Chapter 14 #3
“You should ask Sasha that question. All I have to do is open my mouth, and the fucker is all over my ass,” he grumbles, flicking invisible lint off his knee.
“I know Sasha can be a hard-ass sometimes, but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”
“He sure has a funny way of showing it,” Kostya pouts.
“Hey, at least I accept you as you are. That should count for something.”
Kostya’s black eyes brighten as he gives me a genuine smile. “And that is why you’re my favorite.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true. Sure, you’re a mean old grump, but you never force me to be something I’m not.”
“Neither does Misha,” I correct him.
“Right. Misha.” He says the name pensively. “Misha might be patient with my ass now, but how long will that last? Sooner or later, the Pakhan will want me to level up. And I’m not sure I’m there yet.”
“Do you even want to be?”
“Do I want to live the same life you guys do? The one where fun isn’t on the table, and it’s all about obligation?
Honestly, no. But it’s not up to me. This is what we all signed up for when we agreed to take that motherfucker, Vasily, down.
We knew we were making a deal with the devil.
Now I just have to man up and deal with it. ”
“Hmm,” I think for a minute, digesting my brother’s dilemma thoroughly and how best to help him.
“Maybe we can postpone that bleak future of yours a bit. Let me talk to Misha about you staying with me in Chicago for a few months before you need to head back to San Francisco. I think he’ll be more receptive if I ask. ”
“You’d do that for me?”
“What wouldn’t I do for you?” I counter, confused he’d even think otherwise.
Before I know what’s happening, Kostya pulls me into a hug, holding me tight, just like he used to when we were kids. He lets go just as quickly, visibly emotional, scrambling to his feet as if putting distance between us could hide it.
“I… uh… I’m going to look for Frankie. You all have hogged her long enough. It’s my turn to spend some quality time with my niece.”
I don’t correct him for calling her by her given name.
It’s clear where he stands when it comes to Kira.
And after spending time with her, I’m in agreement—Kira deserves a full, well-adjusted life.
I’m not sure how she’ll get that with Lucky in the picture, but something tells me he’ll do everything he can to keep a smile on her face.
I’m not convinced living here, in this fortress isolated from the world, will give her that.
“Goddamn it!” I hear Stella shout from inside her room, jolting me to my feet. I rush inside without knocking.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I hurry toward her and find her on her feet, one arm braced on the bed for balance, while the other is caught in its sling.
“What’s wrong?! Everything is wrong!” she snaps, but the fire in her voice fades almost instantly, replaced by embarrassment. “I can’t even use the bathroom on my own. It’s freaking humiliating.”
“Let me help you,” I say, scooping her into my arms and carrying her into the bathroom, before she has time to fight me on it. I lower her onto the toilet and step back. “Just call me when you’re done.” I don’t wait for a reply and close the door behind me to give her some privacy.
A few minutes later, I hear the flush, followed by her calling my name. I open the door immediately, but before I can lift her up in my arms again, she swats my hands away.
“What is it?”
She takes a fortifying breath, struggling with her words. “I need a bath. A real bath. Not that sponge bath crap.”
“Do you want me to help you? Or,” I continue, swallowing hard, feeling parched all of a sudden, “do you want me to find Kira to help?”
“You’ll do.” Her lips press into a thin line.
I don’t dare open my mouth, afraid she might change her mind. Instead, I turn around and fill the bathtub, adding salts to help her relax and bubbles to give her some semblance of modesty—not that Stella is known for possessing much of that.
Once I’m sure the water isn’t too hot for her, I turn around to help her out of her sling and the old nightgown Elena lent her.
“I should get you some clothes,” I state evenly, not one bit pleased to see Stella in something my sister-in-law would wear.
“What happened to the clothes I was wearing?”
“I burned them.”
“Do I even want to know why?” she asks, one brow lifting high.
“No.”
What’s the use in telling her that the blood on those clothes still haunts me, and that I burned them because I couldn’t live with the reminder of how close I came to losing her? Stella wouldn’t appreciate such honesty coming from me.
“I’ll go into town and grab you a few things first thing tomorrow,” I add instead.
“Would you mind picking up a large T-shirt too? This nightgown is a little too girly for my taste.”
“It’s the first thing on my list. Trust me,” I promise, while gently removing her sling. “Now raise your arms. Carefully.”
Stella doesn’t argue, lifting her arms as slowly as she can, as not to aggravate her injury.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of her completely naked before me, but I force down the surge of desire and lower myself to my knees to peel her underwear off.
