2. Pasha
2
“Unless there’s anything else—such as, oh, I don’t know, actual evidence—my client and I will be taking our leave.”
Special Agent in Charge Aaron Smithson grinds his molars together and does his damned hardest not to turn three shades of purple. “We’re about to find the evidence any second now?—”
“Oh, good. So that means you don’t have any.” My lawyer, Samuel Tomei, snaps his briefcase shut and stands. I’m all too eager to join him. “For your sake, let’s hope you do find something. Otherwise, it’s going to be a very ugly lawsuit ahead. For you.”
“Talk all you want, but it’s there. I have you dead to rights.” Smithson moves to block the door and get in my face. I don’t know what’s worse—his attitude or his breath. “You better watch yourself, Chekhov. I know I will.”
Tomei checks his watch. “Is that a threat, Agent Smithson?”
“Special Agent Smithson. And no. It’s a promise.”
There’s no stifling the snort that escapes my nose.
“Something funny, Chekhov?”
I slip on my coat that Tomei returns to me, along with my wallet and my dead phone. “I’ve just never met a grown man who needs to be reminded so often that he’s special.”
It’s the only shred of mirth I’ve enjoyed in what feels like an eternity in this box.
The look on Smithson’s face is worth it.
The second we leave the precinct, Tomei hands me a new phone and dossier. “For now, and for later. I’ve pulled up all I can for now. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be too worried. They have nothing on you and no loose strings to tug.”
“Should I be worried at all?”
He squints at the sunlight, then shakes his head. “No. Well—not about this, anyway.”
I see what he means when I turn the new phone on.
I have eighty-three missed texts, one hundred and nine missed calls, and seventeen voicemails.
Shit.
“Hey. I’m out.”
Mak sighs into the speaker. “Good fucking God. Took you long enough. Listen, there’s?—”
“How is she?”
“Just shut up and listen. There’s a chopper waiting for you at a helipad only five minutes from your location; I’m texting you the address. We secured permission from the hospital to land on theirs. Get your ass over here, now.”
“On it.” I hold my phone out to Tomei to show him the GPS. “I need to get here.”
He nods and motions for me to follow him to his car.
I’m trying not to let Mak’s abrupt tone ride under my skin. He’s rarely like this—commanding, efficient, serious.
Which means one of two things:
I royally fucked up.
Or something’s wrong with Daphne.
On second thought, both can be right at the same time.
Reviewing the missed texts while the helicopter takes off doesn’t make me feel any better. Worse, actually—it makes me feel far fucking worse than I ever knew I could.
Daphne went into labor.
I may have missed it.
No. Don’t think like that. Keep your shit together.
The ride itself is all of five minutes. Basically a hop over the city’s airspace. But those five minutes feel like five eons passing by without me.
I’m unbuckled and hauling myself out of the helicopter before it fully touches the helipad. I don’t care what the pilot shouts after me; all I can think about is getting to Daphne’s room.
Please, let me get there in time.
She needs me there. I promised her I’d always be there. Every first, every moment, every milestone.
Please, God, let me get there…
I punch the elevator button to the delivery ward. The doors won’t shut fast enough—I swear the elevator moves slower just to spite me.
That’s how this whole fucking thing feels. Like the universe is moving at a snail’s pace just to punish me for my sins.
They reopen to a mostly empty waiting room. I shove past a waiting couple to get to the front of the desk and slam my hands on the counter. “Pasha Chekhov, for Daphne Covington. Room 117. Where is it?”
The nurse only takes a second to check the files. “Ms. Covington and family are spending time with the baby. Friends will be admitted later?—”
“I’m not her fucking friend! I’m the father!”
The father who missed it.
The father who missed everything.
The father who’s going to exact brutally slow, agonizing revenge on the people who made that happen.
I hear a familiar sigh right behind me. Mak materializes and rests his hand on my shoulder. It’s all he has to do for me to get the message.
“I missed it, didn’t I?” The words feel limp on my tongue. “I missed it.”
The nurse seems less than sympathetic. “I do see she has you listed here. I just need to see some identification, and then I’ll go check and make sure she’s open to visitors.”
“You fu?—”
Mak’s grip on my arm becomes surprisingly strong. “Give the nice lady your I.D.,” he mumbles in my ear. “Make sure she knows you’re not Conrad Ewing, or anyone else on the blacklist.”
The blacklist. Of course. Something I’d personally insisted on establishing for her own security.
