Chapter 26 Kelly
Kelly
Clover curls against my side while I tap away on my laptop again.
I need the distraction after everything that went down.
I already sent in my resignation and applied to a few more jobs.
It’s not like I’ll get any of them, but I needed to do something productive.
Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the way everything fell apart.
I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face when his father saw us together. That moment of pure disgust burned itself into my soul.
He’s been quiet since then, withdrawn in a way that has nothing to do with his usual stoic bullshit.
He’s sad. Not that he’d ever say it or admit it out loud, but I know what it looks like when someone’s breaking inside.
He’s trying so hard to act normal. I keep making stupid jokes or trying to distract him, but nothing works.
I think he’s depressed, and I don’t blame him.
It’s killing me, I don’t know what to do.
My eyes drift out the window without thinking. I blink in surprise. The sky’s full of white flickers dancing in the air. At first, I think I’m imagining it, maybe seeing things from staring at the laptop screen too long. But it’s real. Snow.
I grin before I can stop myself. I spin around and bolt for the hallway, grabbing my shoes and tearing through the closet like a maniac looking for my coat. I’m not missing the first snowfall of the year.
I loved December and Christmas when my mom was alive.
I run toward the sliding door so fast I nearly slip and faceplant on the hardwood. I yank my coat on, shove my feet into my shoes, and swing the door open.
The cold air hits me right in the face and steals my breath completely. I step out anyway.
My breath fogs in front of me in little puffs. It’s freezing, brutal enough to make my skin sting. It’s perfect.
The snowflakes land softly on my cheeks. I close my eyes, breathing in deep.
I hear the sliding door open behind me. Arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against a solid chest. I lean into the touch. His mouth brushes my neck with soft kisses that are slow and careful. He holds me tighter against him like he’s trying to anchor us both.
“It’s freezing out here,” he murmurs against my skin. “What are you doing?”
“It’s December,” I say, my breath fogging in the cold air. “This will be my first Christmas without my mom.”
His arms drop for just a second, then he turns me around to face him.
“You have me,” he says, looking directly into my eyes. “I’ll make this a good Christmas for you.”
I press my face into his chest, breathing in his warmth while he holds me without saying anything else.
“I miss her so much,” I whisper, and my throat aches while my eyes sting with tears.
“If I could take away your pain, I would.” His voice stays low and steady. He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “My father’s still breathing, but he’s dead to me now. I know what that loss feels like. You won’t be alone ever again, zaychik. I promise.”
I nod.
He runs a hand over my head, slow and careful with his fingers threading through my hair. I let the comfort wash over me.
“Come inside,” he murmurs. “You’ll get sick. I’ll make you tea and we can talk more. If we stay out here, I think my balls might actually freeze off.”
I laugh and let him go, stepping back reluctantly.
He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together, and we walk back into the house. I kick off my shoes while he hangs my coat on the bar chairs, then starts making tea. When he turns back around with the kettle, I notice his knuckles are cut up fresh, bruised, and still a little bloody.
“What happened to your hands?” I ask, nodding toward the damage.
“Filed a complaint into someone’s face at the office. Very hands-on approach.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. His father refuses to acknowledge him anymore. All his orders come through his brothers now, as if Alexei doesn’t exist.
He turns around as the kettle starts to rumble with water just about to boil, then brings me a mug with the tea bag already in it.
“Thanks.”
He nods toward the living room.
I follow him with my tea and sit down next to him. He pulls me closer until my legs are draped across his thighs, one hand on my back, the other resting over my shins. I settle my head on his shoulder, sinking into the warmth of his body. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I nod and bring my cup to my lips for a careful sip. His hand moves over my back in slow, lazy strokes, up and down, warm through the fabric of my shirt.
Is this crazy? Maybe. But I’m past the point of caring.
I’m curled up with someone who kills people for a living. Who’s got fresh cuts on his knuckles from whatever he did an hour ago. But when he holds me like this, none of that matters. I knew what he was when I chose him. Still choosing him now.
