47. Nikola
NIKOLA
T he days came and went. It was February, and guess what…
my legs were still just as useless, and my wheelchair was my best fucking friend.
Reconstructive surgery, rehab, physical therapy…
all for naught. The doctors insisted it would take time, yet I’d seen no improvements with the weeks and months that had passed.
My father claimed that when he helped me in and out of the wheelchair, I used my legs more. My mother had insisted on the therapist, clinging to it like a life raft. In her mind, it was the only thing she could contribute to my healing process.
I would have argued, but I couldn’t find the will or strength to fight against it, because I’d lost the most important person in my life. The essence of my being.
In fact, nothing seemed to matter anymore. My life was filled with sorrowful and pitiful looks. With meaningless, needless conversations.
Like the one I was having now with Gabriel Santos. Putting up with constant visits from Uncle Sasha and Alexei and enduring their enlightening conversations was bad enough, now I had to put up with Gabriel’s annoying ass.
While he yapped about one thing or another, I focused on the numbers on the laptop screen. I did some quick mental math, then leaned back in my wheelchair while Gabriel stared at me from the opposite side of the desk.
“Arrange one more drug shipment, Gabriel.”
“Another one? But we’ve already done two more than usual.”
I sighed. “What’s your point?”
“You take the concept of killing yourself with work quite literally, Nikola. We have big fish to fry. Organ trafficking isn’t slowing down, and we need to focus all our efforts on that.”
“Can you do it or not?” I snapped. The whole organ trafficking was everyone’s priority, including mine, but there was little I could do from here.
“I’ll get it done. Whatever you want, buddy.”
Gabriel shook his head disapprovingly and pinned me with a stare I didn’t like. Not at all. “What? Why are you looking at me all weird?”
“I’m your uncle and friend. Listen to me when I tell you that you have to give it a rest.”
“I agreed to see you so we could talk business, not so you could start on the personal shit.” Work talk I could handle, but life lessons not so much.
“Nikola, you need a distraction, maybe a quick fuck, and?—”
The thought of touching anyone but Skye had bile rising in my throat. There was no fucking way I would ever touch another woman.
“Gabriel, if you speak again, I swear to God, I will kill you.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Fine, fine. I won’t go there.” He shifted uncomfortably, then looked somewhere behind me. “Skye is doing well,” he continued to blab, his white three-piece suit half blinding me. “Apparently she’s finishing up her exams early.”
“Don’t start with the Skye updates,” I grumbled.
I got plenty of those from Dante. The man messaged me every fucking day.
He even sent me photos of floral arrangements.
The crazy motherfucker had taken it upon himself to head up the wedding plans and was driving his wife and my parents crazy in the process.
Dante Leone. A wedding planner.
I scoffed. If someone would have suggested that mere months ago, I would have laughed my ass off.
“Are you feeling lonely?” Gabriel asked off-handedly.
“I’m feeling too far away from her,” I answered honestly, caught off guard.
“Then go get her, you blind idiot.” I shook my head. I was a selfish bastard, but could I be that fucking selfish to tie her to me in this state? “Did you know she’s been taking her classes remotely from Italy? Word on the street is that she’ll finish up without coming back to the States.”
I didn’t ask why. I’d had two months’ worth of practice successfully avoiding the topic of Skye Leone. Despite my parents and hers bombarding me with unsolicited updates.
If only I could forget her. That woman lived rent free in my head.
I kept telling myself if I maintained my distance, then maybe, just maybe, Skye would forget all about me and move on.
But I was a slave to this love for her. During the day, it was easier not to think about her, but at night, I remembered everything.
Every smile, every word, and every moment we’d ever shared.
Fuck.
Growing up and seeing my parents and my aunts and uncles in loving marriages, I thought falling in love was great. Nobody ever said it hurt like a motherfucker.
“Nikola, are you listening?” Gabriel asked. “You must be quite unwell to be acting so fucking tame.”
“You know who won’t be doing well?” I asked casually, and Gabriel flicked me a curious look.
“Who?”
“You, because I’m about to shoot your Colombian ass if you don’t get out of here.” Unfortunately, my words didn’t have the desired effect because he remained sitting.
“Trust me and my Latin roots, nephew,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Stop trying to be a martyr or whatever the hell you’re trying to be, and just work shit out with Skye. You love her, she loves you… it’s quite simple.”
“Yes, it would be if I could protect her,” I hissed. “I couldn’t even protect her from her great-grandmother. I’d been digging for the identity of The Duchess and then boom… Skye almost got killed.” I pointed to my lap. “Imagine how efficient I would be with these useless legs.”
“Hire extra bodyguards,” he argued back.
