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MIA

Five minutes into Skyfall , Eli conks out.

I had no doubt he would. It’s way too late for him to be up, and besides, he’s just stuffed himself full of pizza. That’s a guaranteed nap formula.

“Sorry,” I whisper to Yulian, who just ended up with a lapful of little boy’s legs. “I’ll move him in a minute.”

“No need.” He shrugs, careful not to displace Eli from his nest. “He’s comfortable. Let him sleep. He’ll be cranky if you wake him now.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“My sister was a terror.” A small smile quirks his lip, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Alina. She always wanted to pick the movie, but never stayed awake long enough to finish it.”

The way he says it makes my heart go tight. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“It was a long time ago.”

I have no family. That’s what he told me back then.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say. Every time the topic of Yulian’s family comes up, I feel like a bull in a china shop, all those broken shards cracking loudly under my feet.

“Don’t be.” Yulian’s tone is casual, but I can tell it’s just practice. A pain like that never goes away, no matter how long it’s been. It’s the one thing no nurse or doctor can fix. “And I thought I said I didn’t want to hear those words from you anymore.”

That drags a smile out of me. “Fine. Then I’ll say something else.”

“About time.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand. “For being so patient. For being here, tonight, despite everything else you’ve got going on.”

“It’s—”

“Don’t say ‘nothing,’” I catch him. “That’s my rule.”

He fixes me with his CEO glare. A soft version of it, anyway. “You’ve gotten bossier lately.”

“Been learning from the best.”

“Is that so?”

His rough knuckles shift under my palm, still tender from the fight. There’s no blood right now, but I know there was. I know it ended up there for me.

It should make me feel horrible as a nurse, but as a mom, I’m glad whoever threatened my family got his just desserts.

And as a woman…

I won’t lie, it’s a little hot.

“So, as I was saying,” I blurt before I let that train of thought reach Horny Station, “thanks. I really needed this. Though I promise I won’t make a habit of it.”

His fingers flex. I feel like he wants to say something, but he’s keeping himself in check.

I shouldn’t get my hopes up, though. Earlier, when he mentioned the contract, my fantasies carried me so far away I had to hitch a cab back to reality. Because the truth is, I thought he wanted to break it. To do away with it all and just?—

What? Keep you? The ugly part of me, the one that sounds so much like Brad, sneers. Right. As if.

He’s right, though. Yulian is basically a Forbes Prince Charming on steroids, with none of the charm and all of the guns.

Whereas me? I’m nobody. I’m poor, broken, used. I’ve got baggage for two lifetimes.

I’ve got a son.

And Yulian made it clear he doesn’t want that.

It’s so easy to forget, though. He’s so good with him. With us. So patient, kind, and every other good word I never thought I’d use to describe Yulian Lozhkin.

But I can’t pretend this is more than it is. We have a contract, and that’s not going anywhere. We have sex—amazing, Earth-shattering sex—but that’s it.

It doesn’t mean we’re ever going to be anything else.

I should let it be enough.

“Fire.”

It’s a whisper, small and weak. My head turns instantly to Eli. “Honey?”

“Fire,” he whines again. His eyes are squeezed shut, his tiny body tossing and turning in his sleep. “There’s fire everywhere…”

Yulian’s immediately on high alert. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nightmares.” I don’t elaborate any further, waking Eli up instead. “Eli,” I call as I gently shake his shoulders. “Baby, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

His eyes blink open. Instantly, they fill with tears. “Mommy,” he sniffles. “I’m sorry. I used the stove, I?—”

“Hush,” I whisper, gathering him up in my arms. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. Mommy’s got you now.”

It goes on like this for a while: Eli apologizing, me comforting him. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell him it’s not his fault, that he’s got nothing to apologize for. That day is etched in his mind, in fire and smoke and all that came after.

Because of me.

Yulian shifts. I can tell he’s uncomfortable, that he has no idea how to handle this. It must be a first for him—not knowing what to do in a crisis.

But I get it. He didn’t sign up for this. Nor for any of the mess I’ve put him through.

“Where’s Garfield?” Eli mumbles. “He didn’t burn, did he?”

