12. Arsen
12
ARSEN
I planned every detail—I accounted for everything.
Still, he’s here.
Who the fuck let him in?
I curl an arm around Laila’s waist and put myself between her and the sight of her father. “Say the word and he’ll be thrown out immediately.”
She could say the word and I’d make this a double funeral without a moment’s hesitation—but Marie doesn’t deserve the dishonor of sharing a death date with her former husband.
Laila considers it for a long few seconds. For several of them, I’m worried my wife is kind enough to allow her deadbeat fuck of a father to stick around.
Then her mouth tightens. “I don’t want him here, Arsen.”
I wave Dominik and Gedeon over, but Jasper shifts into my peripherals. “He told me he was Laila’s dad. I thought?—”
My hand is clasped around his throat before I can process what he’s saying. “ You let him in?”
“I didn’t know,” he squeaks in surprise.
Three funerals in one day. What are the odds?
Then Laila squeezes my forearm. “Arsen, please! Not here. Not today.”
My fingers tighten around Jasper’s throat, daydreaming about murder for another heartbeat before I drop him and turn back to her.
She’s what matters. Not Jas. Not Charles. Her.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
I cup her face and stroke a thumb over her cheek. She’s letting me touch her, letting me help her. I’m sure it’s only because she’s too tired to argue, so I’m enjoying it while I can. “Go out through the side door. I’ll meet you there.”
She doesn’t argue, which is only further proof that she’s drained.
“Brother, I’m sorry. I fucked up,” Jasper croaks the second she’s gone. He looks as pale as Laila did when she stepped up to that podium to deliver Marie’s poem.
I grab his collar and yank him behind a large pillar. “Apparently, that’s your default setting: fucking up.”
“You wanted today to be nice. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You’re a soldier, Jasper. You’re paid to follow orders, not think for yourself.”
His jaw flexes, but he nods. “Can I get back to my post now?”
I jab my finger into his chest. “We’ll discuss this later. And since we’re on the subject, never approach my wife again without my approval. Is that clear?”
His throat bobs, and I can only pray he’s swallowing his pride. “Crystal.”
I twist around just as Charles is being escorted towards the doors by Gedeon and Dominik. Weaving through the crowd, I head there myself, meeting them just outside the doors.
“What is the meaning of—” His indignation is cut short the moment he sets eyes on me. He’s still scared of me; that much is obvious by the sweat that breaks out across his forehead and the way his voice quakes. “Listen, Arsen?—”
I grab him by the lapels of his ugly suede jacket and force his eyes to mine. “Did I not make myself clear the last time we spoke?”
His eyes immediately fill with tears. Crocodile tears, I’m sure, but tears nonetheless. “This was my wife, Arsen. My best friend for years. I had to pay my respects.”
“You’ve paid them,” I growl. “Now, stay away from my family. I won’t tell you again.”
He turns without a word and leaps down the stairs two at a time.
“You let him go?” Dom asks.
“Laila has already lost one parent this week. I’ll be damned if I’m the reason she loses a second.”
“I’d argue that Laila wouldn’t care.” Gedeon scowls at Charles' receding figure.
“Laila might not, but Marie would,” I say, mostly to myself. “He was the only man she ever loved and the father of her child—whether he deserves those titles or not.”
Maybe Laila was onto something. Maybe I have more in common with her father than I thought.
Dominik lays a hand on my shoulder. “We haven’t talked about it yet, but you lost Marie, too.”
“Don’t waste your sympathy on me.” I turn my back on him. “I sure as fuck don’t deserve it.”
Standing next to Marie’s gravesite reminds me of my own mother’s funeral. I see myself in Laila—in the tight press of her lips and the flutter of her lashes, barely holding back tears.
When they buried my mother, I stood at the back of the crowd until the first shovel of dirt was dropped into the hole and my father dropped to his knees.
“No!” he screamed in a voice I’d never heard from him before. “Please, Nina. Don’t leave me!”
My grandfather watched from a few feet away, his lips twisted in disgust. “Get him to his feet,” he barked at his generals. “A man who is brought to his knees for a woman is no man at all.”
I shudder as the memory dissipates. The crowd starts to dissipate along with it, people patting Laila on the shoulder and offering their condolences before they depart. She bears it all with a paper-thin smile, clutching our daughter to her chest like her life depends on it.
When there’s no one left but our inner circle, Laila makes her way to me. Her voice is thick with tears. “Take her, Arsen. Please.”
She doesn’t wait before she puts our daughter into my arms. Nina lets out an unhappy cry and reaches out for her mother. Laila cradles her cheek for a second, but she doesn’t take her back. “I need some space. I’ll find you when I’m ready.”
“I can’t just let you walk off without protection.”
Her jaw clenches, but she nods. “Dominik or Gedeon can follow me. But from a distance.”
Ah, yes—“space”: not from the world, but from me in particular.
The three of them disappear into the trees as Nina wails. My daughter looks like she needs some space of her own.
I hold Nina out to Polina. “Take her.”
To my surprise, Pol shakes her head. “Soothe her,” she suggests, as if it’s that simple. “She’s your daughter and she needs you right now.”
“She’s miserable.”
“Find a way to distract her. It’s time for you to make up for all those months you missed.”
Nina cries harder, reaching for someone, anyone who isn’t me . Everyone around me knows my daughter better than I do.
I turn to Kira. “You take her, then.”
Kira backs away from me just like Polina did, stroking her baby bump. “Laila had to be a single parent for three entire months, Arsen. It’s your turn.”
They leave me for the procession of black cars along the curb.
Gritting my teeth, I focus on my wailing daughter. Her face is red, her little fists swatting at my chest. “What do you need, little girl?”
She can’t answer. Turns out, I’m as useless at comforting her as I am at comforting her mother.
So I do all I know how to do. I hold her close, rocking her back and forth, whispering soft promises against her auburn curls until the crying eventually slows and quiets. When I dare to look down, my shirt is wet with tears, but her round cheek is pillowed on my chest. She’s fast asleep.
Laila did this on her own for months.
I didn’t give her a choice.
Nina will forget, but Laila? The damage has been done.
Marie told me I could make things right, but as I stare down at the fresh dirt on her grave, I think it might be too late.
Some things are too broken to ever be made whole again.