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“How is that a threat, asshole?” he asks. “It’s not. Besides, I can pick locks. Didn’t I teach you?”

“Bad influence,” I mutter. I sit in the wheelchair and whizz back and forth in it, just to annoy him. “How are you doing, anyway?”

“I’m healing much faster than they thought.”

“Is that a Doctor Ilya thing or a doctor doctor thing?”

He leans forward and switches the chair to manual. “I had a checkup. And I do use the chair. Just when I was at that bar, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to look weak. It’s important. You know that, Demyan.” Then he shakes his head. “I’ve got a cane to try out, and I’ve been cleared to fly. I have to take this piece of shit with me, in case I need it.”

He kicks the chair, narrowly avoiding me.

“That’s great news, Ilya. There wouldn’t be a wedding in Aruba if you weren’t cleared to fly. I’m not getting married without you there, my friend.”

He looks me up and down. “What’s up?”

I pull out my wallet and hand him the picture. “My baby.”

“It’s got your eyes.”

“Nice.” I laugh but then sober up. “It was surreal seeing a part of myself on that screen.”

He holds up the picture. “Oh yeah, I can see that. It’s very… you.”

I snatch the picture back and look at it. “But it was more than that. I was hit by how much I missed of Sasha, and I got… I don’t know… not angry, but that darkness came up. All I lost from her lies.”

He sighs heavily and mutters something not nice about me in Russian that I let slide.

“What?”

“What?” He shakes his head. “What? This again?”

“I told her.”

“Dam—”

“She asked and said we need honesty so I told her and she said she was sorry again, that she didn’t lie to my face, but she was wrong.”

“Of course she said that. Demyan, your father was a cunt, to put it nicely. And you’re not him, but he did things, lied, withheld love because either he wasn’t capable or heliked being cruel. I never liked him. You’re not him, never was, but this grudge? You learned that from him. Unlearn it.”

“I didn’t blame her. I told her how I felt. Right or wrong, it’s how I felt. Feel.”

“Did you say right or wrong? Did you tell her you know she didn’t lie? I mean, you left the false name, she found out who you were from the viewpoint of what you are. And she protected Sasha. I’ve seen how she punishes herself. You’ve made her apologize a lot, Demyan,” he says, motioning to me for a drink.

I get up and pour us a couple of vodkas and I hand him one.

He takes a deep sip. “Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Apologized to her.”

I frown. “What for, Ilya? I never knew about her being pregnant or giving birth, so I just got reminded of that.”

“Enough for me to know you still hold on to that. Have you apologized for hurting her? What about lying about your name so she couldn’t find you on her own?”

I down my vodka and shove a hand through my hair. “Look?—”

“It goes both ways is all I’m saying.” He shrugs. “Hurt feelings. Deal with yours and let her know she didn’t lie. That she did what anyone outside our world would do. Have your feelings but say they’re not completely rational.”