Page 34

VADKA

I love having her here with me, and I wish I could find a way to make her stay. But it feels like caging a wild bird, flapping her wings, ready to escape the first chance the door to her cage opens.

And something’s bothering her.

I thought we made peace at the bar, that she understood how much she means to me. But now I’m not so sure.

She’s distant and quiet, her brow furrowed.

“You sure there isn’t something you need to talk about?” We’re on the couch in the living room. Luka’s asleep after Ruthie read to him over and over again. Her ankle’s better but still slightly tender to the touch and swollen, so she’s elevated it beside her, leaning against me.

“Yes, fine,” she says, but she’s worrying her lip and looking far off in the distance while I ease her onto me, her head resting on my lap.

Wordlessly, I run my fingers through her hair.

I’ve noticed she likes it. Slowly, I drag my fingers at her temples.

Her hair is warm and soft and silky, on the shorter side, but full with a little wave.

As I continue brushing through her hair, her eyelids flutter shut, and she covers her mouth as she yawns widely.

“I’m so tired. It’s weird. I’m never tired this early.

I felt like I could’ve crawled right into bed with Luka and slept all night. ”

Frowning, I put my hand to her forehead and feel for a fever. Nothing.

“Oh my gosh, that was so sweet,” she says on another wide yawn.

“What?”

“Testing my body temp by touching my forehead,” she says with a hint of a smile. “Your dad side is showing, and it’s so cute.”

I tweak her nose. I’ll give her cute.

A crash sounds from Luka’s bedroom. Ruthie leaps to her feet, and I’m right beside her. I take off at a run and yank the door open.

But Luka’s fast asleep. My gaze quickly assesses the situation before Ruthie points to where a fan fell from a window. “There,” she says, whispering so as not to wake my son, who thankfully sleeps like the dead. “It was the fan.”

While she checks on my sleeping son, I go to the window and peer out. There’s nothing but hedges and green grass. It would be nearly impossible for someone to access Luka’s room from there.

Still, I check in with the guards who monitor the perimeter.

“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 down his 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 make me.”

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 a close 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.

I smile faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Someone should.” I tug the lock of hair. “Not that you can’t take care of yourself or anything.”

“Thank you,” she says with a laugh.

“Haven’t heard from your mother. How is she?”

“Seems kind of the same.” Ruthie looks off in the distance and bites her lip.

“Is anything bothering you?” I still can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something from me.

When she doesn’t protest right away, I feel myself growing more suspicious. “Ruthie.”

But she only shakes her head. “Just a lot on my mind right now. I think everything’s okay.”

She… thinks everything’s okay.

Fair enough. I won’t push her. I reach my hand to the back of her neck and massage her gently.

Her eyes soften at the touch, a quiet moment between us.

She sighs and leans back against me, her body settling into the comfort of the couch.

For a moment, everything outside the room fades.

It’s just us in the soft glow of a life that feels uncertain.

“You know,” she starts, her voice quieter, as if she’s carefully choosing her words.

“Mariah… she was like a mother to me when my own mother started to… well, when the dementia started showing.” She pauses, a shadow crossing her features.

“She used to take me to get my favorite candy just because she knew I liked it, even when I didn’t ask.

She reminded me to do my homework and taught me how to drive.

She didn’t let me carry the weight of everything like I had to when my mom wasn’t herself anymore. ”

I can feel her heartache in the way her body tenses slightly. I want to say something comforting, but I know no words will ease it. Instead, I just hold her tighter.

“It’s almost like you lost more than a sister.”

She lost her whole family, her support, her rock, in one fell swoop.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “But… she was always there, always looking out for me. Even when I didn’t realize it.” Her voice cracks a little. “She was everything I needed.”

A heavy silence falls over us. The room is filled with nothing but the sound of our breathing and the gentle hum of the house settling around us. Out of habit, I click the video footage on my screen and see Luka peacefully sleeping.

Everything’s at rest. Peaceful. Right.

I want to tell her to stay. I want to tell her she has a place with us, that she can move in, and that it will be good for Luka .

For me.

But I don’t want to push her too fast, too soon.

She looks over my shoulder at the video of Luka and smiles. “Sweet boy.”

After a few moments, Ruthie shifts again, turning her head slightly to look up at me. “How did you become such a good dad, Vadka?” she asks, her voice still tinged with that trace of sadness. “You had such a shitty example.”

I shrug. “You’re right, I did. I decided at an early age I wouldn’t be who my father was.

It was easy enough sometimes. Others, it was learned behavior I had to reverse.

” I shrug. “So I watched. I learned from the good ones. My uncle, for one. Even Rafail—he was like a father figure in his own way, especially after he had to become their guardian.”

“You learned from Rafail?” she asks, her eyebrow arching in mild disbelief.

I smile and nod. “Yeah. He’s rough around the edges, but he knows what matters.”