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“Emma, dear.” Dr. Owens pulls me back with a gentle pat on my arm. “Look at the screen. There’s your baby.”
I try to breathe through my budding tears. Half of them are for the beautiful little blob on the screen right now. The other half is for the man sitting as far away from me as he possibly can. At least he’s actually looking at the screen now.
“The baby’s healthy?” Ruslan asks Dr. Owens in a bored rumble.
“Yes. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Good. Then I’m no longer needed here.” I sit up a little straighter. He’s my ride—where the hell does he think he’s going? Ruslan throws me only a cursory glance. “Once you finish up the appointment, Boris will be waiting outside to drive you back to the estate.”
He’s not even gonna drive me back?
Before I can find my voice and ask, he stalks out of the room. But even when he’s gone, his bad vibes linger. I collapse back against the examination chair and try to squeeze my tears back into their ducts.
“Emma, sweetheart, are you okay?”
I force a smile onto my face. “A-okay, Doc.”
Only, of course I’m not. How can I be, when the man I’m gonna have a baby with thinks the absolute worst of me? I’ve tried not to care but that’s proving to be the challenge of my life. Every day, I wake up and try not to care, and every day, I lose.
“Can I have a couple of copies of the sonogram please?”
“Of course. I’ll get that printed for you straightaway.”
Phoebe’s gonna want a copy. And who knows? Maybe Ruslan will decide he wants one, too. I’ll keep extras on hand just in case he decides that being a father is more important than punishing me.
But I’m not gonna hold my breath.
20
RUSLAN
“Yes!” I roar. “That’s the way to do it!”
I’ve been training the kid again for two weeks now and he’s picked up right where we left off. His right hook is really coming along. It kindles an old excitement, the same exhilarated sense of accomplishment that I felt in my early boxing days when I was still learning.
Back when Leonid was my teacher.
Every now and then during our training sessions, I hear my brother’s voice in my head and his words come out of my mouth.
I was the second son; I knew I would never be as important to the Bratva as him, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to be important tohim.
And I knew I was, every time he took time out of his own training to come and spend a few hours in the gym with me. I adopted his boxing style. I copied his fighting techniques. I trained just as religiously as he did.
It wasn’t about competing with him.
It was about making him proud.
I thought I had to earn it. It’s not until this moment, with Josh, that I realize how pointless my attempts were. I never had to try to earn Leonid’s love. He would have been proud of me either way.
“Good man. Let’s take a break now.”
Josh lowers his fists reluctantly. “I can go another round.”
I can’t help grinning. The kid’s got both heart and determination. I pat his shoulder and gesture for him to take a seat on the benches. “You need to rest your body, too. No point overexerting yourself. Drink some water.”
I toss him a bottle and grab one myself. I’ve had a few thoughts percolating in my head these past few days. The more time I spend with Josh, the more impressed I am by him. He doesn’t just have the makings of a leader; he’s got the heart of a fighter, too. He may not have been born Bratva, but this child is Bratva through and through.
Training him with that in mind might not be the worst thing to do.
