46. Arsen
46
ARSEN
Within five minutes, the house is in an uproar.
I called Polina, who passed the news to Dominik and Gedeon. Someone woke Evelyn up, and now, she’s off to find Marie.
Laila is panting at my side—I’m not sure if it’s in panic or pain—but the second her mom walks into the room, she sobs.
“Mom!”
In an instant, Marie transforms from a weak, sick woman into a mother whose daughter needs her. She releases her hold on Evelyn’s arm and grabs Laila, pulling her close.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Scared,” Laila admits. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” Marie swears. But she makes eye contact with me over Laila’s shoulder, her gaze questioning.
I nod. There’s no way I’m gonna let Laila go through this without her mother at her side.
“I packed a bag.” Polina flings it at Gedeon as Dominik hangs up the phone.
“I’ve just informed the hospital. They’re readying a private suite for you.”
It’s a mad dash out to the car. I sit in the back, Laila wedged between me and Marie, holding each of our hands. Every couple minutes, her grip tightens until even I’m wincing against the pain.
“Contractions suck,” she announces. “Just in case anyone was wondering.”
Thankfully, the streets are empty at this time of night, and we make it to the hospital in no time. Three nurses and a wheelchair are waiting outside when we pull up. I carry Laila out of the car despite her protests and place her in the wheelchair.
When the sturdy male nurse moves to wheel her inside, I shake my head. “I’ve got her.”
He backs off, arms raised. Smart man. “This way, sir.”
I follow his lead, wheeling her into the hospital, onto an elevator, and down the hall of the maternity ward. I look around, reminding myself this is real. Less than half an hour ago, we were in our bedroom. Now, we’re crammed into a delivery room.
“You’re doing such a great job, honey.” Marie massages Laila’s shoulders and grins at me. “Both of you.”
Laila doesn’t bother answering. Her contractions have been coming faster and faster. Sweat beads on her forehead. Marie stands guard behind her daughter, supporting her belly and massaging her back through the pain.
All I can do is watch.
Laila slaps her hand against the plastic bed railing she’s leaning on. Her face is creased in pain. “It hurts.”
“I know it does. Nothing hurts worse—and nothing is more worth it. Just breathe through the pain.”
Breathe through the pain. Out of everything in this alien experience, that part is familiar to me. I’ve spent my whole life breathing through the pain. Even now, my mind floats back to how it felt for the skin of my ribs to be sliced open by a hand-sharpened shiv when my back was turned in the jail showers.
I know all too well how to breathe through the pain.
What I never truly mastered was watching the people I love deal with theirs.
And as I watch Laila cry out in agony I can do nothing to stop, I realize I’ve never cared about anything or anyone as much as I care about her.
“Arsen…”
I turn to find Marie watching me carefully.
“I know it’s overwhelming,” she tells me gently. “But she’s going to be okay.”
“What do I do?”
Her eyes slide down to my hands. Only then do I notice how badly they’re shaking.
“Just be there for her. That’s all you can do. It’s all any of us can do.”
I take a step towards Laila, but she cries out again, and I freeze. Instead, I turn for the door. “Let me go find Dr. Levitan.”
I almost plow right into Dominik on my way into the hall. “Whoa. Your pregnant wife is the other direction, pal.”
“Where’s Levitan?” I snap.
“Just finished up another delivery. He’s on his way.”
“He better be. I’m paying enough for him.” The hallway is littered with doors. I wonder if it’s like a zoo. Can I peek inside and see how the other fathers are handling this?
“You okay?” Dominik’s gaze is trained on me, and I’m not sure what he’s going to see there.
I turn away from him. “I need a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll get you some. You should be in there with Laila.”
Doing what? I want to ask. Laila watched videos on how to breathe during delivery, how to push. There was nothing to tell me what the fuck I should do. I feel like I’m going to claw through the thin walls.
“Marie is with her. I can get it myself.”
I try to move around Dominik, but he blocks my path. “Brother, I’ll go. Your place is here with your wife and your child.”
My child.
In a few short hours—minutes, even—I’ll be a father. A fully formed little human is going to depend on me to take care of her. Am I ready?
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I rasp, taking even myself by surprise.
