Chapter 26 Three's a crowd, and this morning in my bathroom proves it. I stand in line-in line, like we're at fucking Disney World-behind two men who've invaded my space, my routine, my carefully constructed solitude, and above all, my sanity. I want to scream, but I'm too tired from a sleepless night of tossing and turning within a tight radius so I didn't accidentally graze my uninvited bed guest. Who, it must be said, is absolutely ginormous. At least he sleeps without moving. It was honestly kind of creepy. Nary a twitch or a scoot the whole night long. It was like sleeping next to Dracula. While the boys monopolize my shower, I go down the hall of my apartment building to raid Charity's kitchen. She's not home, so I let myself in and grab cornflakes, bread, butter, eggs, and orange juice, the good kind with no pulp. My hands shake slightly as I gather everything. When did feeding people become so terrifying? "Did you just steal that from your neighbor?" Luka's voice stops me cold as I juggle groceries on my way back into my unit. He's fresh from the bathroom, smelling like my freesia soap, and the sight of this unfairly treated little boy-clean, safe, happy, using my things like he belongs here-does something unfathomable to my ovaries. "I have a key." I hold up the evidence. "Does your neighbor know that?" Kovan emerges from my bedroom toweling off wet hair. He looks like a shampoo commercial. Or a sex toy commercial. A two-in-one sort of deal. "Har, har, har," I fake-laugh. "Yes, of course. She's my best friend. We share everything." "Hm. So you do eat." Kovan settles at my table with the easy confidence of a man who's never questioned his place anywhere. "When I have time." I focus on cracking eggs, but my hands won't stop trembling. "How about eggs on toast?" "That depends. You do know how to make eggs, don't you?" I scowl at him. "You break them and put them in a pan with butter. Cooking is not rocket science." "I love cooking," Luka announces, face bright and proud. "Uncle Kovan and I made chocolate cake one time. It was the best." I gawk at Kovan. This man who kills people in hospital shootouts also bakes with his nephew on weekends? How is it possible that one man can possess both a set of abs you can grate carrots on and the ability to cook said carrots? "You cook?" I ask, trying to pitch my voice casually, conversationally, totally unbothered. He shrugs like it's nothing. "Kid has to eat, doesn't he? And with his allergies, homemade is safer." What's next: the man is a certified Swedish masseuse? Licensed Kama Sutra instructor? Does he whittle and sing in a choir and help old ladies cross the street, too? "You'll have to teach me," I hear myself squeak to Luka. "Making chocolate cake sounds fun." "We could bake this weekend! What do you say, Uncle Kovan?" "Chocolate cake comes later." Kovan rises and plucks the eggs from my still-shaking hands. "Breakfast comes now." I watch him move around my kitchen gracefully. He makes better eggs in two minutes than I've made in my entire life. "It's cool that you live next to your best friend," Luka remarks, swinging his legs. "I think so, too," I agree. "What's your friend's name?" "Charity." "Is she a doctor like you?" "Not quite. She's an EMT." "Oh! Uncle Kovan called them once when I had a bad reaction." The pride in his voice when he talks about Kovan physically hurts me. This is what love looks like. This messy, fierce, protective thing that makes a man rearrange his entire life around a child's needs. I've forgotten what it feels like to be someone's priority. Luka nods happily as the smell of cooking eggs wafts over to us from the kitchen. I can't remember the last time that pan was used. Hell, I can't remember the last time there was food in this apartment that wasn't bought from a take-out place. A moment later, Kovan slides plates of perfect eggs and buttered toast across the table. The domesticity of it-breakfast, conversation, the three of us around my table-feels like playing house. But with every passing second, it feels less and less like a game. I stand, needing distance. "Coffee, anyone?" "Sit. It's already handled." Kovan places a steaming mug in front of me. His fingers brush mine for half a second. That's all it takes. Half a second of skin contact and I'm remembering last night. The heat of him beside me in bed. The hours I waited for him to cross boundaries I'd drawn but didn't really want. "Oh. Thanks." Kovan looks at Luka, who's eyeing his plate uncomfortably. "What's the matter, Luka?" He shrugs with that telltale, I don't wanna talk about it sadness of children. "I dunno. I'm not hungry." Something in his tone makes me look closer. The brightness from moments ago has dimmed. "Why not?" Luka glances at Kovan. "I... I just remembered I have to see Mama later." Kovan's jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle. "Until custody's settled, I can't stop the visits completely," he explains to me. "She doesn't want to see me." Luka gets smaller with each word, both his voice and his posture. "She always says mean things about you." Rage floods through me so fast it's dizzying. "That's not right. You shouldn't be in the middle of this." Kovan's look suggests I've stated the obvious, but I don't care. Someone needs to be outraged on this kid's behalf, right? "If you want me there, I'll cancel my meetings," Kovan offers. "The client from France can wait. You're more important." The absolute certainty in his voice makes me shiver. This is what a parent sounds like. What protection feels like. What I had once and lost and thought I'd never see again. "No, it's okay." Luka pushes eggs around his plate. "You don't have to." The resignation in his voice-like he's already learned not to expect too much from the adults in his life-makes me want to tear up. "I could be there, too," I say before I can