Page 10

“All those things,” he growls. “All the things she would’ve worried herself sick over, you never knew because I handled them.”

He handled them. Without permission. Without asking me.

"I never asked you for any of that," I say, aghast. "What the fuck? I had no idea you were doing all this behind my back."

"Of course you fucking didn’t. You're too damn stubborn." He blows out a breath. “Hang up the phone. I'm right next to you.”

I'm so surprised when I look out my window and see his huge, gleaming bike parked right next to me—still dressed, sexy as sin, in that white shirt with those charcoal-gray pants.

Only this time, his eyes are flashing at me, and he does not look too pleased.

I hang up the phone.

I hate coming here. I hate everything about it. Well, some of the staff are nice; some are not. It's expensive, my mother doesn't get the time or attention she needs, and it always smells like stale food and antiseptic .

So when I see the familiar chrome of Vadka's motorcycle, I feel like having a good cry.

And I feel like that young girl again—at home, watching my older sister fall in love and share the burden of our mother's care with someone else.

When Mariah was here, she spearheaded everything with our mother: getting her the help she needed and getting her into a group home.

She was the one who took care of me when my mother couldn't, and she knew exactly when my mother needed to go in.

Vadka helped her. Of course he did—it's what he always did.

I mean, I just found out he did more for me when I was a teen than my mom did her whole life. She needed a keeper herself.

"I thought you had an emergency?"

Why does my voice sound so sharp, so angry? Why do I always feel sharp and angry? I don't like feeling this way anymore. It makes me feel brittle.

"I do," he says quietly. "But Mariah would've wanted me to come."

So he didn't come here to help me, but out of some obligation to my dead sister. Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better.

And then my phone rings, and I see it's the nurse again. "I'm here," I snap into the receiver.

"Second floor. Make it quick."

Jesus . I shove the phone into my pocket, and Vadka's eyebrows rise. "Nora?"

“Wait, you know her by name? "

"Yeah. She tried her bullshit with Mariah once."

"Once?"

He chuckles, and we are near enough now that I catch a whiff of his leather jacket. Why does he have to smell so fucking good?

"Yeah, I came with her the second time," he says.

I feel my jaw tighten. "Well, that's not fair. She treats my sister like shit, and a man comes on the scene, and all of a sudden she behaves herself?"

"Yeah, who said life was fair, Ruthie?"

Liars, that's who.

"And to be fair, I don't know if it had anything to do with me being a man ," he adds pragmatically. "You’d be surprised what people do out of fear of the Bratva."

I roll my eyes, thankful that I'm wearing sunglasses so he doesn't see. He gets that strange look in his eyes, and his jaw clenches when I roll my eyes.

When we enter, they wave us past without having to show ID. We are regulars here. Josie, the head nurse on my mother's floor, sees us first.

"So glad you're here," she says with a sympathetic look. She was always kind. "How are you doing though?" she asks gently, and a lump forms in my throat. I don't like being so fragile that the smallest show of kindness makes me melt. I should be stronger.

"I'm good. How are you?" I manage to reply .

"Oh, good, good," she says quietly. "My dog had puppies, so I've been up all night taking care of the little rascals. Other than that, can't complain. They're adorable."

She smiles warmly, then turns her attention to Vadka.

"And you, Vadka?”

Vadka just nods, saying nothing else. Josie, undeterred, continues with a gentle smile.

"Bet your little boy's getting bigger," she says.

In my mother's room, there's a faded picture of Luka as a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby. It's the only thing she keeps—a tiny relic of the life she once had.

"He is," Vadka says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Going to preschool in the fall."

We're all silent for a long moment, and I wonder if it's for the same reason. For me, it's because my mind can't help the mental gymnastics of imagining my sister's child getting older without her being here.

Will it always be like this? Will everything I do always be shadowed by the thought that Mariah isn't with us anymore?

An older man with sagging skin and wide, wild eyes screams obscenities from one corner of the hallway. Another woman wheels by us in her wheelchair, happily singing to herself—something about going to the zoo with her mother.

Someone pushes a tray with a squeaky wheel past us to the right, carrying bowls of soup and slices of bread. The smell makes me a little nauseous. I've never liked the food here .

Vadka clenches his jaw and stands up taller, bracing himself.

