“I’ve already seen it. I know the dates. I know the times. I know exactly how fucked this is.”
“So let me say it,” I start. “Let me—”
“No,” he says softly. “We’re not doing that.” His thumb brushes under my eye. “Not right now. Not here.”
I swallow. “Detka—”
“I love you, Arseny,” he says as if he’s daring me to argue with him. My brain goes blank, but he doesn’t rush me, and he doesn’t fill the silence. He stays there, his warm hands on my face, eyes locked on mine, braced for impact and willing to take it.
“I love you, Caiden,” I whisper back.
“So shut up. Stop thinking. Stop counting.” He exhales. “Let me have you for five more minutes without the world getting involved.” My insides give way, and it breaks me open.
I kiss him again, like I’m agreeing to a crime.
His mouth is still on mine when the world comes back into focus. It’s not gradual; it slams in all at once. There’s a shout outside the truck. It’s fast, urgent, and too loud to ignore. “Arseny!” I freeze. “Ars— fuck, where are you?”
I pull back just enough to listen, my heart’s already hammering like it’s trying to vacate my body. Caiden’s hands stay on me, holding on for whatever’s coming next.
The tarp at the back of the truck jerks. “Arseny!” Niko barks again. “There you are—” He stops dead when he sees us. For a second, nobody moves. Then Niko’s face changes. He’s not annoyed; he’s gone pale in a way I’ve only ever seen once or twice before. “It’s time,” he says. “She’s in labour. It’s happening. Now.”
I don’t realise what he’s said at first.
Baby. Now. Time. Shit.
Caiden’s grip tightens instinctively, like he’s holding me in place while my brain scrambles to reassemble itself. I nod once. “I’m coming.”
Niko steps back immediately, already turning away. “Good. We don’t have time.” The tarp falls back into place and for one last second, it’s just us again. Caiden leans in and presses his forehead to mine.
“Go,” he says softly, not letting me apologise. “I’m here.” I don’t trust my voice, so I kiss him instead.
Then I’m gone.
The jeep tyres cut through snow as if I could slice through time itself if I push hard enough. Niko’s in the passenger seat, his knee bouncing, fingers white-knuckled around the grab handle. He’s talking, half to me, half to himself. The words tumble over each other. Time, contractions, doctor. He keeps repeatingnow, like if he says it enough times, it’ll stop being real.
“Breathe,” I say, calm as if we’re heading to a briefing. “You’re doing that thing again.”
He huffs. “What thing?”
“Panicking in bullet points.” He glares at me, annoyed, but he knows I’m right, and he hears me. His breathing stutters, then slows, dragging it into a rhythm while I keep my eyes on the road. “She packed the bag?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Has the paperwork?”
“Yes, Ari,” he snaps.
“Good. Then you’re ahead of the situation, not behind it.”
“That’s not how childbirth works,” he snaps again.
“No,” I agree. “But it’s how you work.” That gets a shaky exhale out of him.As I drive, I feel the weight from the last hour pressing in on me— the truck, the tarp, Caiden’s mouthon mine, the words still ringing in my skull — and I shove it all down hard.
There will be time for that later.
Niko rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Yes, you do,” I say. “You listen. You don’t faint.”
