44. Lacey
44
LACEY
MONTHS LATER
The familiar chime of Three Birds' door announces Megan walking in. A gust of wind follows after her with a hint of the familiar wet chill of winter.
She sits down in front of me, and starts fidgeting with her coffee cup.
"I got a job offer," she says, not quite meeting my eyes. "In New York."
The words hit me harder than I expect. "New York?"
"The New York Times wants me to be their lead investigative journalist covering human trafficking." She bites her lip. "I'd be stupid not to take it."
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. "Yeah, you would be."
"But what about you? And Vadim? And..." She glances down at my belly.
"We'll be fine. Besides, it's not like you're moving to Mars." I lean back, unable to hide my smile as I spot a familiar broad-shouldered figure through the window. "And I'm pretty sure a certain someone wouldn't let you go that far anyway."
Megan follows my gaze to where Demyon stands outside, pretending to be deeply interested in his phone. A blush creeps across her cheeks.
"He's just being protective," she mutters. "After everything that happened."
"Mm-hmm. Is that why he volunteered to drive you here? And why he's been 'protecting' you at all hours of the night?"
"Lacey!" Her blush deepens but she can't hide her smile. "It's not like that."
"So what is going on between you two?" I lean forward, unable to resist prodding. "Come on, spill."
Megan's fingers dance nervously around her coffee cup. "Nothing. Maybe. Something." She lets out a frustrated sigh. "It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"We might have..." She drops her voice to barely above a whisper. "You know. A few times."
I raise an eyebrow. "A few times?"
"Fine, more than a few." Her cheeks flush deeper.
"When did it start?" I ask. "You and Demyon?"
Megan's fingers trace the rim of her coffee cup. "Remember when I was staying at that safehouse in Monroe?" A small smile plays at her lips. "He was in charge of keeping an eye on me. God, he was such an asshole at first, all gruff and commanding. But then..."
"Then what?"
"We started talking. Like really talking." Her eyes go distant with the memory. "He'd bring me these awful gas station sandwiches and we'd stay up half the night talking instead of eating those. He'd tell me stories about growing up with Vadim, and I'd tell him about..." She glances at me. "About us. About Laura."
My throat tightens at Mom's name, but I nod for her to continue.
"One night, he brought me a bottle of vodka instead of sandwiches. Said if I was being honest with him, then he was going to be honest with me." She laughs softly. "Next thing I knew, he was kissing me and I was..." Her cheeks flush. "Well, let's just say those Monroe nights got a lot less lonely after that."
"I was wondering why the two of you were thick as thieves."
"God, were we that obvious?" She buries her face in her hands, blushing. "He just... he makes me feel things, Lace. When he looks at me with those green eyes, or when he calls me zaychik ..." She shivers slightly. "The way he touches me..."
"Pump the brakes, I don't need those details." I laugh.
"Sorry." But she's not sorry at all. "It's just... he's not what I expected. Under all that tough guy act, he's..." She trails off, staring out the window where Demyon still stands guard. "He's gentle. And funny. And he actually listens when I talk. Not just about my work. But about myself.”
I've never heard my sister talk about anyone this way before.
"God, I'm going to miss that big blond boy toy."
"Miss him?" The words catch me off guard. "What do you mean?"
Megan's shoulders slump.
"He can't come with me to New York. Even though..." She swallows hard. "Even though I really want him to."
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Of course Demyon can't leave—he's Vadim's right-hand man. And Megan can't turn down this opportunity, not after everything she's accomplished.
"Oh, Meg." I squeeze her hand tighter. "I'm so sorry. Maybe Vadim could let Demyon visit you?"
"Be realistic, Lace." Megan stares at her coffee. "How often could that really happen? Between what he needs to do here and my new job, we'd be lucky to see each other every few months. And that's assuming nothing goes wrong. I mean, what if I'm out in New York for years?"
"But if you care about each other?—"
"That's exactly why I have to end it." Her voice cracks slightly. "I can't ask him to put his life on hold for me. And I can't put mine on hold for him either."
I watch as she blinks back tears. "Have you told him yet?"
"No." She lets out a shaky breath. "How do you tell someone that even though you..." She trails off, unable to say the words. "How do you tell them goodbye?"
Through the window, I see Demyon still standing guard, occasionally glancing our way with that soft look he reserves only for my sister. My heart aches knowing what's coming for them both.
"Maybe there's another way," I try, but Megan shakes her head.
"There isn't." She wipes quickly at her eyes. "Long distance never works. One person always ends up resenting the other. Better to end it now while we can still..." She swallows hard. "While we can still remember each other fondly."
I reach across the table and take both of Megan's hands in mine. "You don't have to pretend to be okay with this."
"I'm not pretending." But her voice catches. "I just... I need to focus on the positives. Like having my own apartment in Manhattan. Getting to cover stories that actually matter to me.”
“Living your dream," I remind her gently.
"Yeah." She tries to smile but it looks more like a grimace. "My dream."
Through the window, Demyon checks his phone again before his gaze inevitably drifts back to Megan.
"Tell me about the apartment," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "What neighborhood are you thinking?"
"Upper West Side, maybe?" She straightens up, clearly grateful for the distraction. "The Times is giving me a pretty good relocation package. And there's this cute little coffee shop I found that reminds me of Three Birds..."
But even as she talks about her plans—the museums she wants to visit, the stories she wants to write—her eyes keep turning to the window. To Demyon. Each time they do, her voice gets a little softer, her smile a little sadder.
"And Central Park is gorgeous in the fall," she continues, but her words sound hollow now. "All those trees turning red and gold..."
She trails off as Demyon shifts his weight outside, his broad shoulders tensing slightly as someone walks past. His protective instincts are so ingrained that even now, even here, his first thought is keeping her safe.
A single tear slides down Megan's cheek. She wipes it away quickly, but I catch it.
"Meg..."
"I'm fine," she insists, but her lower lip trembles. "Really. This is what I want. This is what I need to do. I just..." She takes a shaky breath. "I just wish things could be different."
"I'm going to miss you so much." My voice catches as I reach for Megan's hand again.
Megan's fingers tighten around mine. "Promise you'll visit?"
"Of course. And you better FaceTime me every day." I try to smile through the tears threatening to spill. "Who else is going to give me sisterly advice about?—"
A sharp pain cuts through my abdomen, stealing my breath. My hand flies to my belly as another wave hits, stronger this time.
"Lacey?" Megan's voice sounds distant through the rushing in my ears. "What's wrong?"
"I think..." I grip the edge of the table, knuckles going white as another contraction rips through me. "The baby's coming."
Megan's eyes go wide. "Now? But you're not due for another week!"
"Tell that to your niece." I try to laugh but it comes out as more of a gasp. The contractions are getting closer together, each one more intense than the last. "Meg..."
"I'm calling Vadim." She's already got her phone out as she stands up and rips open the door. "Demyon! Get in here!"
Demyon rushes in. Through the haze of pain, I see his concerned expression shift to understanding as he takes in the scene.
Another contraction hits and I cry out, doubling over. The pain is unlike anything I've felt before – sharp and insistent, like my body is being torn apart from the inside.
"I'll get the car," I hear Demyon telling Megan.
Megan's hand finds mine again, steadying me as the contraction peaks. "Just hold on, Lace. We're going to get you to the hospital."