“I don’t want her to settle with me,” I admitted. “To pity me because of my… disability.”
He rolled his eyes.
“She loves you, not your legs.” That was Gabriel for you.
A fucking comedian. “I’m sure they’re great legs, but your heart is probably even greater.
” He shifted, pushing his hand through his hair uncomfortably.
We usually steered clear from discussing emotions.
“Or maybe it’s just your dick she wants. Whatever.”
I narrowed my eyes on my friend. “This conversation is over. If you don’t get the fuck out of here, I’m going to?—”
He stood up, brushing the nonexistent wrinkles off his suit.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to shoot me because I brought up one name that nobody dares to utter around you despite your impending marriage.” He made his way to the door and then flicked me a glance over his shoulder. “The wedding is happening, you know. With or without you.”
“The wedding won’t happen,” I hissed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“She won’t wait forever.”
“That’s the point,” I grumbled, just as the door to the office opened and my father appeared. The two shared a glance, and Gabriel gave him a subtle shake of the head. I should have known. Why couldn’t anyone mind their own fucking business?
“See you at the wedding, Nikola.”
I didn’t get to ask whose before he disappeared and my father took his previously occupied seat.
“Remind me to change the locks on that door,” I muttered, turning to my laptop screen.
“Nikola, we have to talk.” Jesus Christ . I felt like I’d aged twenty years since November. “You know your mother and I love you.”
“Of course. I love you guys too.”
“And I don’t say this enough, because you always manage to somehow drive me crazy beforehand, but I am proud of you, son. I’ve always been proud of you.”
“If Mom shows up now and starts fawning over me, I’m going to lock you both out of this office.”
A smile twitched on Dad’s lips. “She’s actually standing outside now. Probably eavesdropping as we speak.”
And sure as shit, the door opened and Mom sauntered in, wearing a simple cream dress while carrying a tray of sandwiches and cookies. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a homemaking magazine.
I groaned, but before I could utter a single word, she said, “I promise I didn’t make these.”
My mom was a brilliant doctor, but we all knew she couldn’t cook for shit. She used to get Bianca Morrelli to come over when we were children and give her lessons. It was a complete waste of time.
After she placed the tray on the desk, not bothering to keep my carefully arranged files in order, she sat on my father’s lap.
My dad had always been the protective shield that my mom could count on to shelter her from every threat in the world.
He’d lay his life down for her. They had the kind of love that fairy tales were written about.
I’d never wanted it for myself, but now that I got a taste of something similar with Skye, I couldn’t help but feel envious. It was so damn stupid.
“Like Vasili was saying, we’re so proud of you, Nikola.” Her chin and bottom lip trembled, tears glistening in her dark eyes. “We love you and want to see you happy.”
“I’m happy.” Enough . “I’m fine.”
I’d said those words so many times, I hoped I would eventually believe them. The stupid organ in my chest wasn’t fine; in fact, it was in worse condition than my legs.
“Son, we have to talk about Skye.”
“God, not you too.”
I put my head between my hands and held it when I felt a soft stroke of my mom’s hand, offering her support.
“Sweetheart, she loves you. It’s obvious you love her too. Why are you resisting it?”
“I can’t protect her, Mom. How can I protect her like this?” I lifted my head and pointed to my legs. At this point, I sounded like a broken record. “I’d be more of a liability than anything.”
“Slowly but surely, your leg is healing,” Dad claimed. “You’ll regain some use of it.”
“But we don’t know how much,” I said. “Crutches could be my best-case scenario.”
“Or cane,” Dad corrected.
“We’re talking about at least six months of physical therapy,” I pointed out. “Probably longer. Whether it’s a cane or crutches, I’d still be useless when it comes to protecting Skye or our family.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it, Nikola,” Dad argued.
“I don’t need her pity, or anyone’s for that matter,” I spat. “I won’t marry her and risk failing to protect her. Dad, you’ve pounded into me since I was a kid that dangers lurk everywhere.”
“Hasn’t your therapist explained to you that there are different kinds of protection?” Mom tried.
Truthfully, Dr. MaryAnn made me feel worse, not fucking better.
“Fuck the therapist and her enlightening words right now,” Dad grumbled. “Dante is going ahead with the wedding plans for fuck’s sake, and he’s running out of patience.”
“That man really doesn’t understand the meaning of a canceled wedding.” And he dared to call me stubborn. My parents shared a glance and an alarm shot up my spine.
“What?” I questioned, and when they both remained silent, I asked again, “What is it?”
Mom shifted uncomfortably and Dad avoided looking at me as he uttered the next words.
“If you don’t marry her, Kostya will.”