Chapter 24 I'm going to kill Jeremy Fleming. Not metaphorically. Not in some distant fantasy where karma finally catches up to him. I'm talking about actual, premeditated murder. If you think about it, it's honestly a good thing. I'd be saving countless lives by taking his. That's very utilitarian, for the common good of me, y'know? Plus, I don't plan to take any pleasure in it. (That's a lie. I'd love every second.) But my old friend, Crippling Guilt™, just won't let me pull the literal or metaphorical trigger. I took an oath to do no harm. But as I drag myself up the stairs to my apartment after a twenty-eight-hour shift from hell, all I can think about is wrapping my hands around Jeremy's throat and squeezing until that smug smile disappears forever. I slap my palm against my forehead to ward off more thoughts of execution. The motion sends my world spinning, and I have to grip the banister to keep from falling backward down the stairs. Those twenty-eight hours involved delivering a cancer diagnosis to the stunned parents of a ten-year-old, a four-hour surgery that nearly ended in disaster because the defibrillator started acting up, and a malfunction with one of the ventilators in ward six that left one of my comatose patients gasping for air on the brink of death. That alone would have been the cherry on the shit sundae that was my day. But no-the universe then had to send Jeremy Fleming straight into my path. And no, I could not just walk past the asshole. Not even when he gave me that shit-eating grin of his with a weird little nod that had my vagina trying to seal itself shut in a bout of anti-horniness. So the hell shift peaked with a screaming match with Jeremy in the middle of the pediatric ward. The low point involved me calling him a "chowder head" because that's what a five-year-old patient had called his dad earlier, and apparently, my exhausted brain thought it was the perfect insult. Jeremy's face had gone white as his bleached hair. "You can't talk to me like that! I am the head of this hospital!" "You're a pathetic excuse for a human being!" I'd yelled back, loud enough for half the ward to hear. "Tell me, Jeremy, when did you sell your soul and how much did you get for it?" He'd turned and stormed away while the nurses stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe they're right. Maybe I did. All I want now is coffee and my bed. My mattress is the one thing I'd splurged on when I moved into this shoebox apartment. Eighteen inches of memory foam paradise that consumed the entirety of my first paycheck of residency. Every other piece of furniture came from IKEA or Goodwill, but that mattress? Worth every penny. I fumble with my keys at the door, then freeze. The lights are on inside. "No," I whisper, cold dread washing over me as I push the door open. "Not today. I can't do this today." But he's never given much of a damn about my preferences. And sure enough, Prime Suspect #1 has barged in yet again. My dread morphs into irritation when I see Kovan standing in my living room, glaring around like a caged tiger in a dollhouse. "What the hell are you doing here?" I ask by way of introduction. "Hello to you, too." "Seriously, Kovan, I'm not in the mood. I had a shitty day and I'm in no state of mind to be⁠-" A new voice from my bedroom cuts me off. "-can't believe people actually live in places like this. There's no room to swing a cat!" A man I recognize as Kovan's brother emerges from my bedroom. Pavel, I think. He's almost as tall as Kovan but softer around the edges, with the kind of pretty boy face that probably got him whatever he wanted growing up. He stops when he sees me. "Oh. You're here." "This is my home," I snap. "I'm supposed to be here. You are not." I turn my glare on Kovan. "What gives you-any of you-the right to be here?" Kovan doesn't look remotely bothered by my anger. He drifts toward my bookshelf, running his finger along the spines like he owns the place. "You refused to move in with me⁠-" "Damn straight." "-so I'm moving in with you." My jaw drops. "You're kidding me." "Serious as a heart attack." He pauses, then chuckles. "Hope that's not insensitive to say to a doctor." I stomp around my coffee table. "I tell you I want my own space and this is your solution?" His voice remains maddeningly calm. "I told you there's a lot resting on our arrangement. We need to know each other, and the only way to do that is to live together. You gave me no choice." The thought of living with Kovan makes my already spinning head pound harder. If I'm going to survive this fake relationship with my sanity intact, I need distance. Space. Thick, sturdy walls between me and the way his presence seems to suck all the oxygen out of every room. I step into his path. "I need you to⁠-" "Vesper!" The words 'fuck off forever' die on my tongue as Luka's voice cuts through my anger. He appears from the hallway, his face lighting up when he sees it's really me. "You're home! Your apartment is so cool. Where's your television?" My heart does something complicated in my chest at the sight of his gap-toothed smile. "I don't own a television, hon." He rushes over and gives me a quick hug. "You don't have a bed in your second room, either." "I don't have many guests," I explain. "When I do, I just use the sofa bed." He slaps his hands against his cheeks like the concept of a futon is life-altering. "This sofa turns into a bed?! That's so cool! Can I sleep here tonight?" "Don't worry, kiddo," Kovan says. "I can have the boys move in a real bed." "It'll have to be small," another voice warns from my bedroom doorway. I turn to see Osip emerging, and I throw my hands up. "You're here, too? Jesus, how many of you are there?" "Just the four of us," Kovan says, like I'm the one being unreasonable. "I needed help moving our things." If Luka wasn't standing there with that huge smile, I would have thrown something at Kovan's head. Preferably something heavy and sharp. The manipulative bastard knows exactly what he's doing, backing me into a corner I can't escape without