“Don’t even joke about that.”
“I’m the patient. I get to joke about my shit all I like. Ain’t that right, nurse?”
The nurse shakes her head at the door, but she’s fighting down a smile, too.
Typical Dimitri. Everywhere he goes, he’s a magnet. He commands the room. Even like this, everyone’s hanging onto his every word. Drives me fucking nuts.
Goddammit, I missed him.
“Well?” he demands. “How’s my niece?”
“She’s healthy.”
“That’s good, but I didn’t ask that.” He holds out his hand. “You’ve got pictures, I assume. All dads’ brains turn to mush when they’ve got a new baby to flaunt.”
“You think I’m a cliché?”
“No, but I know my brother. He likes to keep his treasures close.” His palm stays where it is, outstretched.
Wordlessly, I pull out my phone.
Dimitri’s face splits into another grin. “Attaboy.”
He scrolls unsteadily through my camera roll until he finds a picture of Sima and the baby, a selfie she took and sent me. The light hits them just right against the cream wall of the nursery.
My brother’s expression softens. “Look at that. You’ve got a family.”
Family.After the shootout, I didn’t think I’d ever have that in my life again.
But then Sima happened. Dimitri woke up. My baby girl was born.
I don’t believe in miracles, but my family feels like one.
“What did you call her?” He hands me back my phone. His grip seems shakier. Like he can’t hold up anything for longer than a couple of seconds at a time.
“Lilia.”
“Lilia.” His throat works. He looks out the window again, blinking fast. When he turns back, his eyes are wet. “Mom would have liked that.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think so, too.”
Dimitri sets the phone down on the table beside him. For a moment, he just sits there, breathing slow, eyes on the chessboard he abandoned. I can see the effort it takes to keep his hand steady.
“So,” I say, “how are you doing? Really.”
He shrugs, like the question barely matters. “Ups and downs. The doctors say I’m making progress, whatever that means.”
I raise a brow. “You don’t believe them?”
“Oh, I believe them,” he says. “I just don’t like how slow it feels. But they keep telling me it’s normal. Brain needs time to rewire. Muscles need time to remember.” He glances down at his legs, covered by a thin blanket. “They make me walk every day now. I look like a drunk trying to find his car keys.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “I bet you still curse them out every time.”
“Every single time.” His grin returns. “They say it’s good for morale.”
“Yours or theirs?”
“Both.”
