Page 41

MIA

After the incident, Yulian switches gears.

It’s not a complete one-eighty. He doesn’t suddenly start sending me flowers, or writing me poems, or a million other things people seem to think qualify as “love.” He’s not that kind of person—and frankly, thank God for that. I’d have hated that guy.

But he’s more… tender. Careful. I wish I could say I’m not that fragile, but right now, I kind of am.

I smooth my dress over my belly. The little girl inside—my daughter, I keep realizing over and over again—kicks lightly in response, making me giggle.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Yulian is tending to the aftermath of the gala disaster, one floor below, in the StarTech portion of the building. Nikita helpfully chauffeured Eli home from school earlier. No more unsupervised outings for baby and me after our scare, and for once, I agree.

I sigh quietly and touch my belly. Guilt is eating me alive from all sides: putting my baby in danger, not being able to pick up my own kid from school…

not exactly “mother of the year” behavior.

I spent three months judging Brad because he couldn’t be bothered to take Eli to school himself, but now, here I am, doing the same thing.

Except that, instead of a driver, I’m sending a Bratva assassin. Again—not winning any awards over here.

“Mommy, pass the blue?”

I force a smile and roll an aqua blue crayon Eli’s way. “There you go.”

He picks it up and starts filling in the sky on his coloring sheet.

They don’t exactly assign homework at the preschool, but Ms. Lawrence always prints out a little something extra.

And Eli, who loves to color everything and anything, is always thrilled to sit down at the counter with a new sketch to fill in. It’s his happy place— our happy place.

Then I hear him huffing.

“Trouble with the sky?” I joke, leaning over to see what’s got him so bothered.

But Eli doesn’t laugh. His brow is knit together, his eyes narrow and angry. “This isn’t blue; it’s green.”

“You think?” I pick up the crayon. “I mean, it’s a little greenish, but it’s still mostly blue, isn’t it?”

“No!” He slams his hands on the coloring sheet. “I’m stupid! I can’t even color right!”

“Easy, munchkin. There’s nothing wrong with?—”

“Yes, there is!” He sweeps the counter with his arm. All his beloved crayons clatter to the ground. “There’s something wrong with me! Dad was right! I’m stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Just like that, he starts hitting himself on the head.

I fly into emergency mode. He hasn’t had an episode in ages, but I should have known it was coming. Should have known it was only a matter of time before all his stress about Brad bubbled up to the surface.

“Hey,” I whisper, gently grabbing hold of his hands to keep him from hurting himself. “Enough of that, okay? Breathe.”

He’s red-faced now, angry tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why can’t I be normal, Mommy?”

Normal. I never use that word. Not to describe people—not to describe him. The things he is, the things he’s not. His therapist and his teachers were adamant that comparisons were going to be a problem growing up, and that it was important to foster a language that didn’t lean into that.

But I do remember who used it.

Brad.

For three endless months.

“He’s not normal.”

“There’s something wrong with him.”

“He’s stupid, just like you.”

“Baby, look at me.” I brush blond curls out of his sweat-slick forehead. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing, okay? No matter what anyone says.”

He shakes his head frantically. “But Dad said?—”

“No ‘buts.’ He’s wrong.”

“He’s right! I’m stupid and dumb and can’t even do the easy stuff!”

“Then so am I. He said that about me too, remember?” I cup his face with both hands. “So if you’re dumb, I’m dumber.”

“You’re not dumb, Mommy.”

“Then neither are you.” I force a smile. “Either he’s right about both of us, or he’s wrong about both of us. And I think he’s the biggest dummy of all.”

Eli looks up at me. His eyes are red, shiny with tears. I hate seeing him like this—hate seeing him suffer because of that horrible, horrible man.

I should have done a better job at keeping him out of our lives.

“I don’t want to go live with him, Mommy.” He’s talking about what Brad said that day at the school gates. It breaks my heart that he’s so terrified of that man. All because I couldn’t protect him. “I want to stay with you and Yulian.”

Yulian. More guilt pierces my chest. If I hadn’t lied to him—if I hadn’t destroyed the evidence of Brad’s involvement with Prizrak—Brad would be out of our lives by now. For good.

But Eli would have lost a father.

No matter how awful Brad has been to him, no one can replace what he is. He’s Eli’s blood—that can’t be erased. One day, Eli will grow. He will have the means to confront Brad, to get the closure he needs to move forward.

And if he wants a relationship with him, of any kind, then he deserves that, too. Once he’s older.

But not now.

Because now he’s fragile. He’s young and impressionable and doesn’t have the antibodies for the poison that Bradley Baldwin is.

And it’s his mother’s job to protect him from that.

“You’re not going anywhere.” I pull him to me and hug him tight. “It’s a promise.”

“Even if you’re going to have another baby?” he sniffles.

“It doesn’t matter if I have a thousand other babies.” I kiss his forehead. “You’re mine, too. That is never going to change.”

“What if the baby doesn’t like me?”

“Are you kidding? She’s going to love you.”

As if on cue, the baby kicks.

Eli startles, surprised. “Was that her?”

“Yep.” I ruffle his hair. “She’s telling you she can’t wait to meet you. And I just know you’re going to be best friends.”

Slowly, his breathing seems to ease. “I wanna meet her, too,” he says. “And… I want to protect her. From Dad.”

My eyes grow wet. He has no idea that his little sister won’t have to fear Brad, because she’s not his. He’s too small to understand things like that. All he knows is that Brad is dangerous to him—which makes him dangerous to the baby, too.

“I can teach you, if you want.”

Suddenly, I realize Nikita is in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she winces. “Came to check that everything was okay, but didn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s fine.” I find myself smiling a little. She’s basically our guardian angel these days, but she can be so awkward, too. “What did you mean, teach him?”

“Ever heard of systema? ” She cracks her knuckles. “It’s a Russian martial art. Perfect for self-defense—and the defense of others. It’s what I use to fight.”

At that, Eli jumps up. “I can learn to fight like you?!”

“Sure thing.”

“But…” His face dims a little. “But I’m… different.”

“Not from me.” She shakes a bottle of pills: Ritalin. “We’re both on the same candies, remember? Anything I can do, you can do.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

It’s a little oversimplified, but I get the feeling it’s exactly what Eli needs to hear. After Brad tore his self-esteem to shreds like that, he needs all the help he can get. A little extra courage can’t hurt.

“If it’s okay with your mom,” Nikita adds.

I laugh and wipe my eyes. “Is it safe?”

“Oh, totally. We won’t be breaking boards until the end of the first year.”

Eli’s eyes go wide. “I’m going to break a board?!”

“With your bare hands, little man.”

She winks at me. I doubt Russian martial arts include board-breaking, but I stay silent. Eli seems excited at the prospect, and I’m sure Nikita can find something kid-appropriate for him to snap in half.

He looks so happy right now.

“How about a trial lesson to decide?” I ask.

“Sure.” Nikita grins. “We can do one right now, if the little man’s up for it.”

“I am!” Eli starts jumping up and down. “Please, Mommy, can I?!”

“Only if you pick up all the crayons first.”

Within seconds, they’re back in the box.