Page 33

MIA

Yulian doesn’t reply to my text. Or the one after that. Or the one after the one after that.

He’s never been particularly loquacious—except for that flirty reply that one time—but this much radio silence? After we slept together and I slammed a door in his face?

Suffice it to say, I spend the night staring at the ceiling, counting how many years it’d take me to pay his advance back. Because, at this point, it’s clear I’ve blown it.

I shouldn’t have stopped sending selfies, I scold myself over and over . I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I shouldn’t have been so unprofessional.

But then another, softer voice inside me says, He shouldn’t have broken your heart.

I toss in bed and force myself to close my eyes. My heart was never on the table. I’m not in love with Yulian Lozhkin—I’m in lust. Dark, bottomless lust, but lust nonetheless.

Love has nothing to do with it.

Love is for schoolgirls without cigarette burns on their arms.

On the third day, I’m fresh out of hope. I take Eli to school, kiss him on the head, watch him trot to his new friends, and then break down crying in my car.

I fucked it up. The job, Yulian, everything. It was my son’s only hope, and I fucked it up.

Why can’t I stop ruining everything?

At home, I’m getting ready to call the bank and beg when Boris knocks on my door.

“A delivery,” he announces in his deep, accented baritone. “From the boss.”

I toss the box on the ground and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you,” I hiccup.

Boris freezes. He pats my head awkwardly, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with an armful of tiny, crying woman. “You’re… welcome, Miss.”

Once I’m alone again, I rip open the package. Inside is another dress—and another note.

Saturday. 7 P.M. Don’t be late.

I laugh through the tears. It’s a little burst, hysterical and just a bit mad, but God, the relief is overwhelming.

I’m not fired.

I’m not done.

I can still care for my kid.

With that, all my qualms about Yulian melt like fresh snow.

He was a dick. So what? What if he used my body, stomped on my heart, and ghosted me back just to scare me? Just because he could?

It doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

Only Eli matters.

When he was born, I swore to myself I’d do anything for him. Anything to give him the life he deserved. So, if I have to put on a pretty dress and dance for the devil?

Cue the fucking music.

“Mia! We’ve got another code red coming through!”

I rush to the E.R. doors and flank the stretcher rushing in. “Male, thirty-two,” the EMT rattles off. “Another victim of the pile-up on I-278. Fell off his motorcycle and flew into the bushes. Wasn’t found until he woke up and started screaming.”

“I WANT TO SEE MY WIFE!” the patient yells, thrashing on the stretcher.

“Sir, calm down,” a fledgling nurse at my side urges. “We’re going to take care?—”

“TAKE ME TO MY WIFE!”

“Pushing 1 mcg lorazepam,” I say as I hook him up to an IV.

The new nurse frowns. “You can’t prescribe?—”

“I’m a nurse practitioner,” I answer without looking at her. The words roll right off my tongue from how used I am to saying them. “And right now, I’m treating this patient.”

“You should still wait for the doct?—”

I ignore her and stick the syringe in.

The patient’s eyes flag, then his body goes limp.

“There,” I tell her. “Much better, yes?”

Dr. Kitagawa rushes over. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Pupils are clean,” I inform her. “He doesn’t have a concussion, but his leg’s broken. He’s also feverish and delirious. Had to sedate him.”

“Good call,” she approves, examining the leg. “Yep, not gonna go two-stepping anytime soon. No head injuries or internal bleeding, though. Lucky guy.”

“Pays to wear a helmet.” The EMT shrugs.

“Less work for all of us,” she agrees. “Alright, take him to ortho and?—”

“—put him on a cycle of antibiotics,” I finish for her, smiling as I hold up a fresh syringe. “Got them right here.”

Dr. Kitagawa’s shoulders slump with relief. “Thanks, Mia. You’re a lifesaver.”

Then she zooms off to the next stretcher.

“Sorry,” the new nurse mutters as we roll our patient into the elevator. “I didn’t mean to question you, it’s just?—”

“Your first day?”

She sighs. “Yeah.”

“Welcome to your fire baptism.” I smile at her and pat her shoulder. “I promise it never gets better, but you do get used to it. Sort of.”