"She met with her physical therapist today?" he asks, voice steady.

Since when did my mother start meeting with a physical therapist? Why does he know that, and I don't?

And why does that unsettle me so much?

"Unfortunately, no," Josie says quietly. "She's too combative to meet with anybody today."

Vadka's phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it, his eyebrows knitting together before he taps something out quickly and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

"Did you move her?" I ask Josie. Mom's room used to be the first one on the right after the nurses' station, but we're walking even further down the hall now.

Josie looks at me almost apologetically. "Yeah, we had to bring her to a more secure location," she says gently.

Shit . This is worse than I feared. I'm glad we're here.

I'm glad he's here too.

I hear her screaming before we even reach the door. The closer we get, the louder and more desperate her voice becomes, hoarse with anger and confusion.

Inside, the room is smaller, more contained, and stripped of anything that could be used to hurt herself or others.

I half expect padded walls and a straightjacket…

and I’m not too far off. The curtains are heavy, and the windows are double-locked.

A single bed, bolted to the floor, sits ag ainst the far wall.

There's a chair in the corner and little else.

My heart twists painfully at the sight.

"Mary," Vadka greets in his calm way that always brings a flicker of peace to my mother's face.

“Vadka! Get me out of here! I hate it. They hurt me. I don’t want to be here.”

"You're safe here. We trust these people. They're here to help you," he says, voice gentle but firm, the way someone might speak to an overtired child.

She clenches her jaw and shakes her head, so thin and frail she reminds me of a scarecrow, her once-blonde hair now faded to gray, straggled and unbrushed.

“I won’t.” My mother’s jaw clenches, and my stomach tightens. I hate when she does this. She’s impossible to reason with and sometimes becomes volatile. I don’t know what’s worse—knowing I can’t help her or when they have to restrain her.

I open my mouth to try to cajole her into behaving when Vadka’s voice sharpens, taking on a sterner edge. He anchors his hands on his hips. "Alright. That’s enough. You need to do what they say now. Do you understand me?"

My mother folds her arms across her chest, jutting her chin out stubbornly. For one brief, scary moment, she looks just like my sister used to. I look away quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I can’t think of Mariah now .

"She said she shut off my Wi-Fi," she says, stabbing a finger at me accusingly.

Vadka's eyebrows rise slightly, clearly amused.

"Snitching?" he says, almost teasing.

I shrug. "She has to take her medication. Do you want another seizure, Mom?"

"I don't have seizures. They made that up," she says petulantly, her voice small and furious. Her fingers fiddle with the frayed edge of a blanket. "And where are my cookies?"

I hold the white paper bag in front of me. "I told you, you would get them if you did what your nurse said.”

She scowls, and Vadka gets the same kind of look he gets when he's dealing with a grumpy Luka. Patient but implacable. Immovable.

"Do what she says, Mary. There's no reason for you not to take your medicine.” He squats down in front of her, his forearms resting on his knees so they’re at eye level. “Why don't you want to do it?"

"I told her already. It makes me feel loopy."

"It makes you feel loopy because the last time you took it, you took it with your sleep pills," the nurse says patiently, just as heavy footsteps sound in the hallway. Someone shoves open the door.

"Well? Did she take them or not?"

Sigh. Nora. White-gray hair pulled into a severe bun, round glasses perched on the edge of her nose, lips pressed into a familiar thin line .

Then she sees Vadka and takes a step back. "Oh. I didn't know you were here."

He gives her a tight smile. "So nice to see you again.

" He turns back to Mom. "Yes, Mary's going to take her meds," he says, looking at her.

"Aren't you? Just like the nurse explained to you.

You didn't feel loopy because of this one—it was because of your sleep med.

And if you need to take another sleep med, we can talk to your doctor about that. Right?"

My mom eyes the bag of cookies and frowns. She's softening. She's thinking about it.

"Okay, fine," she says, and the entire room breathes a sigh of relief.

I don't always like my job, but all of a sudden, serving drinks, dealing with predators, a demanding late-night schedule, being on my feet all day, and spying on various syndicates sounds like a fantastic idea.

My god, I'm tired. My eyes are all scratchy, and my throat hurts.

I watch my mother take the small paper cup and, with a scowl, drink her water with her medication.

Thank. Fuck .