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I drop my bag by the front door and join him. “I guess you talked with your mom.”

Uri tosses his phone on the coffee table that took me three hours to build because I swapped piece B and piece E… which looked the same, but apparently, you need a high-powered microscope and X-ray vision to tell the difference.

“She’s going out to dinner with him.” He huffs in disgust. “Again.”

My aunt’s ability to forgive is remarkable. She didn’t leave Uri’s side while he was in the hospital. Uncle Andrey came in to speak with him, and she broke his nose… his already broken nose.

He should’ve taken the hint that none of us want him in our lives. But slowly, he’s been worming his way back in. He doesn’t talk with Uri. He knows better. And the one time he said hello to his son, Alana watched the entire exchange from the corner, arms crossed and lips pulled tight.

He came to give Ian some games. Games Ian needs friends to play with, and they were written entirely in English. So it was a double slap in the face for Ian. Alana was super pissed and kicked Uncle Andrey out before he could say anything more to Uri. But I’ve got to give him credit. He’s trying. And he’s alive, which is more than I can say about my father.

“Your mother can still love you and forgive your father.”

Uri scoffs. “Maybe when it stops hurting every time I breathe, I’ll be just as compassionate.”

I hesitate to say anything. I know I can trust Uri, I just don’t know how well I trust myself. “So, there was an interesting guest at the club tonight.”

He points to the TV, where a man with dark brown hair and a perfectly chiseled chin is on the screen. “Unless it’s Grae, it can’t possibly be interesting.”

Uri has a celebrity crush on Grae. The music producer doesn’t give a lot of interviews, but I’ve seen all of them five to ten times since sharing a place with Uri.

“It was Katya.”

Uri picks up the remote, hits pause, and turns his entire body to face me. His eyes are larger than the moon. “What the what!” He fans the air around us. “Wait, tell me everything. Was she with someone? Did you two hook up? Was she working or was it for fun? Shit, did she even know you work there?”

“She was working. I don’t think she knew I was there. And I still don’t know if I’m ever going to see her again.”

“Fuuuuuuuuck…” He drags out the word in one long breath. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I might, but Ian starts crying from his room, and I’m up on my feet. Unlike the doctors assure us, the nightmares aren’t getting any better.

I climb into his bed as he cries himself awake. His eyes are wide, and it’s always the same. “The man.”

Fucking Mikhail, a ghost haunting Ian’s nightmares.

I bundle him up in his blankets. He doesn’t like to be cold—more so, he doesn’t like touching anyone who’s cold.

He hides his face from me, pulling the blankets up higher. But that exposes his feet, and I fight the urge to tickle them, if only to get him to feel something that isn’t fear. I’ll take annoyance.

“Do you want me to stay?” I ask in Russian.

He whispers, “Yes.” But in English. I’m so proud of him, I could buy him a bike and keep him home from that terrible school for the rest of his life.

“Scoot.” I nudge him to the side and stick my arm under his pillow. My feet hang over the end of the bed. “You need a bigger bed.”

He sniffs. “It’s fine until you’re in it.”

“So who do you think would win in a fight, Raphael from the turtles or Spider-Man?”

He rests his head on my chest. “Raph… he’s never alone.”

“But Spider-Man has friends,” I counter. I saw those movies. Even ugly cried when all the heroes fought the purple guy.

Ian huffs, “Yeah, but he fights alone.”

“He’s got to be pretty brave.”

The little one nods. “Yeah, that’s why he’s my favorite.” He grabs his blanket. “And he has the coolest costume.”