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“The kids ok?” Axel mumbled, picking at his duffel bag again.
“They’re fine,” I replied, biting off any additional commentary. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” I added, as close to affection as I could muster at the moment.
“Thanks.”
“Try to keep it that way, huh?”
“Fuck off.” He said it with a huff, glancing up at me before looking away. Everyone else would have probably written off his surliness as being a teenage junkie but I knew he was scared. Hell,Iwas scared. I was scared every fucking day of my life but thanks to Misha, Axel was getting a real chance to get out, to be better than the rest of us. If he could turn it around now, there was no telling what he’d accomplish. He just had to hold it together for two more years.
I crossed over to the bed and slung one arm around his neck. “You know I love you, right?”
He hugged my waist, tighter than he ever had before. “Love you too.”
Clearing my throat, I pushed away from him and headed for the door with Misha a step behind me. I’d had enough sappy bullshit for one day.
“Hey!” Axel called out.
I stopped in the doorway and looked back.
“Thanks,” Axel said before giving Misha a shit-eating grin, “Daddy.”
Flipping him off, I strode out of the room. Misha, on the other hand, chuckled quietly.
“You know he probably doesn’t mean half of what he says,” Misha said, appearing at my side once we were in the hall. “It’s something all little brothers do.”
“Oh yeah? Is your little brother an asshole, too?”
“Iamthe little brother.” He flashed me a smile but it tapered off into wince. “Well, I was, until my brother was killed.”
“The military?” When he glanced at me curiously, I shrugged. “Pretty sure I saw his picture at your place. Unless that was really you.”
“Ah. Yes. He was in the military but that’s not what killed him. Not in the way you’re probably thinking. No, he was killed during a terrorist attack in Moscow many years ago. It was a hostage situation and the responding forces used sleeping gas. Unfortunately, it killed over one hundred people, Aleksei included.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It makes you appreciate what you have, knowing at any moment it could all be gone.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it… So who’s the other guy you have a picture of? Looks like he graduated from somewhere?”
“My nephew, Ilya.” He smiled again. “Aleksei’s son. He lives in California now.”
“Do you see him a lot?”
“Yes and no. He grew up here, in Chicago, so I only had a few years with him before he moved out west. It’s good for him, though. Safer.”
That last word dredged up a dozen questions but I bit my tongue and we walked in silence, making our way back to the elevators. While we waited for the little red light to drop to our floor, I swallowed one of the few grains of pride I had left and looked up at him.
“Thank you,” I said, squirming in place. “For everything. Seriously. I don’t know—”
He chuckled softly, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.
“What?” I snapped, any sense of gratitude evaporating.
“The next time you want to thank someone, try unclenching your jaw. It might come across as more sincere that way.”
Before I could reply, the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside, occupying the vacant space alongside a trio of hospital workers and a family wielding obnoxious “Get Well Soon!” balloons.
Darting in before the doors closed, I stood directly in front of him, the only spot I could possibly squeeze into without taking a balloon to the face. I kept my back to him, though. Jerk.
