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Timofey killing someone he once loved and saw as family would shatter the image I have of him. What we did—what I let him do to me—in the bathroom would become twisted and sick.
His fork clatters against the table, and he grips the edges of the coffee table with white-knuckled ferocity. “I’m a selfish man, Piper. I look out for myself. I take care of myself.”
My heart lurches into my throat. Is this it? Is he confessing? He had to kill Emily to look out for himself?
I can feel the walls of this fantasy world I’ve created melting around me under the heat of his almost-confession.
"I know what it feels like to lose a family member,” he continues. “I wouldn't willingly put myself through that again.”
I lift my eyes to his, searching his face. “You mean your mother?”
His jaw sets. It’s as much of a confirmation as I’m going to get.
“I've killed plenty of people, Piper. But I did not kill Emily. It would have been like killing a part of myself."
The clamp around my chest loosens. Maybe a life with Timofey is still possible. Maybe there is a way forward for the two of us.
And maybe I’m a naive sap who falls for a beautifully-wrapped box of lies.
There’s only one way to find out.
I lay my hand over his. “Okay, Timofey. I believe you.”
80
TIMOFEY
“It’s a fucking furnace in here.” I grimace, swiping my hand over the back of my damp neck.
The NICU is a balmy seventy-five degrees at least. My clothes stick to my skin, and I would give anything to dive into another bath. Preferably with a naked Piper waiting beneath the surface.
I glance over. The hair at her temples is curling in the humidity. The sheen across her skin reminds me of the dewy glow she had post-orgasm.
“Well, Benjamin can’t really wear clothes with all of this going on,” she says, gesturing to his tiny body. “They want to keep him comfortable.”
Her words send the dirty thoughts scuttling to the dark corners of my mind where they belong. Benjamin is wearing nothing but a diaper, a huge white bandage, and a maze of wires and tubes. They crisscross over his sleeping body and connect to a half-dozen different machines beeping around his bassinet.
He looks impossibly small next to all of the equipment.
And fragile. So fucking fragile.
“He doesn’t look comfortable.”
Piper lays a hand on my shoulder. I almost pull away on instinct. But the feel of her next to me is a surprising comfort.
She’s been here the entire time. All night at the penthouse. During the three-hour surgery. For the last hour while we’ve waited to talk to the doctor.
Knowing your child is under some surgeon’s knife and there’s nothing you can do to help is an emotion I’d be fine never experiencing again.
“He looks good,” she says softly. “Look how pink his skin is. When we brought him in, he looked gray.”
“His lips were blue. I remember.”
Piper’s hand tightens on my arm. When she speaks, her voice wavers. “He was so sick, Timofey. But look at him now.”
His chest rises and falls in deep, strong breaths. His lips are a pale rose color. He gets his mouth from his mom. Emily’s lips were the exact same, deeply bowed in the middle and upturned at the corners.
I’m about to thank Piper for checking on Benjamin last night. For calling me and getting him to the hospital so fast. But before I can, the door opens.