“Sorry about my brother, here,” Mak chuckles to the nurse as I pass over my wallet. He claps his hand on my other shoulder. “It’s been one of those days.”
She arches a brow and offers me a small smile. “Can’t say this isn’t normal. Relax, Mr. Chekhov. Your kid isn’t going to run off anywhere.”
Mak shares a laugh at her little joke. I don’t. I’m too busy trying to not be devoured by the gaping maw of disappointment.
I’m gonna kill him. I’m going to actually murder a federal agent and feed him to the dogs I’m going to adopt just for the sake of killing him.
And then I’m going to give those dogs to my baby girl and tell her all about the time Daddy beat a man to death for keeping us apart.
With the nurse’s blessing, Mak guides me to the room. I’m surprisingly grateful for his presence. My legs feel like lead and I’m not in the best mind to navigate this fluorescent labyrinth on my own.
“Knock knock,” he softly calls into the room. Then, finally, he opens the door wider for me to pass through.
The first thing I see is Daphne, asleep on the bed. For a heart-stopping second, I actually think she might be dead—she’s so pale and worn. But then her chest moves and I shake myself from that dark thought. I need to shake myself free from all dark thoughts.
Which is difficult to do, when?—
A tiny squeak yanks my attention—and my heart—to the bundle in Jameson’s arms.
Fucking Jameson.
Who the hell does he think he is? That’s my baby. I’m supposed to be the first one to hold her aside from Daphne. This fucker is taking my firsts away, too.
He needs to get his hands off my daughter. Now.
“Not with that approach, my dude.” Jameson levels his gaze at me.
Shit. I didn’t mean to say it like that: out loud. Still—once again, who the fuck does he think he is? “You’re not her father?—”
“Nope. I’m her uncle. Her overprotective uncle who’s gonna punch you in the face if you don’t back up and watch your tone.”
My voice of reason—which is mostly muffled underneath my rage and disappointment and something that kind of feels like grief—says he has a point.
The other voices roar at me to tackle him and take my baby.
But then, out of nowhere, in the middle of my swirling chaos and darkness, a tiny beam of light spears through.
It’s the light coming from my daughter’s equally tiny face, all squished and squinting up at me.
She squeaks. Again.
Just like that, I’m fucking broken.
“What…”
I want to ask what her name is.
I want to know how much she weighs, how long she is, was she an easy birth or a fighter?
But all I can do is swallow hard and clench my fists until my fingernails dig into my palms. If I say anything more, everyone in this room is going to see me do something I never do.
Crumble to fucking pieces.
“Her name is Tatyanna.” Melanie slips to Jameson’s side. She smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Tatyanna Melina Chekhov. Taty, for short.”
Again, words fail me. They’re all right there, in my mouth, but refuse to come out. I wipe a hand over my face. Fuck, I’m actually trembling. But I don’t want my first moments with my child to be with fists and fury, so I force myself to pry my fingers open and instead press them to my sides.
In the corner of my eye, I can see Mama and Sofi watching. Sadness is written all over them, and that’s the last thing I need right now. Sympathy won’t make this better. Pity doesn’t fix a damn thing.
Mama is the first to move toward me, her arms outstretched until she has me wrapped up in her warm embrace. “Your daughter is beautiful. I’m so proud of you. Both of you.”
Whatever tension I was feeling when I walked through the door dissolves. All that’s left is the aching need to hold my baby close and never let her go. I hold out my arms to take her, letting Jameson decide if this is a demand or a plea.
He doesn’t say anything.
But he does, carefully, place her in my arms.
Just like that, I’m undone. Completely and utterly unraveled from the inside out. All it takes is feeling her wriggle inside her blankets to make me realize this is it; this is how I’m living the rest of my life. My arms are never leaving this position and she’s never getting out of them.
“Would you…” I try to clear my throat so I can at least manage a single sentence. “Would you all mind…”
Mama nods and reaches for Melanie and Jameson. “Of course. Come, let’s go grab something to eat. I need your help picking something out for Daphne. She’s going to be starving for something good.”
Melanie doesn’t seem comfortable leaving us here. Or maybe it’s more that she’s not comfortable leaving me here. With her sister and niece.
I hate that I can understand why.
I settle into the overstuffed chair next to Daphne’s bed. I didn’t even realize how fucking exhausted I was until my ass hit the seat. Sofi and Mak follow the others out of the room. They give me their sad smiles and promise to be back soon with food and drinks, then shut the door behind them.
When I’m alone at last, I break.
I’m already broken, but those pieces fracture into tinier and tinier shards until I’m unable to hold it all in.
