“You’re in shock. Are you having flashbacks?”
I nod, resting my cheek against his chest as he continues to soothe me. His heartbeat is loud against my ear and my breaths fall into its rhythm.
“I probably shouldn’t have plied you with alcohol.”
A snort pops out of me before I can think to stop it. “Hardly. If you hadn’t offered, I would’ve ripped the bottle out of your hand.”
Suddenly, I feel ridiculous. His daughter is upstairs with a doctor while I’m occupying her father with my silly reactions. Unless…
“Is Sophia’s mum with her?”
“Her mum is gone.”
“Oh.” I tentatively close my eyes again and this time all I see is the back of my eyelids. When I inhale, I can smell past the spilled scotch to the woody fragrance of Balabanov’s aftershave.
It’s such a grownup scent, dark and complex. Nothing like the one my last ex wore. If you can call a three-night-stand an ex. “You should be with your daughter.”
“I will.”
He makes no move to leave.
There’s a knock at the door and he moves his head away, calling, “Yes?”
“The doctor paged through to say she’s finished,” Brick Wall calls back.
No, not Brick Wall. Yuri.
“I’d better go,” Baxter says, the words spoken so near my ear they rustle the tiny hairs on the side of my face. His hand briefly cups the back of my head, thumb caressing my cheek, his eyes following the movement so closely I can feel their added weight. Then he pulls away, taking my fingers in his to help me back into my chair.
“Watch her,” he orders before striding away.
And watch me Yuri does.
“So,” I say after five minutes of silent scrutiny. “You see any good movies, lately?”
Before he can answer, a middle-aged woman walks through the door with a leather case. “Hey, there,” she says with a pleasant smile. “I’m Doctor Alexander. Baxter told me I should examine you.”
“Baxter?”
She cuts a glance towards Yuri, then nods. “Yes, I mean, Mr Balabanov.”
“Yeah, I know who you mean. I’m just…Baxter?”I shake my head, smiling. “It sounds like something you’d name your favourite stuffed toy.
Her eyes bounce to the door, reassuring her there’s no one there before she turns her attention back to me. “You might want to get over your amusement before he comes back.”
“What? You mean laughing at a syndicate boss’s first name isn’t polite?” I say before indulging in another chuckle.
“It isn’t wise.”
Her seriousness rubs off on me and I try to fix on my earlier fear. However, my emotions have apparently decided that I’ve overtaxed them for the day and refuse to cooperate. I feel weirdly content. Probably because of the alcohol in my bloodstream.
Or the imprint of a hug that my body can still feel.
“He mentioned you have a sore ankle,” she says, taking the seat opposite me. “Can I see?”
I pop it into her lap and wince as she pokes and prods at it. “I’ll bind it, but the worst of the pain should resolve in a week. The bruising and swelling a few weeks after that. Are you in a lot of pain?”
“No, it’s fine.”