stop myself. And why not? Every kid needs to know that their parents will walk through fire for them. Luka may not have that. But at least he has an uncle who's willing to move mountains for him. The more I see Kovan doing, the more I'm willing to shoulder some of the weight. "Really?" Hope flickers in his eyes, then dies. "Well... maybe not. Mama wouldn't like that." "Forget her," Kovan growls. "What do you want?" "I don't want anyone to fight." I catch Kovan's eye before he can respond. Not now. Not when the kid's already hurting. "Okay, sweetheart," I say. "Just eat your eggs. Maybe tonight we can do something fun. Watch a movie, maybe?" "On the pull-out sofa?" His excitement is heartbreaking in its simplicity. "You don't have a television," Kovan reminds me. "I have my dad's projector. We'll go old school. How's that sound, Luka?" He looks up at me. For a second, I wonder if I've crossed the line. I'm not his mother, after all. I'm not his uncle's girlfriend, either, not really. I'm not anything. But then he smiles, and I feel like maybe I can be something to him. He deserves as much love as he can get-and if he lets me, I'll give him everything I have to offer. "Yeah," he says quietly. "That sounds awesome." Over Luka's head, Kovan makes eye contact with me. "Thank you," he mouths. I feel lighter than I've felt in months. The boy's mother bats away her own tears before squatting down to her son, who's screaming so loudly that I can't hear her over his cries. But she keeps talking in that calm, melodious voice until he finally quietens down. "... doctor will patch you up, sweet boy. Don't you worry about a thing. She's got you. I've got you. We've all got you..." She squeezes his hand, her smile shaky but determined. That's what a mother is. The calm in the storm. The rock you lean on. The person who feels unflappable in the face of your own uncertainty. It's not that she's fearless or invincible. But that's exactly what she feels like. For the umpteenth time that day, Luka's face flashes across my head. The way his face crumpled in on itself the moment he thought about his mother. She's not the calm in his life. She's the storm. "Earth to Vesper! Paging Dr. Space Cadet! You okay?" Charity appears beside me, decked out in her EMT uniform. "Sure," I insist, turning from the emergency department and heading towards triage. "I'm fine." But I'm not fine. Not fine at all. I haven't been fine since I fell asleep longing for a dangerous man to touch me and woke up longing for a scared boy to let me love him. Charity studies my face with the practiced eye of someone who's known me too long. "You sure you're fine?" "Positive." I shake out my tired, cramping neck. "When did you get here?" "Couple minutes ago. We brought in a senior citizen with a broken femur. He's being taken care of now. Gonna take my lunch break in a bit. Care to join me?" "I still have a few rounds to do. Next time, maybe?" Charity squints at me, one eyebrow arching with concern. "Something's off with you," she presses. "You might as well just tell me, V." Sighing, I open the door to a nearby storage room and gesture her inside. I follow her into the cool, dark space. The rack of oxygen masks is nearly empty, I notice. Of course we're running low. Will it be resupplied? As long as Jeremy Fleming is in charge, that's highly unlikely. "I've just been worried about Luka all day. He has a meeting with his mother this evening and-" I stop short when I see that look on Charity's face, a mixture of pity and sympathy. "What?" "You're falling for him." My heart stops. "I am not⁠-" "Not the man. The boy." The distinction doesn't make it better. "He's a good kid who deserves better." "And? What's the plan, hm? You going to be his mother now?" "I never said⁠-" "He's living with you, isn't he? Him and his hot uncle? It's only a matter of time, wouldn't you say?" I turn and riffle through the few remaining oxygen masks, needing something to do with my hands, and catch my finger on an exposed nail. "Damn it!" Charity holds out a hand. "Let me see." "It's fine. I'm fine," I insist yet again. But again, it's a lie. Nothing's fine. Not this conversation, not the way my life has been turned upside down, not the fact that I'm starting to care about people I'm supposed to walk away from. Sighing, she hands me a strip of gauze. "You're getting too attached." "I'm a grown woman. I can handle my emotions." "Can you? He's gorgeous." "What does that have to do with anything?" I lash out bitchily. "I'm not on the market. And I don't think he is, either." "If he was, would it matter?" "No!" Charity's eyes widen. "Jeez. I'm just asking." I lower my voice. "Look, I care about Luka and I want to help. But I'm getting something out of this, too, remember?" "Oh, yes, hon," she says sadly. "I remember." "And as for Kovan," I continue over her obvious doubt, "I think we can be friends. At least as far as this ruse goes." "Friends," she echoes dubiously. "Friends. With a guy like that. Honey..." "We have things in common." I focus on wrapping my finger with the gauze and, more importantly, avoiding her eyes. "We've both lost people. Neither of us does sentiment well. Friendships have been built on less." "Sure, fine, that's valid. And after your deal is done, what then? You'll walk away from both of them? Rinse your hands of the whole mess? Can you live with that?" Her question lingers long after she's finished asking it. I weigh what that would look like. Walk away from Luka's gap-toothed smile and Kovan's protective fury. Walk away from morning coffee and bedtime conversations and the feeling of being needed for something other than the scalpel in my hand for once. "That's the deal," I say at last. "I have my career. I don't have time for anything else." Charity's expression says everything her words don't. "If you say so, Ves. If you say so."