13. Maggie
MAGGIE
I wake slowly, surfacing through layers of exhaustion, smoke, and dreams that refuse to let go.
I have no idea where I am. The mattress beneath me is too soft to be mine, and the room around me is wrapped in muted morning light glowing through partially drawn curtains.
Everything smells wrong, too. It isn't my apartment. It isn't Mama's house.
Memory slams back all at once.
The fire.
Smoke.
Jules trapped beneath the shelving.
Alexei carrying me through flames while the shelter burned around us.
My eyes fly open.
As soon as I wake up, my body lets me know exactly how unhappy it is. My throat feels like I swallowed a handful of sand, and every breath scrapes on the way down. My shoulder throbs where the ceiling hit me, and my chest aches from coughing half the night away.
Alexei looks up from the laptop resting across his thighs.
He's already dressed in dark slacks and a dark shirt, though the sleeves have been pushed to his elbows.
Fresh white bandages cover the burn on his forearm, and there are shadows beneath his eyes that tell me he hasn't slept much.
The moment he realizes I'm awake, the laptop disappears onto the nightstand.
“You're awake,” he says quietly.
Some of the strain leaves his face, and I realize with a sudden ache that he hasn't simply been sitting beside me. He's been watching me sleep.
“Jules?” The question leaves me before I'm fully awake.
Alexei moves closer. One arm slides behind my shoulders, helping me sit up while he carefully adjusts the pillows at my back.
“Home,” he says. “Luka drove him there this morning.”
The knot lodged in my chest loosens. There were several terrifying hours yesterday when I honestly wasn't sure either of us would make it out of that building alive. I sink back against the pillows and close my eyes, simply letting myself feel it.
“Thank You, Jesus.”
Alexei's hand finds mine on top of the blankets.
“He's fine, kotyónok,” he murmurs, squeezing gently. “Stubborn. Annoying. Already arguing with everyone.”
I let out a small laugh. “That sounds about right.”
Alexei brushes several strands of hair away from my face, his fingertips lingering against my cheek.
“Your mother appears to have moved into his apartment.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
“There was discussion about sending him home alone,” Alexei says, the corner of his mouth almost lifting. “Teresa informed the medical staff, Jules, and everyone else within earshot that she would be staying with him. No one argued.”
I let out a laugh and regret it the second my abused throat protests.
Alexei's eyes darken with concern. “Easy.”
He reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand and helps me take several careful sips before setting it aside again.
“That poor man,” I mumble.
Alexei lifts an eyebrow. “I believe the phrase she used was, ‘Boy, you nearly burned to death. You sit your behind down before I sit it down for you.’”
I laugh again, softer this time. “Yep. That sounds exactly like Mama.”
I close my eyes and simply let myself soak in the relief because Jules is alive. He's alive, Mama is taking care of him, and somehow we all survived.
The peace only lasts a few seconds before another fear immediately takes its place.
“The shelter.” My voice comes out rough. “How bad is it?”
Alexei's face grows more serious.
“The laundry room, recovery wing, and storage areas sustained significant damage,” he says. “The remainder of the building has smoke and water damage.”
I stare at him, my stomach twisting. “The animals?”
“All safe.”
Everything inside me loosens at once. Tears gather in my eyes, forcing me to look away.
“Sweet mercy.”
Alexei reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.
“Several rescue organizations took temporary medical cases,” he explains. “Most of the animals were placed with foster families and partner rescues. A fire inspector cleared the front office and adoption wing this morning, so a few dogs are still being housed there temporarily while repairs begin.”
I squeeze his hand hard.
“Jules is gonna make himself sick worryin’ about those animals.”
“He refused to leave.”
Of course he did.
I huff out a laugh because I would have been disappointed if he'd done anything else.
“He and your mother have apparently reached some form of armed truce.”
“Oh Lord.”
“Your mother brought breakfast to the shelter this morning,” Alexei says.
I groan.
Alexei's eyes warm.
“From what Luka reported, they spent twenty minutes arguing over whether Jules needed soup or casserole.”
“Poor Jules.”
“I believe he described the experience as being attacked by aggressively a lovin’ Southern woman.”
I study Alexei more closely. “You didn't sleep,” I murmur.
One side of his mouth lifts faintly. “I slept.”
