Page 51 of Unbroken

Luka is sitting at the table with Polina—Rafail’s wife—and Zoya. I can hear Rafail’s voice coming from the other room, probably in the middle of a call.

“Papa!” Luka leaps up from his seat, promptly knocking his juice to the floor. It splashes across the tile. He looks horrified, frozen in the moment, but Polina and Zoya are on their feet in seconds.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Polina says gently. “Accidents happen. Come help me clean this up, Luka.”

He clumsily helps them mop up the mess while I walk over to the table, crouching down in front of him. I reach for him.

“She’s right,” I say softly. “Accidents happen. Come here, buddy. I missed you.”

He jumps into my arms, and I scoop him up. His little legs wrap around my waist, arms loop around my neck, and he rests his head against my shoulder.

“I missed you too. I had fun with Auntie Zoya, but I like my bed at home better. When can we go home, Papa?”

“Soon,” I promise him. “We’ll have some more fun today, okay?”

He lifts his head. “Is Auntie Ruthie coming?”

I freeze for half a second. I wish he hadn’t asked. I’d rather not bring attention to the fact that Ruthie and I are sharing a bed.

“She’s here, buddy.”

He grins. “I like it when she visits.”

“Morning.”

Ruthie steps out just then.

Luka shimmies down my chest and launches himself at her.

“Hey!” I call out. “Don’t knock your auntie down.”

“Sorry,” he says, hugging her tightly. “I’m just excited to see you.”

She ruffles his hair. “Thank you. I’m not as sturdy as your daddy, and I think I’d fall over a lot easier than he would.”

“Let’s not test that theory,” I mutter.

She’s changed clothes—simple, clean—but she looks… stunning. She always wears black, nothing fitted or curvy. But now? She’s in a pair of jeans that hug her hips and a little white tank top. Beautiful.

I can't believe I almost kissed her. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Alright, we need to make some plans,” Rafail says, coming around the corner.

It’s unusual to see him all casual. He’s in jeans and a Henley—uncommon for him. “Let’s talk details. Turns out, it was a false alarm. We intercepted data about the Irish, but it didn’t pan out. The threats didn’t come to fruition, and no one was hurt. Just a whole lot of noise and nothing real behind it. So after I get clearance today, we should be free to go home.”

Free to go home.

Why does that make me feel so disappointed?

Chapter 9

RUTHIE

I don’t seeeither of them for two days, and it aches.

But once I’m sober, once the fog in my head starts to lift, it’s like I need a sign—something, anything—to prove everything’s okay.

A few days have passed since the safe house, and I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No news from the Irish side of things, which I’m taking as a good sign. No news is good news in our world.