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)
We stay there. Tangled. Silent.
Then he pulls away.
And I know.
We’re not okay.
I try to fix my shirt, but it’s ruined. Doesn’t matter. I find my coat, my fingers numb.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
He wordlessly holds my head against his shoulder, running his hand down the length of my back.
My eyes land on the calendar behind him, pinned to the wall under advertisements, and a cold thread of fear washes through me.
Oh no.
It can’t be… can it?
Chapter 19
VADKA
I love having her here with me, and I wish I could find a way to make her stay. But it feels like caging a wild bird, flapping her wings, ready to escape the first chance the door to her cage opens.
And something’s bothering her.
I thought we made peace at the bar, that she understood how much she means to me. But now I’m not so sure.
She’s distant and quiet, her brow furrowed.
“You sure there isn’t something you need to talk about?” We’re on the couch in the living room. Luka’s asleep after Ruthie read to him over and over again. Her ankle’s better but still slightly tender to the touch and swollen, so she’s elevated it beside her, leaning against me.
“Yes, fine,” she says, but she’s worrying her lip and looking far off in the distance while I ease her onto me, her head resting on my lap.
Wordlessly, I run my fingers through her hair. I’ve noticed she likes it. Slowly, I drag my fingers at her temples. Her hair is warm and soft and silky, on the shorter side, but full with a little wave. As I continue brushing through her hair, her eyelids flutter shut, and she covers her mouth as she yawns widely. “I’m so tired. It’s weird. I’m never tired this early. I felt like I could’ve crawled right into bed with Luka and slept all night.”
Frowning, I put my hand to her forehead and feel for a fever. Nothing.
“Oh my gosh, that was so sweet,” she says on another wide yawn.
“What?”
“Testing my body temp by touching my forehead,” she says with a hint of a smile. “Your dad side is showing, and it’s so cute.”
I tweak her nose. I’ll give her cute.
A crash sounds from Luka’s bedroom. Ruthie leaps to her feet, and I’m right beside her. I take off at a run and yank the door open.
But Luka’s fast asleep. My gaze quickly assesses the situation before Ruthie points to where a fan fell from a window. “There,” she says, whispering so as not to wake my son, who thankfully sleeps like the dead. “It was the fan.”
While she checks on my sleeping son, I go to the window and peer out. There’s nothing but hedges and green grass. It would be nearly impossible for someone to access Luka’s room from there.
Still, I check in with the guards who monitor the perimeter.
“All clear,” I whisper to Ruthie after I get their response. “Everything’s fine. No signs of any intruders.”
She nods, her eyelids fluttering closed as she leans against the doorframe, her face pressed to her forearm.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispers.
“I know. You won’t be. I promise. You have to trust me… give me some time.”
It won’t solve anything for me to hose down anyone even remotely associated with the Irish clan who have set their sights on our destruction. Nothing. I’ve been waiting, testing, prepared to draw out our enemies and destroy anyone I need to.
But I promised Rafail I wouldn’t act rashly. Pulling the trigger too soon could bring more violence to the Kopolovs. To my family.
So I wait, even as it kills me.
Her sweater’s fallen off her shoulder, her bra strap thin and white against gently tanned skin. I bend and kiss the tiny rose tat she has there. Wordlessly, she turns and rests her head on my chest.
Luka rolls over in his sleep, and his eyes flutter open. “Mama,” he whispers, half-drowsy, half pleading.
Ruthie makes a choking sound she quickly stifles before she sits on the edge of the bed and quietly runs her hand down his back. “Shh,” she whispers. “Sleep, sweetie.” He snuggles back under the covers, his eyes fluttering closed, warm and safely cocooned under the blanket. I watch, pretending my eyes haven’t grown misty and it’s normal to have to swallow ten times in as many seconds.
She loves him. She loves my son.
When he’s softly snoring again, she looks my way, and I beckon to her.
“Tea?” she asks.
“I want something stronger than that,” I admit, my adrenaline still pumping through me after the scare. “Go, sit on the couch. I’ll get you the tea and a drink.”
She’s at least agreed to stay here until the danger passes. A part of me wonders if I’ve made a mistake forgoing the safe house for now, but how long can I contain them in a place like that?