Dominik looks at me like I’m the dumbest man alive, which is oddly comforting. “Of course you can do this.”
“I kill and fight. I protect people with blood and power and… This is different, Dom.” My throat feels dry. “This baby needs someone else. Someone patient and sensitive. Someone?—”
“Someone like you,” he interrupts. “You are your father’s son, Arsen. He was a good man.”
Which is why my grandfather didn’t choose him to lead the Bratva. He chose me .
“I’m nothing like my father.” I grit my teeth to hide how much I wish I could be what Laila needs. “I’m Yeremy’s successor.”
Before Dominik can say anything, Dr. Levitan turns the corner. He’s walking fast, his white coat billowing behind him. “Let’s see how your wife is doing, shall we, Mr. Adamov?” He pats my shoulder as he breezes past me into Laila’s suite.
Dominik gives me an encouraging nod. I have no choice but to walk into the suite after Dr. Levitan.
Laila is on the bed now, lying back with Marie planted beside her, supporting one of her legs. I watch from afar as Dr. Levitan checks her cervix and announces that she’s ten centimeters dilated.
“It’s time.” He snaps his fingers at the nurses. They flutter around the bed, making adjustments and preparing.
Marie waves me over, but I don’t move—can’t—until Laila locks eyes with me. “Arsen?”
Doubts circle my head like rain clouds threatening to pour, but I force myself across the room and grip her hand.
The minutes stretch and fold until I don’t know how much time has passed, but Laila is screaming. Dr. Levitan counts down from ten again and again.
Now, I don’t need to see the other fathers up and down the hall to know what I should be doing. I can picture it: me, whispering words of encouragement in her ear, mopping the sweat from her forehead, massaging her back.
But I’m not like those other fathers. I’m not the man Laila needs.
All I’m able to offer her is my hand.
The lights are unnaturally bright as they blaze down on all of us. It’s a wonder the doctor can see straight with that kind of glare. Every time I blink, white stars dance across my vision. The stars circulate and take shape until I see things in them: steel cell bars, toothbrushes filed to a menacing point, the craggy, lined face of the man who put me in that jail…
Then, suddenly, a high-pitched wail cuts through my foggy thoughts.
“She’s here,” Laila croaks, craning to try to glimpse the baby. “Is she here…?”
“Congratulations!” Dr. Levitan’s words hit my ears like he’s yelling from a great distance. “You have a healthy baby girl.”
I catch a glimpse of a chubby arm and a flash of matted auburn hair before the nurses converge around the beautiful alien that just exited my wife’s body.
“She’s here, sweetheart.” Marie is sobbing, watching the nurses as they clean up our daughter. “And she’s absolutely perfect.”
Laila collapses against the pillows, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her nails are still digging into my hand.
But I don’t feel it.
I don’t feel anything.
A nurse carries a swaddled bundle in our direction. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”
Apparently, she interprets my silence as an affirmative, because the next thing I know, she’s placing the baby into my arms.
The little creature curled up in the soft blanket yawns, her fist rising triumphantly for a moment before it collapses against the pink blanket.
Her hair is a rich, dark auburn, the same color mine was as a child. But the rest of her seems to come from her mother—the button nose, the heart-shaped face. The rose-colored cheeks.
Another roza for the garden of my life, says a voice in my head I don’t recognize.
“God, she’s beautiful.” Laila tugs on my arm until I sit on the edge of the bed where she can have a better view.
Objectively, I agree. She is a perfect baby.
But the responsibility is stifling.
It’s a dark, sinking weight that reminds me exactly what I stand to lose if I don’t do my job right.
“What do you think about Nina Marie?” Laila whispers to me, more tears welling in her eyes despite the smile on her face. “I thought we could name her after both our mothers.”
“Nina Marie Adamov,” I whisper, staring down at this helpless little baby that we’ve brought forth.
“It feels right, doesn’t it?” Laila asks.
No, I almost say. Nothing about this feels right.
Wordlessly, I place the baby in Laila’s arms and take a step back. Marie takes my place at Laila’s side.
As they coo over the baby, I move to the door, feeling the walls closing in on me.
I need to get out of this room. I need some air.
I need to breathe through the pain.