“He’s fine,” Yulian says. “I’ll go get?—”

“No!” Quick as lightning, Eli’s small hand grabs Yulian’s. “Please, don’t go.”

Yulian stares at Eli’s fingers. His tiny knuckles, white with effort. “Okay,” he says eventually. “I won’t. I’ll stay right here.”

It takes a few more minutes to calm him down. Even longer to convince him to let Yulian go. I’m mortified, but the motherly side of me can’t spare much thought for how awkward Yulian must be feeling.

Right now, all my focus is on my son.

My son, who needs me.

“I’ll go put him to sleep,” I tell Yulian.

I tuck Eli into bed and push Garfield into his arms. “See?” I force a smile. “Safe and sound.”

The truth is, all I want to do right now is cry. I want to curl up and sob, curse myself for being such a horrible mother, for letting my kid put himself in danger like that. For giving him nightmares for the rest of his life.

But Yulian’s still here.

So I wipe my eyes, wait for Eli’s breathing to even out, and go back into the living room.

I find him in the kitchen.

“I made some warm milk,” he says. “To help him sleep.”

It’s the sweetest thing he could have done. “Thanks,” I whisper. “He’s down again, but I’ll take that.”

Yulian offers me the cup. Our fingers brush as I take it. His fire, I’ve come to learn, is almost as dangerous as his ice. Even now, when it’s warm as a hearth, it’s more dangerous than ever to me.

Because all I want is to curl up into that warmth, sob into Yulian’s chest, let him hold me. Like he did earlier tonight.

But that’s not part of the deal.

I pour honey into the milk. Yulian’s eyes go wide when he sees how much.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just wasn’t aware you were courting diabetes.”

I roll my eyes. “We all have our vices.”

“And yours is milk and honey.” His eyebrow rises. “Most people would go for something stronger.”

“Cheap wine tastes horrible.” I sip my drink, relishing the sugary warmth on my tongue. “So does beer. Too bitter.”

“I feel like you’re taking the concept of ‘sweet tooth’ to a whole other level.”

“You’re not the first,” I sigh. “Brad loved to tease me for it.”

Realization dawns in Yulian’s eyes. “That’s why he calls you?—”

“‘Sweet thing’? Yeah.” I grimace. “Can you believe I used to like it? Now, I can’t hear it without wanting to throw up.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He makes a disgusted face. At least we’ve got this in common: not being able to fucking stand Bradley Baldwin. “Has he always been that slimy?”

“Oddly, no.” My mind goes back to that summer. To the sweet way it started. “He was kind of a dick, but no more than any other Hamptons guy. He still thought himself human, back then.”

“When did he stop?”

I grip my cup tighter. “When his father died.”

Yulian pauses. Perhaps, for the first time, he’s feeling something close to kinship to Brad. This is the one thing they have in common—losing someone they shouldn’t have lost, too young to know what to do with the void it left behind.

“What happened then?”

“He inherited everything. He wasn’t supposed to, you know.

His dad believed you had to make your own fortune, even if you were born lucky.

Brad was supposed to graduate business school and then support himself.

Become an asset to the company, or fund his own.

He didn’t seem to mind that at the time.

Said he’d rather be a capable rich jerk than a useless rich jerk.

” The memories keep flooding in. “But then his dad died, and overnight, he was worth billions.”

“And it went to his head,” Yulian fills in.

“Yeah. Guess it did.”

We go back to silence for a while. I keep an ear out for Eli’s nightmares, but for once, they seem to be leaving him alone.

“You’re worried,” Yulian guesses, following my gaze.

“Not more than usual.” I force a small smile. “It’s gotten better lately. He has them less and less. But last year…”

His hand touches my shoulder. Without thinking, I lean into its warmth. “Tell me,” he says, but for once, it doesn’t sound like an order. “If you want.”

And suddenly, I realize I do want to tell him.

“It’s not much of a story,” I exhale. “Eli was three. I’d just gotten hired at the hospital, with an actual contract and all.

Before that, I was pulling triples at several nursing homes, but it was almost all off-the-books.

Getting a real job at the hospital—it was like a dream.

