Ruslan winces. “And Dmitri?”
“Wants to deal with me later.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It is.”
I open the door and step inside. Ruslan follows without asking, which tells me he has something else on his mind. I shrug off my jacket and toss it over the back of a chair.
“What?” I ask.
He takes his time answering, which I don’t like. “One of the guards on the east side saw Polina this morning. The compound has a doctor on staff, I guess. She was on her way back from seeing him.”
My body goes on alert, and my spine snaps ramrod straight. “Why was she there? Is she hurt?”
He tilts his head to the side, trying to tell me something without actually saying it. “All I know is she’s been throwing up.”
The room goes silent.
Every thought I have crashes into the next. Concern hits first, fast and hard. Is she sick? Is something wrong? Did she go alone? Then Ruslan’s look settles in, and the possibility opens under my feet.
No.
I bark out a laugh, because the second the thought takes shape, I know exactly why it terrifies me. Not only because I might have put a child in her body, but because I might have done it and lost the right to stand beside her before I ever knew.
Then one brutal truth follows another. She could be carrying my child. She could be dealing with it alone. If that’s what this is, I’ve earned every locked door waiting for me.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
I drag a hand over my mouth and look at the floor, then at the door, then back at him.
“She would have told me,” I claim, though I no longer believe it.
Ruslan lifts a brow. “Would she?”
No.
Not now.
Not after what I did.
I grab my keys off the table and head for the door.
Ruslan moves aside but tells me, “If that’s what this is, don’t go there and make it worse.”
“That advice would’ve been more useful a few months ago.”
By the time I’m out the door and across the hall, I’ve told myself five different versions of what I’ll say when she opens the door. None survive longer than a few seconds.
I reach her rooms and knock once, hard enough to be heard.
Nothing.
I wait, then knock again.
“Polina,” I yell into the wood.
No answer.
I try the handle, but it’s locked.
For one stupid second I rest my forehead against the door and listen for movement on the other side. There’s none. Either she isn’t here, or she’s here and wants me shut out.
Either way, deep down, I know the truth is, there’s no coming back from this for us. No matter how badly I wish it wasn’t true.
