Page 11 of Unbroken

I remember the last time we fought over them—sharp words, tempers flaring. I backed her against the wall and kissed the fight out of her, then did every stitch of damn laundry in the house while she watched, smug and beautiful.

Ruthie’s voice cuts through the memory.

“Trash is full,” she says over her shoulder as she leaves the room. “Take it out on your way out. I’m cleaning the fridge; you can handle the trash.”

I grunt but don’t reply. Instead, I salute her back. I’ll do it.

I grab clothes out of the drawer and put them on top of the dresser. “Here’s my card,” I tell her, taking it out of my wallet.

“On second thought, keep it,” she says, still whispering. “Use it for a haircut. Maybe even shave while you’re at it.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“My sister liked you clean-shaven,” she whispers. Her voice shakes. It hits me in the chest, bright and honest.

“Yeah.” I turn away. “She did.”

Ruthie leaves, and I get changed and run my fingers through my too-long hair.

I don’t shave. I bend and give Luka a kiss on the top of his tousled head before I go.

“He wakes up grumpy. Make him pee. Don’t give him any juice until he eats.”

“Are you giving me orders?”

“Who, me?” I splay a hand across my chest. “Never. How long are you staying?”

She swallows hard and looks away, turning back to the stove. “As long as you need me. Shift starts at six p.m., and I need to get home to get ready for it.”

I nod. “I’ll send someone to relieve you much sooner than that. And I’ll interview more nannies today.”

She looks over at me, her eyes welling with tears and her lower lip trembling. I can’t help it. I walk over to her and reach for her to give her a big hug. She fits in my arms and rests her head on my chest, but she doesn’t cry.

“I miss her,” she whispers. “It’s hard being here. I’m sorry. It’s why I haven’t come.”

I can’t help myself. I kiss the top of her head.

Why did I do that?

Ruthie freezes as if she doesn’t know how to respond.

“I know. You don’t have to stay. I can take Luka to the Kopolovs; someone will be there.” They’re my extended family now.

She shakes her head. “No, I miss him too. I want to see him. I need to. I’m sorry, Vadka.”

It’s right around then that I realize I’m still holding her. That she smells good, and she’s curvy and pretty and… vulnerable.

Like me.

I let her go like she’s on fire.

Step back. Turn away hard.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say, the door slamming shut behind me.

Grief makes people do crazy things.

I leave before I do something I regret.