“Are you okay with everything that happened?” He looks so sad, it breaks my heart.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not,” I whisper.
“I’m not good at talking about what I feel, zaychik. I’ve spent my whole life learning how not to.”
I let out a breath and nod against him.
He told me he saw his mother break apart when she found out her brother died and that he was terrified the same would happen to him. His whole life he thought his own family would turn on him if they ever found out he was gay.
Twenty-seven years of hiding who he was. All those years thinking the people who were supposed to love him would reject him for something he couldn’t control.
I’m grateful we found each other when we did, even if it was because he broke into that clinic and pulled a gun on me.
“I love you so much.” I press a kiss into his chest.
I feel him let out a breath and lean down to kiss the top of my head. “I would rip myself to pieces if it kept you alive, zaychik. What I feel for you goes past love into something consuming, something that lives in my bones. I need you like oxygen. Without you, there’s nothing left worth saving.”
My breath catches in my throat. I stare into his deep brown eyes. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something raw underneath it. No one has ever said anything like that to me before.
“Come here.”
I wrap my hands around his neck and pull him close. He breathes in the scent of my hair, and I feel his chest rise and fall against mine.
I hate seeing him like this. Vulnerable in a way that makes me ache.
An idea hits me.
Christmas isn’t even that big of a deal in Russia.
I ordered a custom frame anyway for the selfie we took together with Clover the other day—our first picture together.
He never let me try before out of fear of someone seeing it.
What do you buy for someone who owns everything and has all the money in the world? Something that matters to him.
I curse and yank more tape, trying to wrap this present on the kitchen counter. They make this look way too easy in stores. I don’t know how to do this. Paper’s all wrinkled and crooked. It looks like a toddler wrapped it.
“Ugh. This is so stupid,” I mutter.
“What is stupid?”
He was supposed to be asleep …
I gasp and snatch the present up, hiding it behind my back like that’s going to fool anyone.
Alexei stands in his boxers, frowning as he takes a step toward me.
“Don’t come closer.”
He takes another step anyway.
“It’s a secret.”
He scoffs and keeps walking toward me with that slow, smug stride that means trouble.
I backpedal frantically, then spin around and take off, clutching the crumpled mess of wrapping paper. His heavy steps thud after me. I glance back to see him running full speed, pissed off and half-naked and gaining on me fast.
He’s way too fast for this to end well.
I skid to a stop in the doorway of our bedroom, panting hard. My hands go straight to his chest to stop him from bulldozing past me. “It’s a present, okay? Don’t ruin this.”
“I thought you said no presents.”
“Changed my mind.”
“You always change your mind this much or just with me?”
“Just with you.”
He smirks like he’s pleased with himself. “I got you something too.”
I blink in surprise.
“I wanted to.”
I nod. “Just go back to the living room so I can hide it under the bed.”
“You just told me where it is.”
I squint at him. “You’re not going to open it just because you know where it is.”
He hums like maybe he will anyway, then turns around and strolls off, glancing back once with a smug look. His back flexes as he walks, tattoos shifting over muscle. His thighs look smooth and solid, so distracting it should be illegal.
I groan under my breath and drop to my knees with the mangled present. Shove it under my side of the bed. Wrinkled paper, crooked tape, the whole mess, but whatever. It’s hidden now.
I head to the living room, but he’s not there.
The clank of a weight hitting metal makes me roll my eyes.
I follow the sound down the hall and step into the home gym. There he is, topless in just black workout shorts slung low on his hips, one leg pulled up behind him as he stretches. His hand grips his ankle, that V-cut slicing deep into his hips while his abs flex with every shift of his body.
I swallow hard and try not to stare. Whatever’s coming after his dad’s reaction to finding us together, I just hope it’s not too bad. I don’t want them turning on him because of me. It’s so backwards and sad that this is even an issue.