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)
“No one said anything to me. I would’ve handled it,” I grit out.
“Would you?” Ruthie asks, moving aside papers and unopened mail, empty water bottles and paper plates. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you don’t really have shit handled.”
I stand up and straighten my shoulders. No fucking way does this little spitfire get to march in here and tell me off in my own fucking house.
“You’re in my house,” I remind her, my voice quiet but full of warning. “You don’t get to march your ass in here and speak to me like that. Get out, Ruthie.”
Her jaw tightens. “No. I want to see my nephew.”
“Then fucking stop telling me off.” I shake my head. “Jesus. A man loses his wife and can’t fucking fall apart a little?”
“When you have a kid? No.”
Heat flares across my chest as we continue to throw shit around, looking for my phone. “Luka is fine. I’m taking care of my son.”
She looks over at me—really looks at me, and something shifts. The fury doesn’t vanish but flickers into something else. Something sadder.
“I know you’re drowning, Vadka.” Her voice lowers. “I know how that feels. But Luka isn’t. And he needs us.”
That lands like a fist to my ribs. My eyes burn, and my throat’s too tight.
I open my mouth to speak but can’t. If I do, I’m gonna sob like a goddamn baby.
Ruthie softens. “Here’s your phone,” she says, handing it to me.
Sure enough, it’s dead and powered off. “Dead,” I say with a sigh. I cringe as soon as the words hit my lips. “I’ll charge it.”
She nods and wraps her arms around herself as if she’s cold. As if she’s trying to hold herself together.
I know that feeling too.
“Where is he?” she whispers.
“Still sleeping if your temper tantrum didn’t wake him up.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, I’ll stay until he wakes up. Unless you’re planning on calling in sick to work and telling Rafail you won’t make it in today? When it’s the end of the quarter, and someone threatened your damn nanny last night?”
I should tell her to leave. She has no right. This is my mess.
But Luka is her nephew, and I do have to see Rafail.
“Alright. I need to grab a shower.” I look toward Luka’s room on instinct. I haven’t had a shower without worrying about where he was or what he needed from me in so damn long. It feels good to have another adult here, even if she’s spitting venom at me.
I’ve known Ruthie for almost as long as I knew Mariah. And I know for a fact that she burns hot but fizzles out, and her heart’s as big as they come. She’ll calm down. Hell, probably did her good to tell me off.
I turn to go, and something in me tells me to stop. To turn around and ask her how she’s doing. To maybe hug her or something, something… a brother would do. What if she needs that right now?
But when I turn back, she’s halfway to the kitchen, broom in hand. I look after her, open my mouth to speak, then shake my head and walk to the bathroom.
I tiptoe into my room. Luka came in at some point in the middle of the night, sprawled out on his belly, all messy hair and tangled sheets. At four years old, I can already tell he’ll be tall like me but wiry like his mama. I’m glad he’s asleep. I love him so much it makes me ache, but right now, I don’t want him to look up at me with his mother’s eyes.
I leave the door to the bathroom partly open so I can still see him and keep an eye on him as I strip out of my clothes. God, I need a shower badly. I smell like I used to when I played sports in college. Mariah used to wrinkle her nose and tell me to hit the shower, so naturally, I’d tackle her and kiss her all sweaty, just so she’d fight me, and I could overpower her and kiss her. I smile to myself as I throw the clothes onto the floor and turn the shower on.
I look through the crack in the doorway to see Luka’s still sleeping soundly. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. God, my baby boy. So young to lose his mama.
I step into the shower, grateful for the hot, steamy water. Shampoo bottle’s empty, so I squirt some weird purple toddler stuff onto my palm and make do. I clean fast, wanting to get back to my boy and get out of here so I can get to work. Ruthie isn’t kidding. Rafail doesn’t fuck around at the end of the quarter, and my cover job as owner and general manager of Black Line Security means I have reports to give him.