch and brushed his fingertips across Lucky’s neck. “He’s been hiding shit. I don’t think he would’ve confessed if I hadn’t walked in on him gasping for air after one of his coughing spells.” He leaned in and kissed the spot he’d just touched. “I’m sorry, Lucky, but he’s failing.”
    Lucky stared down at the kitten, needing something other than Brick to focus on. He pulled the bottle away, realizing it was empty and set it on the coffee table. “She’s a fighter,” he mumbled. He glanced at Dray. “Do you think it’d be wrong to name her Gatsby?”
    “Why would it be wrong?” Dray asked.
    “It’s a boy name.” Lucky wiped the kitten’s face with the towel. He lifted the sweet little thing to his face and rubbed his cheek against her soft black and white fur. “I want her to be happy with the name I give her.”
    “Does the name Gatsby mean something to you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then how could she ask for more than that?” Dray petted the kitten’s side with the back of his index finger.
    “Hey, Gatsby,” Lucky crooned. “I don’t really know how to take care of you, but I’ll figure it out.” He kissed Gatsby’s head. “Promise.”
     

Chapter Six
     
     
     
    Out of the corner of his eye, Dray watched Brick scream last minute instructions to Lucky. The crowd was different