Until I’m unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t how any of it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be here, right here, right fucking here, soothing away Daphne’s pain and coaching her through her breathing as we welcomed our daughter into this world.
I was supposed to hear the first cries. To see the first breaths.
I was supposed to be the first face she saw when she first opened her eyes.
I was supposed to name her. To breathe blessings upon her.
I lost… everything.
I’m not a man who sheds tears over anyone or anything. But now that I’ve started crying, I can’t fucking stop. I’m too wrapped up in grief over losing something I never knew I wanted so fucking bad. I’m enraged at the people who tore apart a moment in time I’ll never be able to get back.
And I’m so overwhelmed with joy… with awe… at Tatyanna. My Tatyanna. My Taty.
She wriggles in her blankets, squinting and squirming and cooing as she does. I don’t know what she wants. Fuck, am I ever going to know what she wants? Am I destined to be a terrible father?
No. Don’t go there. You can do this.
Taty squirms even more. I’m about to let my daughter know that she’s stuck in there for good when she decides it’s her turn to surprise me—by working her little arm free.
And then placing that impossibly small hand on my face.
“Malen’kiy solovey,” I murmur as she keeps cooing again and again.
My little songbird.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper before pressing another kiss to her downy brow. Her hair is so soft, so dark and lovely. It’s already beginning to curl at the ends. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be here. More than anything. But I was held up. Literally, I swear, I was held up in cuffs and I just… I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I’m always going to be here for you. I’m always going to protect you. I’m always going to be by your side, and on your side. I swear to you, Tatyanna, I’m always going to take care of you.”
“What about Daphne?”
Mak’s voice startles me, even as low as it is. He gives me a moment to compose myself before he finishes walking back into the room. In his hand is a large drink, which he walks over and hands to me.
I don’t miss the way he regards me. It’s not a look I ever thought I’d receive from my own brother. Like he doesn’t trust me, or worse—he’s disappointed in me.
That makes two of us.
“Daphne is mine. Tatyanna is mine.” I take the drink and inwardly thank him for anticipating my basic needs when I’ve all but neglected them. Goddamn, I was thirsty. “This is my family. I protect my family.”
He wisely takes a few steps back before asking the next question. “Even from yourself? Even after everything?”
I should be enraged at the gall. At the implication. But honestly, right now, I’m too fucking drained to keep up the pakhan front. Right now, I just need to be his brother.
“Even from me,” I agree. “Even after everything.”
“You were pretty fucking pissed.”
“I was pretty fucking stupid.”
He sighs and, for once in his whole damn life, he doesn’t crack a joke.
Sofi bursts in carrying several bags of food with one hand and a tray of drinks with the other. “I have no idea what Daphne’s gonna want, but I’m guessing ‘everything’ would be her answer after that ordeal. Holy shit, I’ve never appreciated birth control more.”
I feel a swell of pride in my chest. “She did good?”
“Fucking—I mean, freaking incredible.” Sofi blushes and wiggles a little wave to her baby niece, then grabs a burger from a bag and sets it on the end table next to me. “This woman is a warrior. No drugs, no stirrups, not even the tub. Just held on for dear life and war-cried her way through the worst of it. I’ll tell you what—I’d think twice before pissing her off.”
My Daphne. My queen. She’s still asleep, even through all our talking, and I don’t blame her. “Do you think you guys could?—”
“Already on our way out.” Sofi pushes a pouting Mak toward the door. “We just wanted to make sure you two actually eat something. We’re out in the lobby when you need us.”
“Don’t you mean ‘if’?”
She grins. “No, I mean ‘when.’ Welcome to parenthood, bol’shoy brat. It takes a village.”
I tuck Taty close to my chest and rise out of the chair. She starts fussing again, so I carefully rock her in one arm and let her grip my finger with the other. Just like I expected, she’s strong and relentless.
As slowly as I can so I don’t wake her, I sit down on the side of the bed closest to Daphne. This is the first time I’ve seen her since I lost my fucking mind over a week ago. Since?—
Shit. I can’t let myself think about that. Not right now, anyway.
All I need is to gaze at her face. To touch her hair.
It’s breathtaking how messed-up and perfectly right everything can be all at once. This is not how I pictured this to go, and yet it’s exactly what I’ve dreamed of. Holding our baby girl in my arms, feeling Daphne’s warm breath fan across my skin while she sleeps.
I’m a man determined to conquer the world.
So how is it possible that my whole universe is right here, in this small room?