40. Mackenzie
Chapter 40
Mackenzie
I lose track of time. I lie in my bed, curled up on my side, crying against my pillow. I drift into sleep, still crying, and then when I wake and it all comes back to me, the tears start again.
Flashbacks haunt me. Seeing my mother in that pile of rubble. Or Nataniele taking her lifeless hand. Or, worst of all, the funeral. I was so out of it, medicated to get me through it. I had to pick music, and I don’t know if I chose right. The church had been full of flowers because that’s the only thing I was certain of. I wanted it to be beautiful for her. The way she was when she was alive.
I never knew it was possible to cry so much without eventually running dry.
The guys do their best to look after me, but I’m closed off from the world. They bring me food and drinks and help me sit up while they force tiny sips past my lips and morsels onto my tongue. They ensure I take my meds, too, though a part of me—the self-destructive side—doesn’t want to. I want my physical body to break down in the same way my heart has. The only thing that stops me is knowing how hard my mom worked to keep my epilepsy at bay. My condition was the sole focus of her life for such a long time, and it’s also at least partly why my parents ended up in so much debt. To give up now feels too much like I’m ignoring their sacrifice.
Camile has come to see me, too, but I can tell she’s frustrated by my lack of interaction. She wants me to shake myself out of it and come to the bar and hang out, but it’s the last thing I want. I’ve been on the phone to Lola, too, and told her what’s happened. She knew my mom, so she was upset as well. She tried to convince me to return home, but how can I? There’s nothing there for me now.
Sleep feels like my only escape, but I’m plagued with nightmares. All the terrible things I’ve gone through come back to haunt me—Paxton and Grigoriy and my dead parents. I dream my mom and dad are in cahoots with those two evil men, and my heart breaks over and over as they conspire to hurt me. I know Dom sneaks into my room at night to hold me, and though a part of me wants to be left alone, I also appreciate his presence. I think he knows what I need better than I do.
A knock comes at my door, and then it opens. For one crazy moment, I think I’m going to see my mom walking through, but then my brain does that thing where it reminds me she’s gone, and my heart breaks all over again.
It’s Dom and Kirill. I haven’t seen much of Tino, and I’m feeling guilty about that too. He was hurt in the blast, and he’s still recovering. I need to make more of an effort.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Dom asks, heading over to the bed.
Kirill rounds the other side and perches on the edge.
I force a smile. “Same. How are you guys?”
“Missing you,” Kirill says. “Missing Tino too. He’s in his room almost as much as you are.”
I wince as a fresh wave of guilt barrels through me. “Sorry,” I mutter.
Dom takes my hand. “Don’t be sorry. We understand. None of this is your fault.”
Isn’t it, though? If I’d never gotten involved with Paxton…
If I’d never gotten involved with Paxton, I’d most likely never have come here. I’d never have met the guys. But my mom would also still be alive. I know it’s a futile thing, asking myself ‘what if,’ but I can’t seem to stop myself. It tortures me.
“So,” Kirill says, edging farther onto the bed, “it’s Dom’s birthday tomorrow. The old man is turning twenty-two.”
I widen my eyes and turn to him. “It’s your birthday? Already? Surely that can’t be right.”
Kirill responds. “Yeah, it’s October now, Kukla . It’s been weeks since it all happened.”
I feel like I’ve been in a daze, or half-asleep—which I probably have. Shit. I become aware of how disgusting my bedsheets are, and that I can’t remember the last time I washed my hair. The guys have been forcing me into the bath and washing it for me, but it’s not the same as if I wash and style it myself. Plus, it’s probably been a month since I last shaved my legs.
A month. Has it really been so long?
A worm of unease buries into my belly. There’s something else, too. Something I’m missing.
“So, what are you planning?” I ask Dom. “You have to celebrate.”
He shrugs. “Nothing much. I figured you and Tino wouldn’t really be in the mood.”
“How is Tino?” I ask. “I haven’t seen as much of him.”
Dom presses his lips together. “Honestly, I think he’s struggling again. The doctors put him on some pretty strong meds.”
My chest crumples at the thought of Tino struggling. “I haven’t been there for him.”
“It’s okay,” Kirill says. “He understands. You’ve been through a lot.”
“So has he,” I admit. “So have we all.”
I realize how selfish I’ve been, withdrawing like this. I’m not the only one who’s been in pain. They needed me, too, and all I’ve done is create another problem for them.
I sit up. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so hopeless.”
Dom squeezes my hand. “You lost your mom. We understand.”
I sniff and nod. “I think I’m going to take a shower and get changed, then I’ll go to see Tino.”
Dom and Kirill exchange a quick glance. I can tell they’re trying to silently ask each other if this is a good idea or not.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure them.
I will, too. For the first time, the fog of grief seems to be lifting.
“And then maybe we can think of something to do for Dom’s birthday?” There’s hope in Kirill’s tone.
I nod. “Yeah, absolutely.”
We’ve not been intimate for the longest time, and as I look at them, I feel the first stirring of anything approaching desire. Sex has been the last thing I’ve been in the mood for, and it can’t have been easy for them abstaining for this long. I know how lucky I am to have found three supportive men who have all put their own needs to one side this past month to care for me.
Kirill gets to his feet. “We’ll meet you in the den later.”
I agree. “Let me get ready and I’ll see you then.”
They leave me with hugs and forehead kisses, and I force my legs out of bed. That it’s been a month already still blows my mind. I had no idea so much time had passed.
In the shower, with hot water cascading over me, that other niggle I had at the back of my mind makes itself known.
A month.
An entire goddamn month.
Slowly, my hand trails down to my belly. I force myself to think. When did I have my last period? I’m sure I haven’t had one since my mom died. But I’ve had the shock of what happened and everything else to deal with. Plus, I know I’ve lost weight from not eating properly, and I didn’t really have any to lose in the first place.
The place on the inside of my arm where my implant had once resided has long since healed, but I find myself touching the scar there. Shit. It’s perfectly possible, isn’t it? That I’m pregnant? I have no idea how many times Dom and Kirill and Tino came inside me, but it was plenty enough to get me knocked up. We’d been reckless, but perhaps, on a subconscious level, it was because we’d all wanted this, too. We’d wanted something we could call our own.
My family has been torn away from me, leaving me adrift, but maybe now I could be making a new one.
My heart flutters with nervous excitement, and a warmth springs within me. Could I be pregnant? I’ve always told myself I wasn’t ready to be a mom, but now I’ve lost my own mother, I discover my feelings have shifted. The idea of life inside me gives me an antidote to the pain of losing so many people. Maybe everyone will say we’re too young, but if age can be measured by experiences, we’re plenty old enough. We’d love this child with everything we have. We’d all had fucked up relationships with our parents, in one way or another, and I know we’ll be determined to make sure we raise this baby right if I am carrying it.
Despite my mental reassurances, nervousness grips me.
Pregnancy isn’t straightforward for me. I have my epilepsy to consider. I still need to take medication daily to control my seizures, and I have no idea if that medication can affect a developing baby. And what will happen after the baby is born? Will my condition affect how well I can be a parent?
My stomach twists and flips with all these considerations. I might be happy about the idea of becoming a parent, but this will be a high-risk pregnancy and I’m going to need a lot of medical care.
I’m also worried about what the guys will say to the news. Will they be happy? What if they say they’re not ready to be fathers?
I shake the thought from my head. I don’t think that’s going to happen. Besides, I don’t even know for sure that my suspicions are real. I haven’t done a test or anything. I urgently need to get one.
I’ll keep this news to myself until I know for sure.