“I do live in my—”

“You can have friends that are actually friends rather than just people you plan to eventually arrest.”

“I get your—”

“Maybe a girlfriend. Someone who wasn’t once a stripper with a sob story.”

“Okay.” Crush studied his ex-partner. “This is your wife talking to me, isn’t it? Through you.”

“You know she worries about you.”

“And I didn’t date the stripper; I just bought bus tickets for her and her kids.”

“Sucker.”

Annoyed, Crush snarled and looked back at the game. “I’m not wearing a suit.”

Conway snorted. “No one in that division wears a suit. And maybe you’ll get to work with MacDermot now. You two seem to strangely get along. Of course, with her living with that male cat, you must be like a breath of fresh air.”

“But what am I going to do there? Kill on command?”

“They don’t do that ... I don’t think.”

“Yeah. That’s comforting.”

“God, Crushek, get over it already,” Conway snapped. “Nothing’s worse than a whiny bear. Especially a whiny bear that’s going to be making a lot more money than I will.”

Crush didn’t say anything, just skated out onto the ice with his fellow players when it was time. Conway was with him, a few minutes later, going for a puck. That’s when Crush coldcocked him with his stick.

The coyote, eyes crossing, went out like a light, crashing to the ice, and their team captain yelled, “Jesus, Crushek! I thought we told you no more hitting Conway!”

Crush shrugged. “He called me whiny.”

Freshly showered and wearing sweatpants, tank top, and sneakers, Cella walked into the family kitchen, but immediately stopped right at the threshold.

It was her father, brothers, and several of her aunts around the kitchen table. Normally nothing weird. The kitchen table was where they always met to talk, argue, and occasionally eat. The dining room was for holiday dinners or, as her mom put it, “fancy meals.” But what really worried her was that as soon as Cella walked in, they all stopped talking and faced her, gazing at her. Her family didn’t stop talking for anything. Malones were not known for being a quiet breed of feline.

“Hi,” she said, wondering what the hell was going on.

Cella’s father, Butch “Nice Guy” Malone, walked over to her and gave Cella a big hug, softly murmuring, “Don’t ever forget, baby, we’ll always love you.”

“Okay,” Cella said, pulling away from her father and nodding at her family before walking out.

She went across the backyard, around the Olympic-size family pool, and into the connected backyard of her best friend’sfamily. Cella hadn’t met Jai Davis, a mountain lion originally from Valley Stream, Long Island, until they were both seventeen and very pregnant. But they’d become friends quickly with both of them being feline and teen moms. As soon as the girls were born, the pair had teamed up, sharing responsibilities when they could, and covering for each other when necessary. It wasn’t normal for Malones to allow outsiders into their world, but her father had accepted the Davises without question, which meant all the Malone males accepted them without question. And when Cella’s third cousins moved out, returning to a Malone campsite in Boston and leaving the house next door available, the Davises had moved in.

Although, how Cella’s father had talked not only Juen Davis, Jai’s mom, into making the move, but had convinced his sisters to allow outsiders onto their street, Cella still didn’t know. But her father did have a way.

Yet Cella had never been more grateful for her father’s smooth-talking ways as she was the moment she walked into the Davis kitchen and asked, “Am I dying?”

Jai Davis, working on paperwork at the kitchen table, didn’t even look up as she replied, “Yes. Although to be accurate we all are.”

Cella rolled her eyes. That was the only downside of the Davis family. They were intellectuals. Juen Davis was a lawyer, Jai’s father had been a heart surgeon before his death five years ago, and Jai was an orthopedic surgeon with a side specialty in artery repair. Necessary for her job as head of the entire medical staff of the Sports Center, where most shifter games, pro and minor, for the tri-state area were played—and where many arteries were severely damaged.

“Well,” Cella pushed, “am I literally dying? You know. This moment. From a tumor or something you haven’t told me about?”

Jai finally raised her head and studied Cella. They had similarly colored eyes: bright gold, although there was no green in Jai’s. Otherwise, they couldn’t look more different. Jai was black and Asian while Cella couldn’t be more Irish if she’d come from Ellis Island with the word “Irish” stamped across her forehead. “Why would you think you are?”

“Because my family just met me in the kitchen to tell me they love me. My family.”

“My mother tells me that all the time.”

“My mother wasn’t there, and your mother is a well-balanced, normal woman who can shift into animal form. She’s not descended from gypsies. Nor was your father.”

“Nope. Third generation Chinese me mum, and daddy was good ol’ Jamaican. And I thought Malones preferred ‘Traveller’ to gypsy.”

“I can call my damn family whatever I want to. Does it look like I give a shit about any of that right now?”