Page 100 of Nikola

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to take his hand back in mine, but he refused my touch.

“Did they say whether I’ll ever walk again?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Of course you’ll walk. You have your other leg.”

“Will I ever run again?” I stared at him, but he must have thought he read the answer in my eyes, because he shook his head, pain erupting in his expression and staining his face. “Never?”

“I don’t…”

“I’ll never run again.” The words tumbled from his lips, matching the hollow expression on his face. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore. I couldn’t comprehend what had changed as I watched him stare at his leg, almost as if he was willing it to get better.

“Nikola!” My voice, his name on my lips, finally snatched his attention back to me, and I stroked his face. “You’ll get better. We just have to take it one step at a time. Your knee will heal, and your mom is exploring options.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. Everything will be okay. We’ll get through this.”

His expression didn’t change, etched with despair and something else I didn’t want to identify.

“What did the doctor say is the best-case scenario?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, unsure if I should answer that one. It was still too early, and Vasili was busy calling in the best specialists in the world.

“I don’t know,” I lied, but Nikola knew me too well. We’d known each other almost our whole lives, and while it was a great basis for our future together, it was detrimental when it came to deceit.

“Zayka, don’t lie. Not to me.”

Every fiber of my being warned against being honest, yet I opted for the truth. “Best-case scenario is needing crutches or a cane.”

“And worst case?”

He knew the answer, but like a masochist intent on self-inflicting pain, he needed to hear it. Or in my case, see it. “Wheelchair.”

“A wheelchair,” he repeated slowly.

“But that won’t happen,” I signed with more assurance than I had any business giving.

He watched me with a sardonic expression. “But crutches will.”

“So what?” He was looking at this all wrong. “You’re alive. Cane or crutches… it’ll just be an extension of you.”

I was willing to try anything and everything, as long as we were together.

“Can’t you see, Skye?”

“See what?” I demanded, panic slowly growing inside me. “There's nothing to see. You’re alive, and you’ll recover. That’s the only thing that matters here.”

“No, it’s not the only thing,” he claimed stubbornly. “I’ll be handicapped and will need constant help and care. What are you going to do? Lift me into the wheelchair every morning and then get me into bed every night?”

“Yes, if I must. But you’re exaggerating. You’ll walk again, and you’ll be able to do all those things yourself.”

He shook his head. “But I’ll always be handicapped.”

“For Christ’s sake, Nikola. Stop saying it that way. We’ll figure out what works and what doesn't, then go from there.”

He dragged in a heavy breath. I could see his mind flashing through various scenarios, none of which were good. I could actually sense him—mentally and physically—pulling away from me, and it both terrified and infuriated me. Finally, on a long exhale, he announced, “I can’t marry you. I would never forgive myself for trapping you into?—”

“No,” I cut him off with my voice. “No, Nikola.” There was something bittersweet about using my voice in this moment. “Don’t you fucking dare push me away.”