Page 194 of Mile High Ruin

Something passes through his eyes. It’s brief. Then gone.

“I told you.”

“You said it was family.”

“It is.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s the only one I’m willing to give.”

I study him. “You tried to kill him.”

Viktor’s mouth tightens slightly. “I would prefer not to discuss Chernovar while you are sitting here worrying about your brother.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Probably.”

I keep looking at him.

He sighs. “There are things between our families that began before you knew either of us. He harmed someone I love.”

I suck in a breath. Even though he doesn’t say it, I know what he means. Vadim has killed someone in his family. Because that’s what Vadim is at the end of the day—not what he is to me, but to the people around me. He’s a monster.

We sit for a few minutes before he gets up. “Eat something,” he says.

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“Probably not.”

“That’s what I thought.” He leaves.

I watch him walk away before heading home.

The apartment feels too quiet after the hospital. I shower, change into fresh clothes, put another set into my bag for tomorrow, then stand in the kitchen staring at the refrigerator until I remember I came home partly because I was supposed to eat.

I manage toast. Half of it. That’s as much as I manage before exhaustion wins.

By the time I change into an old T-shirt and crawl into my own bed, I tell myself I’m only going to close my eyes for twenty minutes before heading back to the hospital.

When I wake again, the room is dark. For a few disorienting seconds I have no idea what time it is, only that the apartment has gone completely quiet and the faint orange glow from the streetlights is spilling through the curtains. My phone is face down beside me, and my whole body feels heavy in the way it has for months now, every movement requiring slightly more effort than it used to.

I roll onto my back carefully and rest both hands over the curve beneath my shirt.

Seven months. The thought still feels impossible sometimes.

My palm moves slowly across my stomach, and almost immediately there’s a faint shift beneath my hand, a small rolling movement that makes something inside my chest soften despite everything else.

“Hi,” I whisper.

Nobody knows except Ethan.

I’ve become very good at hiding it beneath loose clothes, oversized coats, and the careful angles of someone who has spent months making sure nobody looks too closely. Ethan found out because there are some things you can’t hide from the person who has known you your entire life, especially when he notices you vomiting in a hospital bathroom and then sees prenatal vitamins fall out of your bag two days later.

I sit up slowly and keep one hand beneath my stomach as I cross the room. The baby moves again, and I rub the place absently while walking toward the window, pushing the curtain aside with my other hand.