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I help Leo get ready for bed even though he’s been old enough to do it himself for years. After he’s in his pajamas and tucked into bed, I take a seat on the mattress and blow out a long breath.
“Today was scary. And I’m so, so sorry it happened. All I want to do is protect you, Leo. So does your dad.”
“I know,” he says, playing with the hem of the sheet.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Some, I might not have the answers to. And there are others…I don’t want you to worry, sweetheart. When your dad found out about you, so did some of his enemies. One of them was the man who took us today.”
“What happened to him?”
I swallow. “He’s dead.”
Leo is silent, processing that for a minute. “Okay.”
I study his serious expression, trying to figure out what else to say. Leo’s eyes dart behind me, excitement lighting up his expression. I swallow for a second time, not needing to look behind me to know who must have entered the bedroom.
I lean forward and kiss his forehead. “I’m sure you want to say good night to your dad. We can talk more tomorrow. I love you, Leo. So much.”
He smiles at me. “I love you too, Mom.”
I smile back, then turn and pass Nick without making eye contact. The pieces I’m holding together feel more brittle around him.
Once I’m in my own room, I get ready for bed on autopilot. It’s a couple of hours earlier than I usually go to sleep, but I feel mentally and physically drained. I’m too nauseous to contemplate dinner.
A hot shower and slipping into pajamas help. I’m combing my wet hair when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call, hearing the hitch in my voice.
I know it’s Nick.
When he walks into the room, he’s changed as well. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything but black slacks and a black dress shirt, which seem to be his daily uniform.
I’m disappointed in my gaze—how it lingers on the gray sweatpants and white t-shirt Nick is wearing. Apparently, he owns no color. My libido doesn’t care.
“Thought you could use this.” He holds out a wineglass, half full of maroon liquid.
Disturbingly, my first thought is how it looks like blood.
“Thank you.” I take it and take a sip. The wine tastes familiar, and the realization Nick brought me my favorite wine—that he evennoticedwhat my favorite wine is—warms me more than the alcohol.
“I’m sorry, Lyla.” Earnestness leaks from every syllable.
“I don’t blame you.”
“You should.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Nick.” The long chain of events that ended in Dmitriy kidnapping me and Leo is one thing. But I know Nick would have done anything—absolutely anything—to prevent it from happening if he had any idea it might.
“Yes, it was.” His jaw clenches. “I should have ensured Dmitriy was taken care of a long time ago. If I’d had every man combing the streets for the past ten months, we would have found him by now.”
“Unless you knew where he was and decided not to do anything about it, you couldn’t have done anything.”
“I should have done more.”
“Don’t hold yourself accountable and then tell me not to.”
“That’s different. He kidnapped you. You had every right to take that shot.”
“Well…” I look away and take another sip of wine. “I can’t change it.”
