Page 4

I’ll stare into space when something triggers a memory, then blink and come to hours later. Time passes weirdly when you’re grieving, I guess.

How long does grief last? I would’ve thought I’d feel better by now. And Luka barely seemed to register the loss of his mama. He’s asked for her a few times and cried when she didn’t come home, but he’s too young to really understand that she’s gone forever.

And I know how this will go. He’ll grow up with only vague memories of her. And then, eventually, he might even forget her. I lean my head against the wall as a fresh sob rips from my chest. It’s safer to cry in the shower. I can hide the signs, and it’s harder for anyone to hear.

The grief hits me like a tidal wave. The fact that she’s gone, that I’ll never hold her again, never talk to her again, never see her witness all my son’s firsts ever again, feels like a reality that’s too hard for me to swallow.

My shoulders shake, and something loosens in my chest. The grief feels wrenched from me, raw and so painful it kills.

I cry until relief finally comes. My father used to beat the shit out of me for crying. Ironic. Maybe it’s why I feel the need to hide when I do. But goddamn, a man’s got to let some of this out.

I let the water splash on my face and wash away my tears, wipe my eyes, and peek through the curtain to see Luka still sleeping soundly.

Fuck. I’m all stuffed up and snotty, and my head aches. I hate this. I can’t let myself fall apart every time I step in the fucking shower.

I turn the water off and reach for a towel when I realize I didn’t bring one in with me. I grit my teeth and look at the gross clothes I tossed on the floor and the tiny hand towel that’s askew, probably needs to be changed, and wouldn’t even dry my shoulder.

Gah-reat.

I don’t want to wake up Luka, but?—

“Ruthie,” I hiss, pulling the shower curtain around me for some privacy. I can hear her in the kitchen, but it isn’t that far away. “ Ruthie. ”

Luka stirs. I freeze. The kid needs his sleep.

Shit.

I could jump out of the shower naked, run to the hallway where the clean towels are, and risk letting my sister-in-law see me streak through my house soaking wet.

Or not.

I roll my eyes and let out a low, sharp whistle. Luka doesn’t move, and the sound in the kitchen ceases. I whistle again. A few seconds later, I hear the telltale sound of her footsteps heading this way. I look over to see Luka rolling over but still snoring softly.

“Did you whistle at me?” Ruthie hisses from the doorway.

“I forgot a towel.”

She snorts at me, the little brat. “And?”

“ Ruthie. Get me a towel.”

“Say please .”

I grit my teeth. After her ass is out of here, I’m changing the locks. “ Please. ”

“And give me your credit card.”

“Are you blackmailing me for a towel?” I hiss. Jesus.

“No, you need groceries,” she says, smug as sin. “Hang on.”

I hear her footsteps retreat, slow and unhurried, like she wants me to freeze to death or suffer. Probably both.

But she doesn’t hand me a towel. She fucking drapes it, deliberately, on the hook by the curtain, just out of reach .

She knows what she’s doing.

“Here you go,” she says, tilting her head at me. “Don’t ever say I never gave you anything.”

I glare through the steam, water still streaming down my body. “You could’ve passed it to me.”

“I suppose I could have. And you could’ve acted like a grown-up and remembered your towel. Seriously, Vadka. You had one job.”

That smile. That wicked, sweet smirk of hers, that’s all Ruthie.

“You really want to play this game?” I growl.

I wrap the towel around my waist and shove the curtain aside.

Her eyes grow wide, and in a second, she quickly sweeps her eyes down the length of my bare chest, over my inked shoulders and torso, before she realizes what she’s doing. Her cheeks flame red.

I see the moment she realizes I was crying—her own eyes well with tears, and she looks away.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Get dressed. I made breakfast.”

We both look over to the sleeping form of my baby boy.

“He always sleep in your bed?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Just a lot since Mariah’s been gone though.”

She nods, eying my dirty clothes strewn on the floor.

My eyes linger on a pair of socks. I wasn’t this sloppy before she died.

I’m a grown-ass man who likes his shit clean.

And Mariah would lose her mind over the fucking socks.

Every time I left them on the floor, she’d act like I dropped a live grenade in the living room.

I remember the last time we fought over them—sharp words, tempers flaring. I backed her against the wall and kissed the fight out of her, then did every stitch of damn laundry in the house while she watched, smug and beautiful.

Ruthie’s voice cuts through the memory.

“Trash is full,” she says over her shoulder as she leaves the room. “Take it out on your way out. I’m cleaning the fridge; you can handle the trash.”

I grunt but don’t reply. Instead, I salute her back. I’ll do it.

I grab clothes out of the drawer and put them on top of the dresser. “Here’s my card,” I tell her, taking it out of my wallet.

“On second thought, keep it,” she says, still whispering. “Use it for a haircut. Maybe even shave while you’re at it.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“My sister liked you clean-shaven,” she whispers. Her voice shakes. It hits me in the chest, bright and honest.

“Yeah.” I turn away. “She did.”

Ruthie leaves, and I get changed and run my fingers through my too-long hair.

I don’t shave. I bend and give Luka a kiss on the top of his tousled head before I go.

“He wakes up grumpy. Make him pee. Don’t give him any juice until he eats. ”

“Are you giving me orders?”

“Who, me?” I splay a hand across my chest. “Never. How long are you staying?”

She swallows hard and looks away, turning back to the stove. “As long as you need me. Shift starts at six p.m., and I need to get home to get ready for it.”

I nod. “I’ll send someone to relieve you much sooner than that. And I’ll interview more nannies today.”

She looks over at me, her eyes welling with tears and her lower lip trembling. I can’t help it. I walk over to her and reach for her to give her a big hug. She fits in my arms and rests her head on my chest, but she doesn’t cry.

“I miss her,” she whispers. “It’s hard being here. I’m sorry. It’s why I haven’t come.”

I can’t help myself. I kiss the top of her head.

Why did I do that?

Ruthie freezes as if she doesn’t know how to respond.

“I know. You don’t have to stay. I can take Luka to the Kopolovs; someone will be there.” They’re my extended family now.

She shakes her head. “No, I miss him too. I want to see him. I need to. I’m sorry, Vadka.”

It’s right around then that I realize I’m still holding her. That she smells good, and she’s curvy and pretty and… vulnerable.

Like me .

I let her go like she’s on fire.

Step back. Turn away hard.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say, the door slamming shut behind me.

Grief makes people do crazy things.

I leave before I do something I regret.