41. Nikola
NIKOLA
I t was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. I repeated the words over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the ache. But no matter how many times I told myself, they felt hollow—fragile lies trying to mask the gaping wound spreading through my chest.
Yet, the image of her hurtful expression was etched into my memory and fuck had it hurt to say those words. The truth was that I didn’t need any handcuffs and gagging. To make love to her was a thousand times better than any kind of kinky fucking.
My parents had demanded to know what happened, but I shut them out. The bare white walls of the hospital for two straight weeks became the kind of prison that could send you into an asylum.
Skye hadn’t returned, but she called Marietta every day for updates. My sister ensured I knew about everything they talked about, relating to Skye’s distress and how much she wanted to be here for me.
I ignored her, just as I did everything else.
My mom turned to what she did best: making me her patient and demanding to see every single X-ray and test so she could work her magic. But the truth was, she couldn’t do anything. Firstly, she wasn’t an orthopedic doctor, and secondly, physical therapy wasn’t her forte.
There were tears—endless, raw—and desperate hugs that tried to hold the pieces of us together.
But even though I was still breathing, I felt hollowed out, as if something inside me had died.
Maybe I’d brought this on myself, but what kind of man would I be if I chained Skye to my broken, handicapped ass?
She deserved better.
“We’re flying in an orthopedic surgeon from Boston. He comes highly recommended and he specializes in knee reconstructions,” Dad repeated for the tenth time, almost as if he needed his own assurance. “If we can save one, all will be…”
Nothing would ever be well with just one knee. All my life, he claimed strength was everything, but rather than pointing out the obvious, I nodded. He needed reassurance more than I did.
I’d never seen my dad look so shaken up. It wasn’t a death sentence, but he knew, just as I did, that to survive in our world, you had to be invincible. Something that was hard to achieve while tied to a wheelchair.
“Mom, please stop,” Marietta, who seemed to be the only one keeping it together, scolded our mom. “Nikola is here. He’s breathing and recovering. The experts are on the way. You need to stop fussing.”
Dad and I shared a look but remained silent. That was Marietta’s way of coping with this shitstorm—absolute stoicism. I wasn’t even sure I’d seen her shed a tear, which I may never be able to properly thank her for.
“You just hang in there, Nikola,” Mom said with a sob. “We’ll fix it, and it’ll be like this never happened.”
“Sure thing, Mom,” I agreed, but deep down we both knew there was no fucking way that they could fix both my knees. Nobody got that lucky.
I thought back to what the last surgeon said. The best possible outcome in this case will be that he walks with a cane for the rest of his life .
A fucking cane , I thought to myself. No riding a bike. No running. But the worst part was that I was no longer the best person to protect Skye. It almost felt like a death sentence would have been more merciful than to feel like such a failure.
Emotions started slashing my insides like a razor-sharp knife as all my life’s deeds collided.
Marietta gripped my hand as if she could read my thoughts, and I patted it gently. I didn’t have any words to offer. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally worn out.
“Everything will be fine,” Dad said, his features straining with worry as he took a seat next to Mom. “I have faith in you, son. But I need you to promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“You can’t shut us all out.” The words were stern, which made Mom cry harder. “You shut out Skye, and we respect that decision?—”
“For now,” Marietta added, stroking my cheek.
“I’ll give you another few weeks to come to your senses, but then—” Her eyes glittered with tears that she was so desperate to hold back, and I looked away.
I couldn’t see her break too. “Then you’ll see that love is forever and living without her is worse than walking with a cane. ”
“But you won’t be shutting your family out,” Dad finished his statement. “We’re here to help you get through this. Together.”
“Okay.”
But as I looked at their faces, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life that would be for us when I got back home to the compound.
I’d always enjoyed my freedom and independence, and in a way, so did my parents. My thesis was done and there was no reason to go back to Connecticut. Not that D’Arc and its campus was ever a home. I stayed for Skye, waiting for her to finish her own degree.
The plan was always to get back to New Orleans. I always envisioned myself taking over the Nikolaev compound—carrying on what my father had built, a place where family would gather, come and go as they pleased, bound by loyalty and strength.
Never in a million years did I imagine this kind of ending for myself. Broken. Defeated. Hollowed out and dragging a shadow of the man I used to be.
The man I thought I’d become felt like a stranger now, lost somewhere beneath the weight of my failures and regrets. How could I lead, protect, or love when I barely recognized myself?
I was caught between who I wanted to be and who I had become—and the gulf between the two threatened to swallow me whole.
The weight of that reality settled heavily on my shoulders, a crushing contrast to the vision I once held. Pride and independence—the pillars I’d always leaned on—were slipping through my fingers like sand.
Yet I’d suddenly become a man who would need assistance with some of the most basic tasks. Like reaching the top fucking shelf in the kitchen just to enjoy a simple cup of coffee.
Fuck!