“No, I don’t think so,” Nik answers. He looks down at his feet, the toe of his boots drawing a line between us. “I have fucked upsomany times with Sef.” He speaks slowly. “A thousand times. Some of them big and some of them small, but almostalwaysbecause of my own bullshit or insecurity or pride. And,god,that woman still fights with me, still reminds me of whoshethinks I am—who Icouldbe—every time I fuck up, even when I’ve hurt her. Even when I don’t deserve it. She never stops trying to make me see myself howshesees me…someonegoodand worthy of love. People like her exist. Kind, generous people who help you…heal.”
“I don’t know where to start,” I say, swallowing thickly. “Everything in me wants to go back there right now and try to fix this but—”
“You start by giving her some space,” Nik says. “Prue has got a lot to process and a fuck ton to discuss with her dad. And, well, she needs to be calm before you two can talk again. Otherwise, you’ll just go in circles.”
“But I want to be there for her. I want to help her—”
“You hurt her, Milo,” Nik says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t get to help fix what you broke right now…That’d be too easy.”
“Okay, right,” I say, dropping my head. “Fine…I give her space, and then what?”
“You tell her what you told us,” Nik says. “Tell her that you’re sorry and you realize what you did was wrong and try to explain yourself, your reasoning, without trying to justify ittoomuch.”
“Tell her you love her,” Nadia says plainly, lifting her gaze from the distance and focusing it on me. “Tell her that won’t change, no matter what. Tell her you’ll wait for her, if you need to.”
I nod slowly, looking between my siblings. “But what if…” I hesitate, shutting my eyes tight at the awful fear I’m harboring inside of my chest. “What if shecan’tforgive me? What if I lose her?”
I watch them both hesitate, Nik appearing deep in thought as Nadia picks at the skin around her fingernails, her eyes focusing over my shoulder on the fogged-up windows of the brewery.
“In that case,” Nik says calmly before offering me a soft smile, “you’ll still have us.” He pats my arm twice before shoving his hand deep inside his jeans pocket. “And we’ll get you through it, the Kablukov way—long drives, lots of alcohol, and emotionally stilted, uncomfortable conversations.” Nik’s smile turns crooked, which I return. “No matter what, man. You have us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nadia mumbles before Nik fires a disapproving glare at her. “Kidding, obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you’ll have us. Always…”
“I love you both.”
“Love you too,” they reply at the same time. Nik wraps his arm around Nadia’s neck and drags her in as he brings me in too. We hug, for half a second, before Nadia makes a gagging noise and steps away.
“That’s enough of that, thank you,” she says, shaking out her limbs.
“Someday that heart of yours is going to soften, ?????,” Nik teases.
“Well,” she says, a cool smile in place. “Today is not that day.”
Twenty-nine
Prue
After I apologizedto Tracy half a dozen times, I politely rushed her out the door, successfully avoiding her attempts to not-so-subtly pry into what happened between Milo and me.
Once I had the door closed and managed to catch my breath, I did what felt most natural. I snuck upstairs to check on Mom. Except, this time, it was less to make sure she was okay and more for my own comfort.
Mom’s bedside lamp is on its dimmest setting, casting her room in a golden, cozy glow. Her breaths are steady. Her room isn’t too hot or too cold. Her hair is brushed neatly into a low bun, the way she likes it, and there’s a glass of water by the bed like I usually leave for her. I make a mental note to thank Tracy once more as I unzip my boots and softly drop them at the end of my mother’s bed.
Then, I climb in beside her and curl myself against her back, pressing my face between her shoulder blades. I breathe her in, let her warmth seep into my chilled skin, and, once the events of this evening catch up to me, I begin to gently weep against her pillow.
I can’t do it,I tell her telepathically, reaching out to press my fingertip against a grayed curl laid next to me on the pillow.I can’tkeep you here.I’m so sorry. I tried so hard. Dad is sick. Dad is sick and so are you. Dad is sick and so are you and neither of you, or I, can make it right. I’m so sorry. It’s not fair. None of it is fair. I love you. I love you.“I love you,” I whisper, unable to contain it all.
“I love you too,” my mother returns softly, rolling over to face me. I blink at her, stunned, before draping my hand across her stomach.
“Hi, Mom.” I hear my father’s bedroom door down the hall close. He’s home.
Mom’s eyes remain half closed as her face points toward the ceiling. “Bad dream, little one?” she asks, her voice far-off and sleepy but still so lucid—soher.
“Yeah,” I answer. Ihopeso. How much better would it be if this was all some terrible dream?
“D’ya want to tell me about it?”
More thananything.