hurting an eight-year-old's feelings. Pavel wanders into my kitchen and opens my refrigerator without asking. "You guys are going to need more than a bed. There's nothing in here." He turns to me. "Don't you eat?" "I don't have time to eat," I snap. "Close that door." He does, then promptly moves on to my cabinets. "It gets grimmer and grimmer. Enough coffee in here to fuel an army, but no actual food. Not even a dang PopTart." I march into the kitchen and slam the cabinet shut. Pavel jerks his fingers back like he's afraid I'll crush them. "Easy there, tiger." I stare him down. "Get out. And take Baldie with you." Pavel snorts, but Osip looks like I've slapped him. "Baldie?" He runs a hand over his shaved head. "Wow. Low blow, Doc." "He's sensitive about his hair." Pavel grins. "Or lack thereof." "Yeah? Well, I'm sensitive about my privacy. And yet here we are." The two men exchange glances. "Okay, okay," Osip says, raising his hands. "We know when we're not welcome. We'll be back tomorrow with the rest of the stuff." I look at the three boxes already crowding my tiny living room. "More stuff? There's not enough space for more stuff." "Which is why it would have been smart for you to move in with Luka and me," Kovan says with perfect 'I told you so' delivery. "But you wanted to be closer to the hospital." "I work there, in case you forgot." He holds up his hands. "I'm not arguing. Just pointing out why we're here." I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "Luka, it's getting late. Shouldn't you be getting ready for bed?" He nods. "Where's the second bathroom?" "There's only one bathroom. We'll have to share. It's through that door." "Only one bathroom?" His eyes go wide. "No way!" He grabs his backpack and dashes toward the bathroom, looking excited about the prospect of the three of us sharing a bathroom the size of a broom closet. "Bye, Osip! Bye, Uncle Pavel! See you soon!" He high-fives them both before disappearing behind the bathroom door. "Whoa! It's so small!" Pavel and Osip laugh as they head out, leaving me alone with Kovan. The moment the door closes, I jab my finger into his chest. "This is fighting dirty and you know it." "I don't know what you're talking about." He walks to my kitchen and opens the fridge, just like his brother did. "Pavel was right. We need groceries." "You're not going to be comfortable here." "We'll manage. You saw Luka. The kid's having the time of his life." "Because this is new for him. But he's used to big houses and maids and⁠-" "He'll adjust." "Kovan, you're not listening to me." He closes the fridge and turns to face me. "You've got that backward. You're the one not listening to me." His voice drops, and he glances toward the bathroom. "This act we're selling has to be convincing." "I know⁠-" "How do I convince a court to give me custody when I don't even live with the girlfriend who's supposed to provide maternal influence?" I hate that he's right. "We can pretend to live together," I try. "You call me when you need me, and I'll show up at your place⁠-" He cuts me off. "No. We need to know each other. Living together is the fastest way to make that happen." I scramble for some argument, any argument, that will get me out of this without admitting how terrified I am of spending so much time with him. It's only been five minutes and I'm already leaning toward him, drawn to his warmth, staring at the way his shirt stretches across his chest. You'd think getting a medical degree would cure you of stupid romantic fantasies. You'd think becoming the youngest attending surgeon in hospital history would make you immune to a pretty face and broad shoulders. Apparently not. Not when it comes to Kovan Krayev, at least. "Vesper!" Luka calls from the bathroom, sticking his head out through a crack in the door. "Where's your bathtub?" I force myself to look away from Kovan. "My bathtub?" "Yeah. There's only a shower. What do you do when you want a bubble bath?" I can't help smiling at him. "It's gonna be showers only while you're here, kiddo." He smiles happily. "I like your apartment," Luka declares. "It's really fun." "Take a good look. This is how the other half lives." His nose wrinkles up in confusion. "The other half of what?" Kovan snaps his fingers. "Bedtime. You have school tomorrow." "Can I sleep on the sofa bed? Please? Pretty please?" Luka clasps his hands together like he's praying. I look between them, the big one and the little one, and realize this decision has already been made. I'm not about to kick a sleepy eight-year-old out of my apartment at 9:30 at night. "Fine," I mutter. "Let me get fresh sheets." I escape to my bedroom under the pretense of getting linens, but really, I'm shoving embarrassing things into drawers. Underwear draped over my reading chair. The stuffed bear I've had since childhood. A photo of three-year-old me running naked through my parents' sprinklers. All of it goes out of sight. By the time I return with sheets, the sofa bed is already pulled out and Luka is sprawled across it. "I haven't vacuumed that thing recently," I warn. "Let me get the sheets on first." Luka helps me make the bed, then immediately flops back down. "G'night, Vesper." "If you need anything, let me know." I pat his head, surprised by how natural the gesture feels. I back toward my bedroom as Kovan bends down and kisses the top of Luka's head. There it is again-that gentle side that doesn't match the stubborn, dangerous man I know him to be. The contradictory tenderness that makes my chest ache in ways I don't want to examine. "I'll be right in the next room," he tells Luka. Wait. Which room will he be in? He answers by walking straight toward my bedroom. I step into his path. "Absolutely not," I whisper. "Absolutely the fuck not." His smile is pure devil as he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. He carries me backward into my room and kicks the door shut behind us before I can even formulate a single word of protest. "Absolutely," he says in a hungry snarl. "You and I have a lot of fun things to discuss."