by Shandi Boyes
Just like the months following my return from Vegas, I’ve been slowly wading my way through the stages of grief. I cried. I got angry. Now, I’m in denial. I’m not just talking about Rico’s death, I’m talking about every part of my life that included him in it. All I want to do is crawl into my bed and forget the world exists.
That would be a whole heap easier to do if I weren’t lying in a hospital bed with an ultrasound wand gliding over the small curve in the bottom of my belly.
I’ve spent the last four weeks recovering in the hospital from my gunshot wound. The nursing staff and doctors have been wonderful. They didn’t even bat an eyelid when my frightened screams in the middle of the night bellowed down the corridor, or when they would find me huddled in the corner of the room crying like a blubbering mess. They took my drastic mood swings in stride, giving me space when needed and occasionally even a shoulder to cry on. They have been a godsend.
But with my injuries now manageable, I can go home – after they check on the little miracle nestled safely in my stomach.
Lacey’s squeeze on my hand tightens when my baby’s heartbeat fills the silence in the hospital room. It's a bittersweet sound. Bitter, because Rico never got the chance to hear it. Sweet, because a part of him will forever live on in his baby’s memory.
“Do you want to know the sex?” the ultrasound technician, Jennifer, asks.
“Isn’t it too early to tell?”
Jennifer smiles a tight grin. “Depends on the baby. Your baby is very obliging today.” Her cheerful tone forces the first genuine smile onto my face in weeks.
“Okay. I want to know,” I inform Jennifer, nodding.
I hold my breath as I wait for her to issue me with the news I already know. It isn’t because I can tell an arm from a leg in the images on the monitor at the side of my head, I can just feel it deep in my soul. I know I’m carrying Rico’s son, a little boy who will have eyes as beautiful as his father’s.
Jennifer clicks on the keyboard of her ultrasound machine before zooming in on the black and white image. “Can you see that?”
Blood surges into my heart as I nod. Even without having a degree in radiology, I can’t miss the long dangling thing sitting between the baby’s legs. Rico’s son’s legs.
After wiping the gel off my stomach, Jennifer helps me sit before handing me two black and white printouts. The weight on my chest doubles when I peer down at the images of the little miracle I created with Rico.
“After you empty your bladder, you’re free to go.” She wraps her arms around my torso. “Best of luck, Blaire. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thank you.” My voice is barely a whisper.
Throughout the day, the nurses and doctors who cared for me the past four weeks have expressed similar sentiments.
Putting on a brave front, I tell Lacey I’ll be out in a minute before pacing into the bathroom. Although my injuries have healed quickly, a twinge of pain still rockets through my body with every step I take.
I manage to make it inside the bathroom before the first devastated sob tears from my throat. I bite on the side of my palm to ensure Lacey won’t hear my heartbreaking howls as the final stage of my grief reaches fruition. Acceptance.
I grip the edge of the vanity in a white-knuckled hold before crouching down, no longer trusting my legs to keep me upright. My cries are loud and gut-wrenchingly long. In these walls, I could hide away from reality and pretend nothing happened, but the instant I step foot out of this hospital, I’m being forced into a world where I have to start living again. In a cruel, tormented world without Rico. I don’t know if I can do that. The two and a half months following my return from Vegas was painful enough, but knowing I’ll never see Rico again, that utterly destroys me.
After splashing water on my tear-stained cheeks, I exit the bathroom and shadow Lacey to her car. She can tell I’ve been crying, but thankfully, she pretends she can’t. She’s been great the past four weeks—the only person I could truly talk to—but I still don’t think she fully understands the crippling pain I'm feeling. How can I explain that I lost the love of my life to a group of people who think Rico was nothing more than a drunken mistake? It’s not possible. I’ve tried.
Remaining quiet, I keep my eyes planted on the scenery whizzing by as we make our ten-mile trip home. Just like the day Rico collected me from Ravenshoe, everything looks similar, but it feels different. The heavy clog of traffic is still on the roads; the sky is still blue, but something is missing. Someone is missing.
