27. Mikhail
Mikhail
He made it through the night. The doctors aren’t sure what it will look like if he wakes up though, if his brain will be okay after all the blood loss.
The machines are still around him beeping steadily, monitoring every breath and heartbeat.
I crawled into his bed earlier and lay down next to him, careful not to touch any of the cables or the IV lines or anything important.
My hand moves slowly up and touches his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin, the proof that he’s still here and alive, still with me for now.
The door opens and pulls me out of my thoughts. Our mother comes in holding two cups of coffee, moving quietly across the room.
She sits down slowly in the chair beside the bed and places one of the coffees on the bedside table, then looks over at me and sips from her cup. Her blue eyes fill with uncertainty, and she opens her mouth, closes it, then tries again.
She clears her throat. “You two have always been unnaturally close, inseparable in ways that worried me. But I kept telling myself you wouldn’t. That it was impossible you’d go that far.”
She knows… I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand, stopping me.
“Mikhail, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is. He’s not the guy you said you’re with.”
“It’s exactly what it is.”
“You two can’t be together.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. I won’t be hearing it, so don’t go there,” I snap at her.
“It’s not that, Mikhail,” she says, looking exhausted. “Your father is gone. I don’t have to pretend anymore that I agree with everything he believed. I don’t care that you’re with a man. But he’s your brother.”
My brows pull together. “He’s not related to me by blood.”
“Blood doesn’t define family. You know that better than anyone,” she says and then rubs her forehead. “You grew up together. You protected each other. You share a life, a history. The family sees him as your brother.”
“We didn’t grow up like normal brothers.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t change how everyone else will see this.” She pauses. “I’m not your father. I’m not going to forbid you or threaten you. But I am your mother, and I’m worried.”
Sitting up, I hiss as the wounds pull and point my finger at her.
“Listen to me. If you keep this up, I will cut you out of my life just like that.”
“Mikhail—”
“Stop it,” I shout. “My father crushed me for years. Told me what I could be, who I could love, how I had to live. I’m not going to be told what to do anymore.
I’m an adult, and if you say one more word against this, you will never hear from us again.
Do you understand me? I love him. He’s the love of my life. ”
Her blue eyes lock onto mine for a second, then she looks down at the floor.
“He’s my son, same as all of you. Blood or not, he’s mine.”
“I know,” I say and lean forward, ignoring the pain shooting through my side and my arms. “You have two choices here. You can accept this and keep us in your life, or you can fight it and lose both of us. There’s no middle ground.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her gaze still fixed on the floor. When she finally looks up, she nods. Sighing in relief, I lay back down and wipe the sweat off my forehead.
“I followed you to your tree once, when you were both young,” she says, holding my gaze.
“That tree in the woods where you always ran off to. I got curious one afternoon and followed you there. I hid in the trees and watched as you dug out that little box from the hollow and sat there sharing cookies you’d stolen from the kitchen.
You were maybe nine and ten at the time.
I stayed there watching for a long time, watching the way you laughed together, the way you looked at each other. ”
She pauses for a moment and lets out a breath, her hand tightening around the paper cup until it crinkles slightly.
“Daniil never spoke to anyone. All his words belonged only to you. I remember standing there in those trees and crying while I watched you both, but not from worry. From happiness. I thought maybe he would never speak again after what happened to him when he was young. But he did. For you.”
She pauses, placing the paper cup on the bedside table before rubbing her temple with shaking fingers. “Your fathe—”
“I killed him.”
Her blue eyes snap to mine, wide. “What—”
“He had it coming.”
She closes her eyes briefly, says something I can’t hear, and drops her hand. “Was he the one that stabbed you?”
I don’t say anything. Just hold her gaze until she gets it.
She gasps, stands up, and grips my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I failed you by not stopping him sooner. You didn’t deserve anything Roman did to you. I’m glad he’s gone. You always deserved better than what he gave you, and I should have made sure you got it.”
I nod, shrugging a little, and give her an awkward pat on the arm because I don’t really know what else to do.
“Stop touching me,” I say, pulling back. “I don’t need you to try to comfort me or make me feel better. All I care about is him waking up.”
