“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, aiming for bewilderment even if what I feel is frustration. Bea pushes back, looking up at me with confusion. For a second, I think I seeanger flash in her eyes, but she blinks, and it’s gone as she waits. “Where willyoube?”
“Oh,” she considers and answers in a quieter voice, “I didn’t want to assume anything.”
I lace my fingers through hers and pull her alongside me toward my bedroom, the massive king-sized bed perfectly made. It’s the opposite of how I left it that afternoon before the game. I had taken a nap, slept late, and was in a hurry to keep to my pre-game schedule. The sheets still smelled like Bea from the night before when she had snuck over after I put Nat to bed and left at the first stirrings of tiny feet. I’m glad it isn’t in the same shape. I don’t want any memories of before to cloud the experience of now.
I gently guide Bea on top of the covers, positioning us until she’s wrapped in my arms and draped across my chest. There’s no protest from her, even if I sense confusion, as I settle us in bed. I let my fingers toy with her hair, gathering my thoughts.
“I don’t want you anywhere else but with me,” I start. Bea shifts, a sign that she’s listening. “And not just because of everything that happened, but because of everything that came before and after. I know there wasn’t a name for us, but there was an ‘us.’ I don’t want that to change. I want you here because I am crazy about you.”
The tips of Bea’s fingers stroke up and down my arm in a soothing fashion. They don’t tease with their gentle touch; they connect, they reassure. They trail along the links of my chain, lifting it and tucking it under my shirt collar. I found it waiting on the counter in my bathroom, and it warmed me to know Bea held it in her care. Grounded by her ministrations, I find my voice to keep talking.
“What you did this past week—taking care of Natalia, managing things with the team and the crew, arranging my post care appointments.” Bea’s fingers still, and I squeeze her, a smalllaugh escaping my lips. “You think I don’t know? You’d make one hell of a defenseman on the ice with the way you’ve looked after me. The way you’ve looked aftereveryoneI care about.”
“I know it was supposed to be Cal, but I was already here when he called.” Bea’s voice is small, drenched with an emotion I can’t quite name but I’ve felt every day since Natalia was born. Paternal. Visceral. Ancient in a way that can’t be explained until it’s experienced. “I wanted it to be me—Ineededit to be me to take care of her.” A shaky exhale crackles through the darkness around us. “I love that little girl.”
“She loves you, too.”And so do I,I want to tell her, the temptation growing greater with every passing minute. Instead, I give another truth. “I can see it in the way she responds to you, looks to you for things she needs—not a snack or her shoes. The intangible things. I don’t think there is anyone else I would have wanted to be with her through this. I’m never going to be able to thank you enough,solnyshka.But it also means I can’t go back to having you be apart from us. Will you stay tonight?”
“Only tonight?”
Bea’s head shifts, looking up at me with unrestrained vulnerability. I know what she means. It’s the conversation we never got to have. The conversation that seems trivial after the events of the last week. We have never needed a definition, but I’m happy to give us one now. Because she needs to know, maybe not all of it, but enough to reassure her that this is real.
“For a start,” I lean down, awkwardly twisting in half to brush a kiss on her lips.
The next timeI open my eyes, the darkness of the room is slowly being overtaken by streaks of blue-gray light. The transition from sleep to consciousness mirrors the movement of night to day. My head is catching up to the reason I’m awake, but not as quickly as the body next to mine does. Bea bolts upright and leaps from the bed before the sound finally registers with me: Natalia is crying.
My long legs can’t close the gap between me and Bea when she runs from the room, down the hall to Natalia’s. With practiced efficiency, Bea wrenches the door open and crosses to Natalia’s bed, where my daughter hugs Floppy tightly to her chest and cries into the pink ears. Words tumble from Natalia’s lips between heaving sobs, trying to tell Bea about the terrible dragon that took her daddy and wouldn’t give him back. It doesn’t surprise me that Natalia uses Russian to explain herself; she often reverts to the language when she’s scared or tired. I step forward to translate for Bea, my fatherly instincts kicking in to care for my child. But before I can, Bea gently eases the covers back and slips into the full-sized bed, curling herself around my crying child.
“Vso v poryadke, ya zdes.”Bea shushes and pulls Natalia closer. Her lyrical delivery of my other language softens the edges of a distraught Nat.“Smelaya, prekrasnaya devochka. ya budu tebya zashchishchat.”
Natalia quiets as Bea tells her over and over again how beautiful and brave she is. How safe and cared for she is with Bea by her side. Awestruck, I watch as Natalia quiets and cuddlesinto her, tiny hiccups giving way to soft snores as the nightmare fades and sleep claims her once more. But Bea never moves. She stays wrapped around my daughter, protective and fierce, even as the terror that held her passes. When she finally lifts her gaze to me, there’s a blink of surprise, as if she forgot I was here.
“They started when you didn’t come home. I thought it wouldn’t happen now you’re here,” Bea whispers. Her words are low, the volume enough not to disturb Natalia, but the weight loud enough to unsettle me immediately. I reach them in three strides, climbing into the too-small bed. Bea helps me adjust Natalia between us, and I lie an arm across both of them.
“Solnyshka? Ya tebya lyublyu.”
So much for not saying those three words.
CHAPTER 20
BEA
“Where the fuck are my fucking trousers?” I growl, digging through a drawer in my walk-in closet.
“Which pair?” Violet asks in my right ear as I continue the search. “You sure they’re not at Nicky’s house? I think half your wardrobe has migrated there.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem! I don’t know which closet anything is in.” I sigh, throwing my hands up as though she can see me through the phone. I abandon the first drawer and start pulling out another.
“There are worse problems to have,” my best friend gently chides. “It’s been two weeks since Nicky was discharged, and you’ve only been back to your townhouse long enough to get more clothes. The ice in the freezer should be paying the rent on the place—it at least still lives there.”
A flash of navy corduroy has me hopping from foot to foot. I pull the high-waisted vintage garment free, the material flying into my face from the sheer force of my effort.
“There you fuckers are! Gotcha!”
“Congratulations!” The giggle in my ear is followed by a soft round of applause. Gripping my prize in one hand, I affix my fists at my hips, surveying the half-empty closet before exiting into my bedroom and the open weekend bag on my bed. “Seriously, though, babe. When is moving day?”
“I don’t know.” I brush her question aside, choosing to return to the closet. “It’s not high on the priority list right now. And he hasn’t exactly asked. Nicky’s just cleared the last of his follow-up appointments.”
“How is he feeling?”
