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Josh gulps. Then he fixes his gaze on the black leather heavy bag in the corner and starts talking. “He used to make me steal from Aunt Emma. Take money out of her purse ‘n’ stuff. When I refused, he would… Sometimes, he would h-hit m-me.” He swallows again, his eyes shifting around the gym as though they don’t know where to land.
And as for me? I’m talking myself calm.Breathe. Sit.Because if I don’t win that internal battle, I’m gonna storm out of here, track down that useless fuck, and beat him until he’s nothing but a bloodstain beneath my shoe.
This isn’t the moment for that, though.
This is a moment for the boy.
“After a while, I stopped helping him, even when he hit me or pushed me around. But then he said he would do things to Rae and Caro.”
My vision goes red.
“I hated doing it,” he continues. “I hated stealing from Aunt Emma. She worked so hard and she trusted me. B-but… I—”
“You were trying to protect your sisters,” I help him out. “There’s no shame in that, Josh. You have nothing to feel bad about. Not a goddamn thing, do you understand?”
“But… I did a bad thing. So many times.”
“No—you did what you had to do to survive.”Maybe Emma did, too.I push that thought away and focus on the tremulous eight-year-old. “Thanks for trusting me with this, kid. That takes courage.”
He gives me a shy smile. “Thanks for training me. I know that you’re busy. And that you’re important. It means a lot that you… that you want to spend time with me.”
For fuck’s sake, is that a lump in my throat? I can’t remember the last time I felt choked up with emotion. Not since Leonid died.
“I’m really glad you and Aunt Emma are having a baby together,” he adds.
I give him a shaky smile. For the first time in a long time, possibly in my entire life, I have no clue what to say.
21
EMMA
Usually, I wake up to two little monkeys jumping on my bed. Today, however—silence.
It’s glorious. So glorious in fact that it feels too good to be true. Where are the girls? Are they okay? Or should I be more worried about the destruction they’re no doubt wreaking on the house?
I end up ruining my peaceful sleep-in by worrying myself awake. I shower fast, dress faster, and sweep my way next door to the girls’ room.
It’s empty.
I follow my instincts into the kitchen. I hear them before I see them, their little voices raised in excitement.
“I want maple syrup on mine!” Caroline proclaims.
“I want chocolate syrup on mine!” That’s Reagan, of course. The kid’s a fiend when it comes to chocolate. I swear her veins are straight-up Hershey’s at this point.
“Don’t worry; we have both.”
I’m just about to enter the kitchen when I hear his voice and freeze. I was expecting Kirill, not Ruslan. I hang back and peek in tentatively. I spy Josh just outside the French doors, sitting on one of the deck chairs with a book. He looks pretty tired, considering it’s only 8:30 in the morning.
The girls, however, look like little Energizer bunnies. They’re both propped up on the breakfast stools surrounding the marble countertops. Ruslan is standing in front of them at the stove, flipping pancakes on a griddle.
I groan inwardly. He’s flippingpancakesnow? It’s bad enough that he’s got muscles of steel and a face that could make angels weep. Does he have to be a pancake artist, too?
One visual sweep of the kitchen makes it obvious that he whipped them up from scratch, too. My pancakes come from a box. No one’s ever accused me of being an overachiever.
I’m trying to figure out how I can gracefully slip away and leave them to it when Rae spots me.
“Auntie Em!” she cries. “We’re making pancakes!”