“Mikhail—”
“I said stop.”
She touches my chin gently, then seems to realize I’m not great at being comforted and backs off. I glance over at Daniil. He’s still too pale, blood loss making his skin look gray.
“I need to ask you something,” she says suddenly.
I give her a look, already bracing myself.
“It’s not going to be fair to you, I know that. But I need to ask it anyway.”
“What is it?”
She takes a breath and meets my eyes. “I need you to hide your relationship with Daniil from the outside world. Your brothers and close friends can know, but outside the family it stays private. No public acknowledgment.”
No…
She puts up her hands before I can say anything.
“I’m not doing it for selfish reasons, I promise.
But because of who he is, because of his connection to the Nozares family, it complicates everything.
People are going to be watching us more closely now.
Looking for weaknesses. It doesn’t have to be forever, just until everything settles and we figure out what this means for the family. ”
My jaw clenches tight as I stare at her.
“I know it’s not fair,” she continues. “I know you shouldn’t have to hide.
But right now, with everything that’s happened, with Roman dead, we need to be careful.
For both of your safety.” She pauses. “I’m sorry for everything.
For lying to him. For not protecting you better from Roman. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to say sorry.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t,” I say firmly. “We can keep it quiet for now. But I’m not doing it forever.
He doesn’t deserve that. And when he wakes up, he deserves to know the whole truth about what happened to him.
About who he really is. I don’t want to hear any of it unless he’s with me, awake and able to decide for himself what he wants to do with the information. ”
She looks at me for a long moment, then nods. “That’s fair. When he wakes up, I’ll tell him everything.”
The door opens before I can respond. The nurse walks in and shoots me a look when she sees me in the bed with him, but she doesn’t say anything, just moves to check the monitors and examine the IV bags hanging beside the bed.
“What happened to him earlier?” I ask.
She pauses, checking something on one of the machines before turning to face us. “He went into hypovolemic shock from the blood loss. His blood pressure crashed, and his organs weren’t getting enough oxygen. We had to give him emergency transfusions and fluids to stabilize him. He’s stable now.”
“When will he wake up?” mother asks, her voice tight with worry.
The nurse adjusts one of the IV lines and glances at the monitor displaying his brain activity.
“We’re weaning him off the sedation now to allow him to wake naturally.
His brain was deprived of oxygen for a period of time, and we won’t know if there are any deficits until he regains consciousness and we can evaluate his neurological function.
His scans look hopeful, but we need to wait and see, Miss Avrorina. ”
“Wait,” I say, and the nurse turns back, looking at me.
Fuck. Here goes nothing.
“I—” I hesitate, the words hard to get out. “I’ve been refusing the pain meds because I’m an addict. But I need something for the withdrawals. I took something before the shooting, and now they’ve started.”
She studies me for a moment. “What are you taking?”
“Benzodiazepines.”
The nurse nods and sits down in the chair beside the bed. “How long and how much daily?”
I tell her, and she writes it down without judgment.
“Benzo withdrawal isn’t something you mess around with.
It’s one of the only drugs where withdrawal can actually kill you because of seizure risk.
” She looks at me directly. “What we’ll do is put you on a controlled taper.
We’ll use a long-acting benzo, like diazepam, to keep you stable and prevent dangerous symptoms. Then we slowly reduce it over time.
Could take weeks or a few months, but slow is safe. ”
“Okay,” I manage.
She stands and taps at her tablet, already heading for the door. “I’m getting the orders written now. You made the right choice telling us.”
My mother waits until the nurse is out of earshot. “How long has it been going on? Between you two?”
“Nothing happened when we were kids, if that’s what you’re asking. We only got together recently.”
She nods slowly and leans back in the chair.
“I think I need to rest. Can you leave?” I say, irritated.
Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, then closes. “Da. Of course.”
Without another word, she gets up and closes the door behind her.
I need my bed and complete silence and zero human interaction for at least the next week.
My social battery isn’t just drained, it’s completely gone, and if I have to talk to one more person today, I might lose it completely.
I don’t want to listen to her right now, don’t want to hear about the past or explanations or anything. I just want to be alone with him.