“Twenty-three weeks,” I supplied, and the EMT’s gaze flicked to me.
“Are you Dad?” she asked.
The designation caught me by surprise again, but I nodded. “Yes. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. We’re just checking her out. Dad, you need to breathe, too, okay? She’s safe. She’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She said the last for both our benefits. But Eva’s face crumpled again, her entire body heaving with a wracking sob like a tsunami of the whole night’s reality crashing down on her at once.
I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I pulled myself up into the ambulance, my bandaged back screaming in protest, and took Eva into my arms, holding her close, whispering to her that I was there, that she was safe, that we were okay. I moved only enough to let the EMTs do their job.
What had followed that night and the next week is a blur in my memory. All the police questioning, Vasya’s funeral, time at the hospital with Dmitri as he fought for his life, and combing through the wreckage of what had once been my sanctuary.
Eight weeks later, the confusion has finally started to clear, and I see only a shadow in Eva’s eyes now as she smiles up at me from the safety of my arms.
“Come on,” she says, pulling away, then slipping her hand into mine. “Don’t want to be late.”
As we settle into the dark ultrasound room, the tech gives Eva a friendly smile, then slips onto the high stool and flips the switch to raise the bed.
“How are you guys doing today?”
“Good. Tired.”
Eva is more than tired. She’s having trouble sleeping because she can’t get comfortable. She can hardly eat with the constant heartburn. We go on long, slow walks along the beach, the cold waves washing against her swollen ankles and feet. And I wonder how she’s going to make it ten more weeks.
If itisten weeks. We’ve been warned twins often come early.
But no matter how much Eva complains about feeling like a whale, she is beautiful to me. Even more beautiful with every passing day.
I’m still who I have always been, the Kucherov Demon. But now, I’m also Eva’s husband and the father of our children. If I’m the same hardened monster to the public and with my men, I am someone different with Eva. Someone I suppose was always at my core, in danger of disappearing until Eva broke through my terrible, beastly mask to my heart.
“All right, Mama. You ready to see your babies?”
“Yes.” Eva squeezes my hand, her expression bright and full of wonder, as the sea of gray-and-black shades appears on the big screen in front of us.
Our children. Our twins. A boy and a girl, which we finally learned only after Eva went back and forth about knowing now versus waiting until the birth.
They move as we watch, sucking thumbs, kicking in time with the ripples that move across Eva’s abdomen and the tightly stretched skin there. They move, too, when Eva laughs and when I press my lips to her belly and murmur sweet things to them.
“Everything looks good, Mama, Daddy,” the tech announces as she takes different pictures and measurements on the screen. “The doctor will talk with you, but growth is normal, and heart rate is good.”
Eva turns her head from the screen to beam up at me, glowing with happiness. I squeeze her hand again and kiss her forehead before kissing her lips.
“You ready?” she asks, meeting my gaze.
“If you’re by my side, I’m ready for anything life throws at us,” I reply.
I’m ready for this new chapter in my life, to take the step I was so afraid to take, the one I was so afraid no one would take with me. I am the monster I have always been. But I am also Evgeny Kucherov, and with Eva, at least, I can be that man.
I’ve found myself, and I’ve found a woman who saw me for who I was under the savage mask. The person even I didn’t know was there. A woman who took a chance on me despite my darkness. Or maybe because of it.
I’ve found my home.
EPILOGUE
EVA
Six Months Later