Acting purely on instincts, I follow the same mundane routine I always do when I come home. I gather my mail off the floor and hit the button on the answering machine.
“I’ll make coffee.” Lacey stops halfway into the kitchen and spins around to face me. “Can pregnant ladies drink coffee?”
I laugh, but it’s full of despair. “I don’t know. This is all new to me too.”
Lacey twists her lips. “I’ll do tea just in case. Chamomile tea,” she says with a slight nod of her head.
I force a fake smile onto my face, grateful she’s taking my pregnancy in stride. “None for me. I’m going to jump into bed. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Her bottom lip drops into a pout. She looks like she wants to plead with me, but thankfully, she just nods. “One step at a time, Blaire. It will slowly get better.”
After kicking off my shoes, I press a kiss to her cheek and pace down the hallway to my room. Even though I’ve spent the past four weeks in bed, mine is still calling me. I don’t know if it is my pregnancy making me sleepy, or the heavy grief sitting on the middle of my chest. Either way, I’m exhausted.
I stop halfway down the hall when my answering machine announces the timestamp of a message, one recorded within hours of Rico’s death.
“Blaire, it’s Katie. . .” I hear her swallow before she continues, “Thank you. I know what happened, and I’m sorry, but I just wanted to say thank you for never giving up on me.”
Pain twists through my chest. I’ve talked to Katie a few times the past four weeks, but our conversations were very brief. Understandably, we both have a lot of issues to work through. But, hopefully, one day, we’ll both be strong enough to arrange a face-to-face meeting.
I run my hand across my cheeks, removing the tears tracking down my face before continuing with my mission. My steps are slow and sluggish. Although I faked a chipper personality throughout the hospital mandatory counseling for victims of violent crimes, I'm fairly certain I'm sitting on the cusp of depression. I’ve lost weight; I constantly feel restless even doing nothing but sleeping, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I feel dead on the inside.
After flicking on the light in my room, I lower the dimmer so it's dark but not completely black. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping in a completely darkened room.
My sluggish steps to my bed stop—closely followed by the beat of my heart—when I detect I'm being watched. I blink several times to clear my blurry vision when my eyes lock in on a dark shadow standing at the side of my bed. My lips twitch, dying to spill the screams running through my brain, but my mouth fails to cooperate. I'm once again rendered mute by fear.
Even frightened, my naturally engrained fighter instincts kick in. It’s not just me I’m protecting anymore; it’s also my baby. I'll protect him until I take my very last breath.
Any chance of leaving my room with my heart intact flies out the window when the shadowed figure steps out of the darkness and mutters, “Hello, Kitten.”
Goosebumps rush over my skin as a dash of disbelief taints my blood. I shake my head, certain my eyes are playing tricks on me.
When the brisk shake of my head fails to clear the image in front of me, I take a step closer to the denim-clad man. With my composure balancing precariously between insanity and lucidity, my eyes scan every inch of Rico’s body, seeking any type of morbid injury.
I fail to find any. Other than his hair being clipped close to his
scalp, and his dark eyes concealed by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, he looks the same he always has—dark and dangerous rolled into one unbelievably handsome package.
“How?” I want to say more, but I’ve been rendered speechless. I can barely grasp what is and isn’t reality, let alone speak.
Rico removes his glasses and places them on my dresser. Tears fill my eyes when his beautifully tormented gaze locks with mine. “There was only one way I could leave my family, Kitten.”
“Not breathing,” we quote at the same time.
“But. . . it can’t. . . you’re. . .” Nothing I'm saying makes any sense. It can’t be helped, though. I'm staring at a ghost.
When Rico moves closer to me, his spicy scent engulfs my senses, adding further confirmation that my imagination isn’t playing tricks on me. Rico is standing before me—alive and well.
