Page 96 of Unbroken

“All clear,” I whisper to Ruthie after I get their response. “Everything’s fine. No signs of any intruders.”

She nods, her eyelids fluttering closed as she leans against the doorframe, her face pressed to her forearm.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispers.

“I know. You won’t be. I promise. You have to trust me… give me some time.”

It won’t solve anything for me to hose down anyone even remotely associated with the Irish clan who have set their sights on our destruction. Nothing. I’ve been waiting, testing, prepared to draw out our enemies and destroy anyone I need to.

But I promised Rafail I wouldn’t act rashly. Pulling the trigger too soon could bring more violence to the Kopolovs. To my family.

So I wait, even as it kills me.

Her sweater’s fallen off her shoulder, her bra strap thin and white against gently tanned skin. I bend and kiss the tiny rose tat she has there. Wordlessly, she turns and rests her head on my chest.

Luka rolls over in his sleep, and his eyes flutter open. “Mama,” he whispers, half-drowsy, half pleading.

Ruthie makes a choking sound she quickly stifles before she sits on the edge of the bed and quietly runs her hand downhis back. “Shh,” she whispers. “Sleep, sweetie.” He snuggles back under the covers, his eyes fluttering closed, warm and safely cocooned under the blanket. I watch, pretending my eyes haven’t grown misty and it’s normal to have to swallow ten times in as many seconds.

She loves him. She loves my son.

When he’s softly snoring again, she looks my way, and I beckon to her.

“Tea?” she asks.

“I want something stronger than that,” I admit, my adrenaline still pumping through me after the scare. “Go, sit on the couch. I’ll get you the tea and a drink.”

She’s at least agreed to stay here until the danger passes. A part of me wonders if I’ve made a mistake forgoing the safe house for now, but how long can I contain them in a place like that?

My mind races as I get our drinks. I answer a text from Rafail, then load a few stray dishes in the dishwasher. I make Ruthie a cup of chamomile, the one she always drinks before bed, and pour myself a few fingers of an aged bourbon Mariah bought me for my last birthday.

Ruthie’s head is drooping when I walk in, but she straightens up, her eyes barely open, and offers a smile like she wasn’t just moments away from drifting off. “Let me guess,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not sleepy. It’s not bedtime yet, right?”

She gives me a sheepish smile and stifles another yawn. “You can’t makeme.”

I kiss her forehead as I nestle down beside her and hand her the cup of tea. She wraps both hands around it with a sigh.

“I remember when Mariah bought that for you,” she says, smiling at the bottle still in my hand while I sip my drink.

The mention of Mariah pulls me back, a familiar warmth stirring in my chest.

“I can still see her picking out that exact bottle, asking all these questions, trying to find something that would surprise you but you’d still enjoy.”

I smile and sip, imagining Mariah with her bright eyes and infinite questions, asking anything and everything about the different types of drinks. “She was always good at finding little things that made me feel special,” I say softly, my voice quieter now, caught between the memories of her laughter and the quiet absence that followed. “She did that for everyone.”

“Yeah,” Ruthie says softly, absentmindedly running her thumb along the handle of her teacup. “She did. And she was damn good at it, wasn’t she?”

“She was.”

It might be the first time we’re sharing fond memories of Mariah like this since her death, the first time the two of us aren’t fraught with grief or crying. We’ll still cry. We’ll still grieve. But being able to talk about memories of her makes bearing the weight of grief a bit easier.

Ruthie shifts and slides her ankle up, peering at it. “Let me see,” I murmur. I shift so I can make room for her swollen ankle on my lap. I hold it gently in my hands and take aclose look. “It’s much better. The swelling’s gone down, and the bruising’s faded, hasn’t it?”

She nods as I rub her ankle softly. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

She lets out a small laugh, though it’s laced with exhaustion. “You’re spoiling me, Vadka.”

Am I? I like that. I miss having someone to spoil. I love that Ruthie appreciates it.