I then lift her again with the same gentleness, cradling her head to my chest before slowly lowering her into the tub.
When she sees I’m doing everything in my power not to eye-fuck her, her lips curve in a knowing smirk.
“That’s some mighty restraint you’ve got going on there, Kill. Bravo,” she teases, scooping up bubbles and blowing them into my face.
“Stop being a brat and let me wash you already.”
“Brat?!” She laughs, the sound doing something to my insides. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that. Aside from my brothers, maybe.”
“That’s because you scare everyone else,” I shoot back, my scowl still in place.
“I scare people? Little old me?” She bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly, and now I know she’s fucking with me.
I grab Stella’s shoulder, careful not to hurt her, and with my free hand, I shove her head under the water. She resurfaces a second later, spitting bubbles and laughing.
“You asshole,” she giggles, and it’s really fucking hard not to smile at the sight of her face and hair covered in bubbles.
“Sorry. I needed to wash your hair. Isn’t this how you do it? Sorry about that. I never washed a woman’s hair before.”
“Right,” she says, splashing water at me.
“Hm. I think I missed a spot,” I warn playfully.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Kill. I mean it,” she laughs.
My smile returns, and so does hers. We stay like that, laughing and gazing into each other’s eyes with goofy grins on our faces, until the memory of last night crashes back, building a wall between us that no amount of playful bath-time antics can wash away.
“Kill…” she says softly, reaching for me.
I jerk back as if her touch could burn me alive.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, my voice cold, my features carved into stone.
Stella’s jeweled eyes dim instantly. She turns her face away, pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them tight. The shift hits me square in the gut, but I force myself to keep going.
I wash her hair in silence, using the handheld showerhead to rinse away the shampoo and bubbles. Then I hand her a washcloth and a bottle of lotion soap.
“You think you can handle the rest?”
She doesn’t look at me as she takes the cloth from my hand and starts scrubbing on her own. I leave her there and walk to my room. I open my drawer, pull out one of my black T-shirts, then slam the drawer shut, pressing my hands to my head, trying to shake the last twenty minutes out of my mind.
Why does it feel so fucking effortless with her? So goddamn right? Everything just flows naturally with us… as if we were always meant to be. But it’s all a lie. A fucking lie I let myself believe because the truth is too hard to bear.
Get it together, Kill. This isn’t about you and your wounded heart. This is all your fault anyway. Get her well and make sure she gets home in one piece. After that, say goodbye. There’s no reason for you two to be in each other’s lives anymore. No reason why you should hurt like this.
I keep repeating those lies as if they were the only sacred mantra ensuring my sanity remains intact.
Once I’m in full control of myself, I walk back to Stella’s room and into the bathroom.
She’s sitting with her back to me, her red hair a darkened maroon color, swept over one shoulder, leaving her back bare.
The sight of her like this makes something in me splinter.
I ache to touch her, to feel the silk of her skin, to press my lips to her neck until she can’t take it anymore and kisses me back.
In my mind, I imagine slipping into the tub behind her, holding her tight, thanking whatever force kept her alive. Thankful she didn’t leave me. Thankful air still fills her lungs. Thankful that maybe, just maybe, hope isn’t lost.
“I’m starting to get cold,” she says, clearly having sensed my presence even though I didn’t say anything.
I grab a towel and hurry to her, lifting her carefully out of the tub. Then I wrap her in the towel and pull her against me, her head tucking beneath my chin once more. I don’t move. I barely breathe. I just stand there, reveling in the moment.
“I…” she starts to stammer. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Her words hit me dead center in the chest.
“I know, dusha moya. I know.”
Stella lifts her head just slightly, her fingers brushing the stubble on my jaw. “I’m the one who should be angry with you, not the other way around.”
“I know that too.”
“So how do we get back?” she asks. “Back to where things were normal?”
I let out a long, weary breath. “We were never normal, milaya. Because you were always exceptional,” I say truthfully, this time holding her gaze without looking away.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. I guess not. Come, let me take you back to bed. You need rest.” She frowns at my statement but doesn’t argue.
I carry her back to the room, towel-dry her hair as best I can, then pick up my T-shirt and carefully guide it over her head and down her body. Once she’s dressed, I help her into bed and pull the blanket up around her shoulders.
“Good night, dusha moya.”
“Good night, Kill.”
And with that, I leave the room, only to slump back down onto the floor outside the door, unwilling to ever truly part from her again. Even if it ends up killing me.