You’d think my first reaction would be to throw my arms around his neck and never let him go. It isn’t. My palm sets on fire when I strike him hard across the face.
“How could you do that to me?” I snivel through a sob.
Unable to hold back the desires of my heart any longer, I throw my arms around his neck. I seek deeper contact, needing more, always wanting more when it comes to him. I bury my face in his neck and breathe in his scent, my mind spiraling, my heart shut down.
He scoops me into his arms and moves us to sit on my bed. I cling to his plain white shirt, certain he’ll vanish at any moment. Holding my jaw in his shaking hands, his riddled-with-remorse eyes dance between mine, relaying his sympathies for the horror I’ve been living the past four weeks without a word needing to trickle from his lips.
“You broke my heart,” I whimper with heartache in my brittle tone.
The pain in his beautiful eyes grows. “I know, Kitten, but we needed it to look real. We knew they’d be watching you. Your grief added to the belief of our story.”
I frown in confusion. “Our?” My mind is still reeling.
He brushes a tear off my cheek. “Erik and me. Erik isn’t a lawyer. He works for the FBI.” My confusion skyrockets when he adds on, “So do I.”
“What?” It’s hard to get my words out with how tight my throat is.
He peers into my eyes so I can see the truth relayed in his. “I’ve been working alongside the FBI the past six years.”
“You’ve been working undercover in the Popov compound for six years?” I ask through the bile sitting in the back of my throat.
I feel sick. My stomach is twisting so badly, I feel physically ill. When I attempt to scamper off Rico’s lap, he holds on tight, refusing to let me go.
“You lied to me. This whole time you’ve been lying to me?”
I’m stuck halfway between angry and grateful. Angry he never told me. Grateful he can tell me now.
I freeze and gasp in a quick breath. “Is Vladimir even your father?”
Rico places both of his hands on the edge of my jaw and glances into my eyes. Just seeing the torment in his gaze dampens the anger raging in my stomach. Only he can change my moods more quickly than he can convert from day to night.
“Everything you witnessed and heard about my life is true, Blaire. I’ve never lied to you. I'm Vladimir’s son. His firstborn son. I may have been raised by a monster, but I'm not a monster myself. You know this, as you know the real me.”
My brows stitch. “You’ve said that to me before, haven’t you?”
The corner of his lips tugs high before he nods. “Yes, the night we got married. I told you every detail about my life. Everything.”
My mouth falls open. “I’ve known the entire time you’re an FBI agent?”
His eyes dance between mine. “I’m not an agent. . . more of an associate.” His expression is as unsure as his words.
I take a few moments to let the information be absorbed by my exhausted brain. The silence only creates more questions in my already overworked mind.
“Why did you wait so long? Why didn’t you fake your death years ago?”
“After you were attacked in the alleyway ten years ago, my life changed in an instant. I wanted to be a better man,” Rico replies before lifting and locking his dark eyes with me. “I wanted to be a better man for you. But Vladimir is very cautious; he knew he was being watched. The FBI has been undercover in the compound for years, but they had nothing on him. The information I obtained on him the past two years alone outweighs the last forty years of undercover work. I did more good from inside the compound than I ever could have from the outside because he never thought to suspect his own son.”
He runs the back of his fingers along my cheeks to gather my tears before dropping them to the curve of my mouth. The wetness of my tears relieves the dryness of my lips.
“I requested to leave when you were attacked in the servants’ quarters, but the FBI wouldn’t let me go. They needed more intel on Vladimir. That’s what I did during our separation. I gathered as much evidence on Vladimir as I could.”
His jaw gains a tick as he draws me in closer. He holds onto me like I'm truly the most valuable thing in his life. “When you got shot, and you told me about our baby, I knew I would never return to the Popov compound. I told Erik he either had to get me out or I’d find my own way out.”
“How did Erik handle that?” I query, my rickety words unable to hide the mad beat of my heart.
Rico smirks. “Not very well, but he soon saw the benefit of it. My death means Erik is now ranked number three in the Popov empire. That's the deepest the FBI has infiltrated the compound.”
