CHAPTER TWO #3
I try to put it out of my mind. I don’t even want to talk about it and ruin the good mood I’m in now that I’m finally here.
Instead, I turn off my phone and try to focus on the here and now.
After a while, I’m sufficiently distracted with inhaling intoxicating baby scent while Brett flutters around doing all the little things she hasn’t been able to while holding a baby as Colson finishes prepping enough bottles for overnight.
Meanwhile, I sit with Ev, my feet up on the sofa while she sleeps on my chest. In my other hand, I hold my e-reader, every so often stealing glances at Sergei, who’s sitting just inches from my feet, reading something on his phone.
He’s been like this for almost as long as I have, since right after dinner.
After a while, I finally realize that he’s also reading a book.
He seems to be ignoring me, but somehow has inched closer to my feet over the course of the last hour.
At least I think he has. He’s very tall and very broad and takes up a lot of space as it is.
Sergei adjusts his position and I flinch slightly when his elbow brushes against my crossed heels.
But he just sits, reading on his phone, looking up only to acknowledge Colson and Brett when they turn in early, thanks to my insistence.
And still, he stays, both of us reading on our devices while Ev snoozes on my chest.
And no one seems to think anything of it. Maybe Sergei hangs out here a lot. I don’t live here, after all.
It’s not one hour before my phone vibrates with a text from Brett.
brETT (10:33PM): Is Ev OK? I swear I heard her crying.
ME (10:34PM): Nope, she’s still asleep!
brETT (10:34PM): Woken up by phantom baby cries. Fantastic. But I take it you and Serg hit it off?
ME (10:35PM): Why do you say that?
brETT (10:35PM): Because he’s even more of a homebody than me and he would never dream of staying out this late.
Is that so? I clear my throat, zeroing in on Sergei at the end of my feet.
“What are you reading?”
He arches his brow like he just realized I’m still here. “The Furies,” he replies in what I now recognize as his signature stoic tone. “Women, Vengeance, and Justice, by—” he peers at his phone, “Elizabeth Flock.”
That’s…interesting.
“Have you read it?” he asks.
I nod. “I’ve read it.” Because I have. Women perpetrating violence against a system that perpetrates violence against them is right up my alley. I just didn’t think it would be up his.
“What did you think about it?” he asks.
“As a woman, I think there are only so many times we can take the high road before taking matters into our own hands. And, as a trauma therapist, I listen to people tell me stories like that all day long.” I hesitate for a moment, but decide to continue.
“So, when a new client tells me they just got out of prison for cutting off their abusive husband’s dick with a pair of loppers and carrying it around in their purse while he rotted in a shed for a month, I don’t bat an eye. ”
For the first time, I see the corner of Sergei’s mouth twitch into something that could possibly be described as a smile. And when it does, it sends an unexpected tremor through my stomach and down my legs.
“It would seem that you and I have similar callings.”
“How so?” I ask, trying to ignore whatever’s happening to my nervous system.
“I told you,” Sergei lets his head fall back onto the sofa, “I was Lutz’s first therapist.”
“You were?” I scoff. “How do you figure that?”
“I can go for months without speaking to anyone, but turns out that he likes to talk. A lot. So, I got pretty good at listening to him in the backcountry. You know, giving him advice.”
Oh my god…he’s kind of right.
I know what Colson is like, and being alone with him in the middle of nowhere for months on end requires a level of mental fortitude that isn’t found just anywhere.
“What advice did you give him?”
“It should be obvious,” Sergei says with nonchalance. “He ended up taking it.”
A chill runs up the back of my neck when I realize what he’s referring to—how Bowen ended up a corpse in the barn on top of the mountain.
“Colson also had PTSD and a major grudge,” I point out.
“Maybe. But you don’t have to worry about PTSD if you are the traumatic event,” Sergei adds with a flash of his icy blue eyes.
I purse my lips with amusement and roll my eyes. He’s probably just trying to one-up my severed dick story. I think…
Right then, Ev starts to wake, her little baby nails scratching my chest as she clenches her fists. Now’s my chance to find out if I’m right about supplementing with formula at night. I’ve also had a long day, so it wouldn’t be the worst if everyone got some sleep tonight.
Pressing her against my shoulder, I rise and head for the kitchen before she can get too worked up and Brett is woken by actual baby cries.
I retrieve one of the prepared bottles from the refrigerator and drop it in the warmer before flipping the switch.
It should only take a minute or so. In the meantime, I start bouncing Ev to keep her calm.
When I turn around, I startle at the sight of Sergei’s massive figure just feet away.
I didn’t even hear him get up, but now he’s leaning against the edge of the dining table, arms crossed, just watching me.
I recover quickly, but suddenly feel self-conscious because up until the last few minutes, he barely acknowledged I was in the same room with him.
My eyes wander around the kitchen, acutely aware that he’s still staring at me in silence.
What the hell is he looking at?
Finally, Ev’s bottle is ready. I’m pleasantly surprised that she’s not screaming right now after waking up and seeing me instead of her mom.
It’s touch-and-go at first, but after a couple of tries, she accepts the bottle and starts chugging.
I let out a breath of relief and look up to see Sergei eyeing me as I adjust Ev into the crook of my elbow.
His eyes move from mine, down to Ev, and then back again, the corner of his mouth curling slightly. And that look is enough to light a spark in my chest—the same one that made me want to let loose on Caleb and tell him where he can stick his opinions on my reproductive life.
“You’re good at that,” Sergei comments, confirming my suspicions.
Seriously, why can’t people just leave women the hell alone?
So what if I’d rather be cool Auntie Barrett who wants to spoil my friends’ children and give them back at the end of the day?
God forbid something happens to Brett or Colson, but if it came down to it, I’d take Ev and any other child they have.
I just don’t feel the need to be a mother myself.
I set my jaw, deciding I’m not going to abide by this thinly veiled misogyny any longer.
“Let me guess, holding a baby looks good on me?” I ask with venomous sarcasm.
“I have a way with children? My child bearing hips are an asset? I’ve heard it all before and I’ll save you the trouble—I never want children, I’m on birth control, and I’m going to get my tubes tied as soon as I can convince some doctor that I won’t change my mind or disappoint some hypothetical man who’s claimed ownership over my uterus before I’ve even met him. ”
The silence hanging between us is thick and contemptuous.
At least from me. I can no longer tell what’s going on behind the blank look Sergei is giving me now.
But a few moments later, he pushes off the edge of the table and lumbers across the kitchen.
I tense as he comes into my space and leans down, one of his braids brushing over my collar bone.
His lips graze my hair as he hovers next to my ear.
“Good,” he rumbles. “Because I was assessing the size of your tits and how good my cock will look fucking them until you make me come in your mouth. But now that I know I can come inside your pussy without interruption, I think I like that better.”
My face freezes, my eyes glued to the table across the room as my mind races. When I finally glance up, Sergei is halfway across the living room and my voice is completely gone. He sweeps his coat off the hook and opens the front door.
“See you later,” he rumbles over his shoulder, “Printsessa.”
Then he walks out of the house into the wintry night.