” I take another sip, then sigh. “But I was still on probation. Even a small mistake, and I could have lost it.”

Yulian nods. “Go on.”

Somehow, his voice grounds me.

“I was at work that night,” I say. “I’d gotten a sitter for Eli, of course. It was this seventeen-year-old girl Dorothy, the daughter of a neighbor. She could use a few bucks, and I could use the convenience of ten dollars an hour. She’d watched Eli before. But that night…”

“She bailed,” Yulian realizes.

“Yeah. Texted me halfway through my shift, said she had to go pick up a friend, that it was an emergency. It was past midnight—I couldn’t possibly find someone else.”

“And you couldn’t leave.”

“They’d have fired me so fast.” Tears bubble up at the corners of my eyes, but I wipe them away. “In hindsight, that’s what I should’ve done. It would have been hard on us, but still better than what happened.”

“The fire?”

I nod tightly. “I told myself Eli was asleep, that I’d be back before he woke up. He wouldn’t even realize I was gone. But then the shift ran long, and by the time I made it home, he’d gotten hungry.” I give Yulian a watery smile. “He tried to make himself pancakes.”

I can see it in Yulian’s eyes—the second the horror dawns. “The stove.”

“Eli said a rug had caught on fire. He’d tried to toss it out the window, but then the curtains caught fire, too.

He was smart enough to run to Dorothy’s place and tell them what happened.

The family called 911.” I bite my lip. “Dorothy was passed out drunk in her bed. But she was technically a minor, so…”

“So the blame fell on you.”

Yulian’s hand squeezes my shoulder. Guilt pierces me—for what happened back then, for what’s happening now. For leaning on this man who owes me nothing.

“When I came back,” I rasp, “I still didn’t know any of this. I just saw smoke rising from my window. The fire department was on the scene. I had to be held back by neighbors because I tried to run inside. I thought my kid was still in there, you know?”

There’s no use fighting back the tears now. But Yulian simply hands me a tissue, not leaving me for a second.

“Thanks,” I whisper. “Anyway, then the police came. And then there was Child Protective Services. It all happened so fast. It’s a miracle I didn’t lose him—to the fire or to them.” I blow into the tissue and crumple it. “Wanna know what the worst part is?”

“Tell me.”

“Eli blames himself. Even now, he still does. Every time he wakes up, all he does is apologize to me. ”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Yulian remarks.

It almost makes me laugh. Almost.

“I’d spent years thinking Eli would be better off with me. That I’d be a better parent than Brad. And then, when that happened… It just made me feel so arrogant. Because I knew something like that never would have happened on his watch.”

“You don’t know that.” Now, Yulian’s closer than ever. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve always put your son first. And that man…” His fist clenches at his side. “He hurt you.”

I don’t deny it. I can’t.

By now, Yulian’s seen enough to put two and two together.

His thumb strokes my scars. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. You protected Eli from a monster.”

“But I put him in danger,” I whisper.

“Because you’re human. Because you tried your best and for one night, it wasn’t enough.” Somehow, his words feel raw. Personal. Like they’re about more than just my story. “But that doesn’t mean you get to stop trying.”

We’re so close now, our lips are touching with every word. I want him to kiss me so bad. Want him to take me to bed and make me forget.

“Go,” I beg him instead. “Before we do something we’ll both regret.”

His hand comes up to my cheek, stroking my face, brushing away the tears. “Like what?”

“Fall,” I whisper. “I’ve fallen once already. I know what it feels like when there’s no one there to catch you.”

“That’s what you think?” he asks. “That I won’t catch you?”

“I think,” I murmur, stroking his face right back, “that we have a contract.”

He pulls away then. Not abruptly—not with anger. Just does what I asked him to do, even if it guts me. Even if it guts us both.

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He heads for the door. There, he hesitates.

I wonder if he’ll say I’m wrong. If he’ll shred that contract to pieces and pull me into his arms. If he’ll tell me he wants me, all of me, the baggage and the broken parts, and take me to bed to fix what needs fixing.

Instead, he says, “Goodnight, Mia.”

“Goodnight, Yulian.”

And then he’s gone.