“Except you,” I mumble.
His smile enlarges. He looks part cocky, part smug.
After swallowing down the harsh bitterness in the back of my throat, I ask the one question my heart wants immediately answered, “Oskana? What happened to her?”
His thighs tense beneath me as he clears his throat. “I had every intention of bringing her in. She killed herself before I had the chance.”
He stares into my eyes, ensuring I can see the truth conveyed by them. He's being honest. I inwardly sigh. My heart knew he could never harm a woman. His soul is too beautiful to harbor a monster.
“Oskana knew her fate.”
Rico nods. “She didn’t know life outside the Popov compound. It was her entire world.”
“Do you?” I interrupt. “Know life outside the Popov empire?”
“Yes,” he replies without a pause for consideration. He connects his eyes with mine. “Especially when I’m with you.”
His comment eases some of the nicks my heart has been beaten with the past three months. Don’t construe my statement the wrong way; my heart still has a lot of healing to do, but I can see that process will be a whole lot easier now.
Although I still have many unanswered questions I want resolved, my brain is too overloaded with everything that has happened the past thirty minutes to continue with our life-altering discussion. My heart? It only wants one thing. Him: Enrique—the stranger I married.
I run my hand over his clipped hair. “I like this,” I mumble, my composure still sitting halfway between insanity and reality.
Rico smiles. “Good. It was either clipped or blond.”
He scoots us up the bed until his back is resting against the headboard. I nuzzle into his chest, loving his thumping heart booming into my ears. It was a noise I never thought I’d have the opportunity to hear again so I relish every precise beat.
We sit in silence for what feels like hours but is only mere minutes. Once the silence becomes too great to ignore, I murmur, “Where do we go from here?”
I don’t need to look at him to know he's smiling. I can feel it in my bones. “I’ve heard from a reliable source that Europe is nice this time of year. Although, he did warn me that I may need to take my wife out back to shoot her if it isn’t planned well.”
Lifting my head off his chest, I peer into his eyes. “Have you been talking to my dad?”
That's one of my dad’s favorite sayings
for when my mom’s feathers get a little ruffled. Any time she gets flustered, he threatens to take her out back and shoot her. It’s odd to think in the family I grew up in, that type of bantering is perfectly acceptable, but for someone like Rico, he’d have to wonder if it was a simple joke or an actual threat. That must have been a terrible environment to be raised in. It makes me so grateful our son won’t grow up in that atmosphere.
My pupils widen to the size of dinner plates. “Oh my god, I forgot to tell you. We’re having—”
“A son,” Rico fills in, smiling.
I stare at him, shocked and confused.
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear before locking his eyes with mine. “You can’t trust anyone, Kitten. Even when they don’t appear to be watching you, they are.” He tilts his head closer to so his minty fresh breath bounces off my lips before muttering, “Especially me.”
Cringing, I sink deeper into the mattress. I'm already aware that he knows about the kiss Colt and I shared, but I don’t have the energy to deal with that situation right now.
Another small stretch of silence passes between us. It's healing and most definitely required.
When Rico tightens his grip around my torso, I lean into his chest and breathe him in, grateful we are getting a second chance in our tumultuous relationship. The past four months have been a teeth-clattering rollercoaster ride, but I’m sure now that the darkness has been vanquished, we will be unbreakable—a force to be reckoned with.
There's only one greater dynamic than a man protecting the woman he loves: a man protecting his family. So, although there's a niggle of doubt in the back of my mind that this isn’t the last we’ll hear of the Popov empire, I have no doubt Rico will stop at nothing to keep myself and our son safe. Just like I'll always be his light in a life full of blackness.
As the minutes tick by on the clock in silence, my eyelids grow heavy. When I'm unable to stifle a yawn, Rico mutters, “Sleep if you're tired, Kitten. I’ll be here when you wake.”
He was.
That day.
