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He looks…good. He looks different somehow, and he sounds different, too. I’ve seen Uncle Kristian without his shirt plenty of times, so why should today feel unusual?
He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and groans as I press the pad into the deepest scrape. The sound shoots straight down my spine and makes my knees weak.
What sound would he make if you dug your nails into his back?
I quickly look at what I’m doing, wondering where the hell that thought came from. I might not know whatI like being hurt when it’s youmeans, but I’ve seen enough movies to know what nails digging into men’s backs signifies, and it’s not a thought anyone should be having about their uncle.
Silence stretches between us as I keep dabbing at his cuts, and it’s not one of our comfortable silences. It’s filled with tension strung so tight it could launch a volley of arrows. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Uncle Kristian’s gaze fixed on my face. I’m casting about desperately for a way to continue the conversation, when we hear the front door open and close, and I know my stepmom, brother, and sister are home.
Uncle Kristian glowers in the direction of their voices. “I thought they’d be longer.”
As Chessa comes into the room with Lana and Arron behind her, she takes in Uncle Kristian perched shirtless on the kitchen table with me standing between his knees and purses her lips in disapproval. She and Uncle Kristian exchange looks that are downright hostile.
It’s not only because of the motorcycle accident, but I don’t understand what caused this rift. The two of them have never been the best of friends, but lately they seem to hate each other.
Chessa seems to be waiting for him to get off her kitchen table, but Uncle Kristian doesn’t move.
“Hello, Chessa.”
Instead of greeting her brother-in-law, Chessa turns to me. “Zenya, hurry up and finish what you’re doing and go to bed. It’s late.”
I glance at the clock on the wall as Lana opens the refrigerator and gets out some juice. It’s nearly two in the morning.
“My niece is busy,” Uncle Kristian tells her in a voice as hard as granite. “Zenya can go to bed when she’s finished so lovingly tending to me.” He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, smiling at me.
For some reason, annoyance burns even brighter in Chessa’s face, but instead of saying anything, she marches about the room, slamming kitchen cabinets and aggressively wiping down counters.
“Your stepmother is angry with me,” Uncle Kristian says in Russian.
“Da,” I reply, and continue in Russian, “she thinks it’s your fault that Dad got hurt.”
“That also.”
I reach for the bandages to wrap them around his shoulder, but stop. “What else would she be angry about?”
“What isn’t that woman angry about?”
Chessa is shaking out a fresh bag to line the trash. “Kristian, it’s anti-social and inappropriate to carry on a conversation with Zenya in Russian when Lana, Arron, and I can’t join in.”
The muscle in Kristian’s jaw flexes, a sure sign he’s close to losing his temper. I place a placating hand on his chest and give him a meaningful look.
He glances at my hand and then murmurs, “I was asking if my beautiful niece minded that I’ve made her stay up late tending to my wounds.”
Lana puts down her glass of juice and pretends to gag. “Stop calling her beautiful, Uncle Kristian. She’s so full of herself already.”
I smile as I unspool some bandages. Lana likes to tease me while other people can hear, but in private, she’s told me several times that I’m never ever allowed to leave home, no matter what, because they all need me.
Kristian shoots her a glare. “Zenyaisbeautiful, and your sister isn’t conceited. She has poise and grace beyond her years.”
“Poise and grace beyond her years,” Lana mocks, tipping her head from side to side as she rolls her eyes.
I smile a little at my sister’s antics as I wrap the bandage around Uncle Kristian’s shoulder.
“You see?” Uncle Kristian says to Lana, but not looking away from me. “You mock Zenya, but there’s not a flicker of annoyance on her beautiful face. Your sister will be able to face down enemies who threaten her with death, things worse than death, and she won’t bat an eyelash. Nerves of steel, this girl.”
Chessa mutters something that sounds likeGod, give me strengthand then walks out of the kitchen.
“Whatever,” Lana says, flouncing off in pursuit of her stepmother.