The elevator dings. We head to ortho, where a dozen other stretchers are lying around, waiting to be sorted into rooms we do not have. By the looks of it, it’s gonna be yet another slumber party in the hallway.

“How do you do it?” my new fan asks, starry-eyed. “It was like you knew exactly what to do.”

“I’ve got my secrets.” I wink. “Stick around long enough, and maybe you’ll learn some.”

It’s a lie. Alright, maybe only half a lie. Truth is, when you quit medical school a year shy of graduation, the knowledge tends to stick anyway.

But medical school would have meant a residency. It would have meant years before I got a real salary. Years I did not have.

Not with a tiny life growing inside me.

Still, the E.R. nurse life isn’t so bad. It’s just way less money than I’d have made in the long run. Plus a constant battle to be taken seriously.

Oh, and overtime. Lots and lots of overtime. So much overtime, it barely registers anymore.

Which is why, when I check my watch, I almost have a heart attack.

7:45 P.M.

Shit.

I rush to find Gwen, who’s barking orders left and right at the E.R. entrance. “I am so sorry, but I really have to?—”

“Go.” She waves me off briskly. “We’re sorting the last ones. We’ll manage.”

I take in the sight of the EMTs rolling stretchers in. So many people wounded. So many patients in need.

“I’ll help,” I tell her.

“You don’t have to?—”

“We’re short-staffed again tonight, aren’t we?” One glance at Gwen’s tight brow tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head. “C’mon. It’ll be easier if there’s two of us.”

With a grim sigh, she nods.

We triage the last handful of patients from the pile-up with quick, silent efficiency. By the time I’m rushing out the doors, I have twelve missed calls from Yulian.

I immediately dial back. “I’m so sorry,” I pant, “there was an emergency and I’m?—”

“Still at work,” his voice says, much closer than I’d expected it. “I can see that.”

My stomach drops.

It’s been two weeks since we saw each other. The last time we did, I was naked, wrapped in Yulian’s sheets and Yulian’s scent. I was wrung out, reeling from more orgasms than I’d ever had in my life, the sweet ache of him still pulsing inside me.

Now, as I collide with his firm cheese grater abs, his cologne hits me with full force, yanking me back into those memories. Back into the feeling of his body on mine, his arms around me, his?—

“You’re warm.” Suddenly, his hand is on my cheek. “If you caught something there?—”

“I’m fine!” I squeak, a little too shrill. “I, um—I’m okay. Shift just ran long is all.”

“An hour and a half long,” His gray eyes pierce me, cold, unreadable. “You’re late.”

Any other day, I’d be getting right back into his face, snapping about priorities. But if there’s something the past two weeks taught me, it’s how badly I need this job.

So I hang my head and say, “I’m sorry.”

He seems surprised by that. “What, no backtalk? No excuses?”

“Would it make a difference?”

“No,” he muses. “No, it wouldn’t.”

I look up into his eyes. My fingers are twisting his shirt, but I’m only distantly aware of it. Not nearly enough to stop.

“Please,” I rasp, “don’t fire me.”

He falls silent. For the longest time, he doesn’t say anything at all.

This is bad, I realize, my heart sinking into my stomach. He’s going to fire me, isn’t he? I’ve fucked this up beyond repair, I ? —

“You were saving lives.” His deep, husky voice snaps me out of it, bringing me back to the present. Back to him, still pressed against me, as close as that night. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

I’m stunned. I stare at Yulian’s face and try to figure out if this is his idea of a joke, if his lips are going to quirk up at the edges, flashing that handsome dimple one last time before he kicks me to the curb.

But he doesn’t do that.

Instead, he turns to his Maybach. “Maks,” he calls. “Go to Mia’s place and pick up her dress. You can take her car. Then meet back up with us at the venue.”

“W-what?” I stammer.

“You don’t trust Maksim with your precious Honda?”

“That’s not the issue!” I look between the two men, utterly lost, but neither of them seems to be batting an eye at this. To make matters worse, Yulian is already heading for his Maybach again, expecting me to follow blindly. “I need to get ready, I—where am I even gonna shower?!”

Yulian throws me an amused look. The kind of look that melts ice and makes knees go weak. “My place.”

Then he climbs into the car and shuts the door.