He scowls. "It’s Sunday. They weren’t open. Stupid fucking laws."
I bite back a smile, even as the pain lingers.
"Do I want to ask how you got everything?" Polina asks, her eyes twinkling.
He smirks at her. "You told me to get this shit, and I got it. So, no."
"Come here, Matvei. Your hands are bigger than mine, so you’ll probably do a better job than I will. When the contractions happen, you need to put counterpressure right here."
She takes his hands, placing his fingers exactly where they need to go.
"Pressing here will help alleviate some of the pain while I get what she needs, okay?"
When his large hands take the place of hers, she’s right.
His handsarestronger.
At first, he’s tentative, as if he doesn’t want to hurt me.
"It’s okay," I whisper. "You can press harder. It feels good."
Polina is rifling through the bags, making sounds of approval.
"Oh my god. You even got the prescription meds already. Did you wake the doctor for this?"
He scowls at her. "Of course I did."
I almost smile even through my pain. I can imagine his heavy fist pounding on a door, a gun at a hapless doctor’s head.
"Of course you did," she repeats. "Just like any of you guys would have."
"You bought steak and chocolate? How many places did you go?"
"As many as I had to."
"All the years that I’ve known you, I never actually thought I’d say this—but you’re sweet. This is sweet."
I smile when he grunts.
They keep talking, but I don’t hear because the pain is rising again. I try to stifle a whimper.
It starts slow, creeping over me in waves, then?—
The band around my middle tightens.
Harder.
Excruciating.
My back spasms.
I clench my teeth together.
"Breathe," Polina says, her hand in mine. "Matvei."
His huge hands span my back, pressing against the spasms.
Relief.
