Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Glad one of us has a sense of humor about this.
"What a good boy," she says softly. "He has his mother's eyes, doesn't he?"
"Yeah," I say, and then, before I know what’s happening, I’m blinking rapidly. And then I'm crying. I hate it. But the harder I try to stop, the faster the tears fall. Because he does have his mother's eyes, and I miss my sister, and it's not fair.
I swipe at my tears and try to turn away from Vadka, but it's too late—he knows I'm crying too. Quietly, wordlessly, he reaches for my hand. His larger, warm hand means more than any smile, and the lump in my throat dissolves. And then I'm crying harder, tears falling down my cheeks.
Quietly, he tugs me over to him and gives me a warm hug. I bury my head on his shoulder, even as my brain tells me this is wrong, that I'll regret it, and I shouldn't be doing this. But my fucking god, it feels good to be comforted by someone—especially by someone who loved my sister as much as I did.
The tears end quickly, almost abruptly, and I feel a little lighter. I sniffle and wipe my eyes, grateful that my mom is still looking out the window and oblivious to the fact that I just cried. I don't want to explain myself.
Vadka presses a hand to the back of my head, stroking once, down the length of my hair, before he pulls away.
"Bring him in to see me, will you?" my mother asks.
Vadka nods. Even though it's a lie. My mother only knows baby Luka. She doesn't understand that he's getting older. Every time she sees him, it sends her into another tailspin.
No, she won't be seeing him.
Then she gives me a watery smile. "You two always were the most beautiful couple," she says.
Now it's my turn to wince at Vadka.
"Are we? Thanks, Mom." My cheeks feel hot.
What is going on with me? I don't blush. I never used to cry. And now I've done both in the space of two minutes.
"We have to go," Vadka says, more serious now, not as amused by my mother's comment as I am.
Shit. Does he think that I'm hitting on him? I don't want to do anything that's going to make him pull away from me.
"Sorry," he says quietly. “The text I got when I came in here was from Rafail. We need to go. It's urgent.”
My heart thumps faster.
"Okay. Bummer,” I mutter. “I was hoping we could hang out here all day."
Why does it always make me feel like I won something when he smiles at me? But I feel better knowing that my mom has taken her medication, that she's getting ready for lunch. Her room looks clean and bright, and I'm glad they moved her. This one gets more sun.
I hate coming in here alone, but it's not so bad when I have somebody with me. And I feel better after the little cry. I needed to do that. I might need to do it again soon.
"What's going on?" I ask him. He mentioned something with the Irish.
"I'm not sure yet. I need to check in with Rafail."
"And Luka?"
"He's safe with Zoya."
As we get to my car, I feel a little guilty—until I remember that Luka is with the Kopolovs, and I’m confident that they are feeding him and entertaining him and taking care of him. We were supposed to go back to the house and grill food and have dinner. Like a family. But Mom's at peace now, she's taking her meds, and I need a little time to myself.
"See you back at the house?"
"Yeah," I tell him with a little nod. I do want to say goodbye to my nephew, and I’m starving. But I'm not gonna stay long because I need to get home. I need to veg out on my couch and maybe eat some ice cream and doomscroll for a little bit. "I'll see you there," I tell him.
I get in my car, and he gets on the back of his bike and starts it up. It rumbles beside me, and I pull up my phone, checking my messages.
Why hasn't he left yet? Is he making sure that I get home alright, or… He hasn't moved. I pretend I'm not looking at him in my peripheral vision and start my car.
Or try to. A strange little clicking sound happens when I turn the key. Disbelieving, I turn it again.
And again.
And again.
Fuck.
Vadka is watching me, his helmet on, his huge bike rumbling beneath him, but he doesn't move. Finally, he swings his leg off the side of the bike, walks over to me, and raps a knuckle on my window. I roll it down.
"Won't start?"
"Yeah," I say with a sigh. “I have no idea what's wrong.”