Her breathing is unsteady but she doesn’t pull back. I gather her hair into a ponytail and secure it back with the hair tie from around her wrist. Turning her around so that we’re face to face, I pat the washcloth over her forehead, cooling the area.
She doesn’t look into my eyes.
“Alright,” I say, tossing the washcloth back into the shower. “Bedtime for you.”
“No. It’s morning. I have things to—”
“You’re going to rest.”
She relaxes her shoulders, finally surrendering. “Fine.”
I guide her into the spare bedroom she’s been staying in, peeling back the covers as she gets settled. I tuck her in when her head hits the pillow, and then head to the door.
“Where are you going?” Her voice is croaky.
“To fetch you some water.”
“Oh. Sparkling, please.”
My mouth pulls into a smirk, returning a moment later to set it on the nightstand.
“Thanks,” she says, voice scratching against a dry throat. “You’re good at this.”
I shrug. “My mother was sick.”
Lauren frowns.
“Cancer,” I say, answering the question she was getting ready to ask. “She was already undergoing treatment when she got killed.”
My words are clipped.Blyad.I never talk about this. I don’t know why I thought it necessary to bring this up, but talking to her about it feels… right?
“I’m sorry,” Lauren says softly.
“Get some rest.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but instead just draws a breath. As I advance to the door, she speaks. “Niko… you were right.”
“About?”
“I can’t do this alone,” she says.
I pause in the doorway, frowning. Interesting. I never thought I’d hear this from her. Perhaps she’s finally starting to realize that I’m on her side.
I turn back around to see her looking up at me from the bed, her fingers curling over her stomach. We can keep this hidden for now between just us two, but a bump will be there soon. Nine months later, a baby.
Ourchild.
“I… need help. Your help.” says Lauren.
I open and close my mouth. Now isn’t the right time to say ‘I told you so.’ Nevertheless, it is interesting to hear that from her.
Did she really just say that?
That she needs my help?
“What do you need my help with?” is my response.
“Finding the person who killed my mother,” she says.
