38. Cathy
38
CATHY
I step into the small, dimly lit room, the sterile scent of the hospital lingering in the air. Three nurses are taking a break. “Out,” Ivan says and they leave without a single protest.
Ivan turns to look at me once the door is closed.
“You could have taken the money,” I say. “You could have taken it, and I’d never have known.”
Ivan’s face shifts, a flicker of something softer crossing his features. He’s silent for a beat before replying, “That money isn’t mine, Cathy. I may be many things, but I have an honor code.” He speaks carefully, his tone a strange mix of pride and regret. “That money is yours. I wanted it locked away where no one but you can touch it. I was never going to steal from you.”
I hold his gaze, absorbing his words. He’s… different from Jimmy. He’s taken control, manipulated things around me, yes—but he didn’t take from me, not the way Jimmy would have, would have used me to do it. For the first time, a faint, conflicting warmth spreads through my anger.
Ivan looks down, his shoulders tense, as if he’s summoning the words from a place he doesn’t often visit. “I admit I was using you,” he says. “I wanted to destroy the man who ruined my sister’s life and I got to taunt him by taking you from him, wait for him to come for you, and then kill him.”
His gaze is hard, bitter with memories that clearly haunt him. “But somewhere along the way, things changed. You were not what I expected. I tried to keep my distance, to stay closed off, but you got under my skin, Cathy. More than I want to admit. Our marriage became real all too quickly.”
His words hang in the air, and I can feel the weight behind them, each syllable chipping away at the wall he’s built around himself. I see the strain in his face, the quiet intensity in his eyes. This is difficult for him, harder than I could have imagined.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice softer now, the anger slipping. “Why keep all of this hidden?”
“I keep secrets,” he says, voice raw. “It’s what I do. I thought I could keep control. Keep you at a distance. But that didn’t last. Not with you.” He runs a hand over his face, looking away for a second, as if the intensity is too much to face head-on. “You started making me care about more than revenge.”
The silence stretches between us, weighted with everything we’ve left unsaid. Ivan’s face is a study in tension, his jaw set, his eyes stormy, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
I can tell he’s struggling, not just with the words, but with everything those words mean. This is a man who has spent a lifetime building walls, mastering control, burying anything that could be seen as weak. Vulnerability for him isn’t just a risk—it’s a danger.
And yet, he’s here, standing inches from me, that tension in his gaze softened by something I’ve rarely seen: uncertainty.
He clears his throat, his gaze sliding away for a moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, every word careful, as if he’s laying them down like stepping stones over a deep chasm.
“You made me start to question things I thought I’d long accepted,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “I built my life on principles I thought were unshakable. Power, control… survival, secrets. That’s what I know, Cathy. That’s what I trust.” He pauses, looking down, and I feel the weight of those words—the lifetime of pain and isolation behind them.
“But then you walked into my life, and everything shifted.” His voice softens, almost as if he’s afraid of saying more, as if he’s fighting to keep the floodgates closed. “You made me see that there could be something beyond survival. That maybe it’s possible to live without the walls.”
My heart clenches, and I step closer, reaching for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his. “Ivan…” My voice comes out in a whisper, the warmth in my words a balm against the scars I see in him.
He holds my gaze, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. “There were so many times I told myself to push you away,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “To keep my distance, to protect myself from feeling anything. Every time, you pulled me back, even when I fought against it.”
His hand closes around mine, his grip firm but gentle. “You changed everything, Cathy. You made me see things differently. I never thought I’d care about someone like this.”
I feel my heart skip a beat, his words sinking deep into me. “Maybe you don’t have to fight it, Ivan,” I whisper.
He lets out a humorless laugh, his gaze flicking down to our intertwined hands. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Cathy. For years, I’ve been a man who only trusts power and control. I don’t even know how to let go of that.” His fingers tighten slightly around mine, as if clinging to something he’s afraid to lose.
We’re quiet for a moment, our hands still linked, a shared understanding hanging between us. And then, with a deep breath, Ivan looks up, his gaze unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before.
“But I love you, Cathy,” he says. “I love you, and that is the first thing to frighten me in years. You make me feel things I never thought I’d feel. You make me want things I didn’t even know I could want.”
The weight of his confession presses into me, filling the air around us, making my heart pound. “Ivan…” My voice is soft, steady, and I reach up, touching his face, feeling the tension there, the vulnerability, the hope.
“I know it’s hard for you to talk about this. I know it’s against everything you believe in.” I hold his gaze, my touch gentle, reassuring. “But thank you for telling me. And for what it’s worth, I think I love you too.”
His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “You do?” His voice is filled with disbelief, as if he can’t quite accept it. “But I’ve caused you so much pain. I lied to you, kept the truth from you.”
I take a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what’s been brewing inside me for so long. “Ivan,” I begin softly, looking directly into his eyes, “you know I could have left by now.
“I’ve had every opportunity to run while we’ve been here. I could have called someone, or simply walked out the doors of this hospital, and you wouldn’t have known until it was too late.”
He tenses, his jaw tightening, but he remains silent, waiting.
“And yet,” I continue, my voice steady but gentle, “I didn’t leave. I didn’t run. Do you know why?”
He looks at me, uncertainty flickering in his gaze, that guarded expression he wears so well starting to fracture. “Because you were afraid of what would happen if you did,” he says, his voice low.
I shake my head, a soft smile touching my lips. “No, Ivan. Not because I was afraid. But because… despite everything, despite how complicated and difficult you make things, I see parts of you worth staying for. Elena and Nik see something in you worth hanging around for.
“I get it now. I see a man who would do anything to protect the people he cares about. I see someone who carries a lot of pain but would rather suffer alone than let anyone else feel a moment of it.”
His brow furrows, and I reach out, my hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady, guarded beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “You might think you’re just a man hardened by life, someone incapable of love.
“But I’ve seen enough to know that’s not the whole story. You took Nik in as more than a lieutenant; he’s your family. You cared for him like a brother in that hospital room, Ivan.
“And I know you do that because there’s a part of you that wants to be good, to make things right. You’re more than the armor you wear. I know that because I’ve felt your care myself.”
He stands there, staring at me with an intensity that’s both fierce and vulnerable, as if my words are cracking open something inside him he’d thought was locked away for good. I see him wrestling with what I’ve said, as if he can’t decide whether to believe it or push it away.
“Cathy…” he starts, his voice rough, his eyes searching mine. “I don’t know if I can be the man you think I am. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”
I give his chest a light, reassuring touch, feeling the warmth beneath my fingertips. “You don’t have to be perfect, Ivan. But you don’t have to close yourself off, either.
“You don’t have to push me away. I’m here, because I want to be. I didn’t stay because I was forced to. I stayed because I see the good in you. And if you let me, I’ll keep seeing it.”