“Now you're fibbin’.”
I lift my hand and brush my fingertips across the stubble shadowing his jaw. Alexei turns his head just enough to press a kiss into my palm before catching my hand and holding it there.
“A few hours,” he admits.
“Alexei.”
“You were coughing in your sleep.” His eyes search mine. “Every time you stopped making noise, I woke up.”
My heart squeezes with emotion. Without thinking, I inch closer.
Alexei immediately opens his arms, careful of my bruises as he gathers me against him. I lean into his chest automatically, listening to the quiet thud of his heartbeat while his hand moves slowly up and down my back.
“You frightened me,” he says after a long moment, pressing a kiss to my hair.
I tilt my head back to look at him.
“You scared me too.”
His jaw flexes. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes it hard to breathe.
I slide my hand against his cheek. “You didn't.”
“No. And I intend to keep it that way,” he says, leaning into my touch.
He presses another kiss to my forehead.
A knock sounds at the bedroom door, and Alexei’s arms loosen around me only enough for me to sit back against the pillows.
He doesn’t move far. His hand stays wrapped around mine on top of the blanket, his thumb moving slowly over my knuckles in a motion that feels more like reassurance for himself than for me.
“Come in,” he calls.
Mrs. Bennett enters carrying a tray large enough to feed a football team, and Mama follows right behind her with a tote bag hooked over one arm and a look on her face that says she’s prepared to wage war against anyone who tells her she can’t fuss over me.
The moment they see me sitting up, both women visibly relax.
“Sweetheart,” Mama says, hurrying toward the bed as tears fill her eyes.
Alexei releases my hand only because Mama is already leaning down to wrap me in a careful hug. She smells like coffee, diner soap, and the faint sweetness of whatever pastry she must have baked before coming here, and the simple comfort of it nearly breaks me all over again.
“I’m okay, Mama,” I tell her, though my voice sounds rough and thin.
“You scared ten years off my life.” Mama pulls back enough to cup my face between both hands, her brown eyes moving over me like she can count every bruise and every breath I take. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“No, you don’t,” she says, brushing her thumb beneath my eye. “Because if you knew, you wouldn’t look at me with that sweet little sorry face like I’m not about to fuss anyway.”
Mrs. Bennett sets the tray across my lap with brisk tenderness. “Teresa, she needs to eat before you fuss at her further.”
Mama straightens, wiping beneath one eye with the heel of her hand. “I can fuss and feed at the same time.”
Mrs. Bennett pauses as if considering the logistics of that. “That’s true.”
I look from one woman to the other, then toward Alexei, who has retreated only as far as the edge of the mattress. The amusement on his face tells me he has already accepted his fate, which is wise, because Mama and Mrs. Bennett, united, may be stronger than any security team he’s ever hired.
“Eat,” Mama orders, pointing toward the tray.
“Mama,” I protest, glancing down at the mountain of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, yogurt, and orange juice in front of me.
“Eat,” she repeats, not budging an inch.
Mrs. Bennett nods in agreement while adjusting the napkin beside the plate. “Your doctor specifically instructed rest, hydration, and proper nutrition.”
I look helplessly toward Alexei, hoping for at least one person in this room to remember I’m a grown woman.
He sides with her so fast it's almost impressive.
“Listen to them,” he says, reaching for the glass of orange juice and placing it closer to my hand.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
His mouth curves. “I've been informed.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, but I pick up the fork because there are three sets of eyes watching me with varying degrees of affection and threat.
Breakfast becomes less of a meal and more of a coordinated operation.
Mama cuts my toast in half before I can tell her I have successfully operated knives for years.
Mrs. Bennett checks the tea to make sure it is warm enough.
Alexei watches every bite as if he’s personally responsible for each one reaching my stomach.
By the time I finish half of it, Mama appears slightly less anxious, though she still touches my hair every few minutes like she needs proof I’m sitting there in front of her.
Mrs. Bennett gathers the empty dishes after making me promise to drink more water, then excuses herself with one final look at Alexei that clearly means he’s expected to enforce the order.
Alexei glances between Mama and me before pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I need to make a few calls,” he says quietly. “I'll be just outside if you need me.”
I know an excuse when I hear one, but gratitude swells through me anyway. Mama and I have always talked best when we're alone.