Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes in my pocket, yanking me out of the tailspin. I glance at the screen, where Sasha’s name fills it.
“Yeah, Sasha,” I say.
“How is she?” he asks, his voice low and steady.
“She’s stable,” I say, my voice still rough. “The doctors said it was a minor stroke. She’s got some recovery ahead of her, but she’ll be okay with the right care.”
“Good.” He exhales, relief bleeding through the line.
There’s a long pause. Neither of us quite knows what to say in a situation like this. When Papa died, we just downed a bottle of vodka and said hardly anything. We Volkov men aren’t really emotional creatures. Even so, emotion threads through his tone.
“You staying with her?” He clears his throat.
“Until we know more, yes,” I confirm.
Another beat of silence. Then Sasha shifts to safer territory: business.
“I’m handling the debt situation,” he says, unprompted. “The guy swore he’d have the money, but—”
“But he hasn’t delivered,” I cut him off. It’s a tale as old as time.
“Not yet. But he will. I’m working on it.” Sasha chuckles, low and dark.
I don’t doubt that. Sasha is the best person to handle people who don’t pay their dues. He doesn’t waste time on excuses or pleasantries, and he has zero patience for men who lie.
And right now, I have no doubt he’s making sure the debt is paid one way or another.
I drag a hand through my hair. “Don’t make a mess.”
“No promises.” He laughs.
I shake my head, but before I can respond, I hear footsteps approaching. I look up to find Nicole standing in front of me, patiently waiting for me to hang up. My stomach drops, and I’m not sure whether it’s worry for my mother or the sheer gravity of being back in Nicole’s orbit.
My grip tightens on the phone. “Sasha,” I mutter, “I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Take care of Ma.”
I end the call and pocket my phone, giving Nicole my full attention. She studies me, eyes sweeping my face as though she’s wrestling with something unspoken. It unsettles me, and makes me desperately wish I could read her thoughts. Then, she shifts her weight and speaks in a professional, clipped voice.
“Your mother is stable, and we’ve completed all the tests. You can see her now.”
I nod once, but neither of us moves or looks away. The tension between us is electric, palpable. For a moment, we’re not in a hospital waiting room, but we’re back at that alley behind the restaurant, a breath away from touching.
But the chaotic hospital sounds snap me back to the present, and the moment turns painfully awkward. I should thank her for taking care of my mother, for keeping her safe, for doing her job when I was too fucking paralyzed with fear to do anything but stand there and watch. Yet I struggle to form a single word.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at me, her expression loaded. “Sergei.”
She says my name casually, but I’m suddenly remembering how she screamed it, how her whole body reacted when she did. I’m already half-hard just thinking about it. I step forward, closing the space between us slightly.
“Malyshka,” I whisper, absentmindedly reaching for her.
Her breath hitches and I know she’s remembering that night too. A heated current swirls between us, a magnetic force drawing us closer. Then she steps back, blinking rapidly as though trying to shake it off.
“I need to get back to work,” she says quickly, looking back toward the nurses’ station.
I nod, but she hesitates. When she finally turns to leave, I reach out, my fingers just barely brushing her wrist. She freezes. For a second, neither of us moves.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, though what I really want to suggest is finding an on-call room for an encore.
Her lips part slightly, her shoulders tensing. I don’t expect a response, and I don’t get one. Instead, she exhales softly, then pulls away, disappearing down the hall.
And I let her go.
For now.
An hour later, I’m sitting by Mom’s bedside, praying to some unknown entity that she’ll wake up. Every time she shows the slightest movement, I hold my breath, hoping she’ll open her eyes and tell me everything is okay.
She’s so small and vulnerable in this bed, nothing like the powerhouse I know her to be. It’s like all of her personality has been drained out of her, and I’m terrified she’ll never get it back.
I’ve seen what strokes can do to people. I know that she’s lucky enough to even be alive, but when she wakes up, her quality of life can be greatly impacted. She might not be able to speak again or walk again. Until she wakes up, we really can’t know the extent of the damage.
Nurses bustle in and out, but no one really speaks to me. Any time I ask, they say I should wait for the doctor, but of course the doctor is so damn busy he never shows his face. I’m about to ask someone to page him when Nicole slips in, wary eyes flicking to me as she checks on my mother.