“The position,” I repeat, and my heart drops. Because, no… “You wouldn’t,” I say to my father. “Tell me you didn’t actually interview men to date me without my knowledge.”
A beat. Then: “You are explaining it wrong to her!” Dad says to Mom between clenched teeth. “Just as you did in January, Eva. You are making me out to be the bad guy—”
“Because you are the bad guy, Alexei!” Mom yells at him, spreading her arms out wide. “How are you still not seeing that? Without consulting with me or, much more importantly, our daughter, you vetted guys to date and marry her and then cherry-picked the one you liked the most.”
“Dad!?” I say, my voice barely more than a choked gasp.
“And he was a very good pick. Hardworking with a bright future,” Dad points out. He seems to only be speaking to Mom as he says, “Layla liked him very much, just as I knew she would. And if he hadn’t been so stupid as to actually tell her the truth when he proposed without consulting with me first.”
“Do you actually hear yourself?” Mom asks, talking to Dad like he is a six-foot-five idiot. “Stop blaming other people for your mistakes, Alexei.”
“Then you must stop blaming me as well, Eva. You knew what I did and you did not tell her before the stupid boy did.”
I turn on Mom then. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
Mom grimaces. “I mean, your dad told me after you’d gone on a few dates with Ethan—he just had to gloat about it, didn’t he? And no, I didn’t tell you because I was sure the relationship would peter out on its own, and then I figured your father would see why he shouldn’t go messing around in our children’s lives—even if we are ready for grandchildren that live on this side of the Atlantic. But then it just kept going on and on, and the next thing I knew you were talking about possibly marrying this man. So I kept my mouth shut. I kept your father’s secret—which I shouldn’t have done. I’m sorry, Layla baby.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I say. No wonder I’d stop talking to not just one but both of them.
“Please do not act as if I am the only one who has kept secrets,” Dad says to Mom, tone scathing. “Our family was started with the secret you kept from me!”
“I know you are not bringing Aaron into this. I know you are not going to play that card!” Mom yells back. “I kept him secret to protect us from your Russian crime family. You did this to Layla because all you do is manipulate people, including your own kin!”
“And all you do is blame me for this. You have made me your scapegoat,” Dad answers, his face fully statueing over.
“Because everything was fine before you interfered,” Mom shouts, getting angrier as Dad grows colder. “You’re the reason she moved out and stopped talking to us, and you’re the reason we’re getting a divorce!”
I blink. Wait… “What?!...no, you are not getting a divorce over this. You can’t get a divorce over this.”
As furious as I am with my father, tears immediately spring to my eyes. My parents have gone through so much just to be together. There’s literally a miniseries based on their tumultuous courtship. But now they’re getting a divorce. Because of me…?
“You see, this is the look you had on your face when we called to tell you the first time in March,” Dad replies, his face still set to cold. “This is why your mother did not wish to tell you a second time. I had hoped there was perhaps a different reason for this wish of hers. But I can see now there was not. Da, I can see that now…”
And though my mom isn’t looking—perhaps because she isn’t looking—he throws her a look of such longing, my heart nearly breaks. Just like it did when I was watching the Years Apart episodes of their mini-series.
Mom stands then, raising her chin. “Alexei, I know you want me to forgive you for what you did, but I can’t. I just can’t. So please stop asking.”
And just like that, Dad switches from yearning to a volcano of fury, jumping to his feet as he yells in a full Russian accent, “So you will blow up this marriage. You will rip apart our family! Because I did such little thing for our daughter’s own good!”
My mother, known worldwide for her eloquence, balls her hands into fists and answers, “No, I’m asking for a divorce because you don’t care how I feel…and I don’t want to be stuck in this marriage with you…because you're a stupid stupid stupid head…and I just hate your stupid, stupid face! UGHHHH! Idiot!”
As Mom heads for the office door, I can only stand there wide eyed, feeling as if I’ve just watched the Statue of Liberty blow up. I’ve never seen my parents fight like this—at least not in real life. The actors that portrayed them in the miniseries flipped tables, but I was assured by both my parents that they were taking dramatic license.
I believed them back then, but not so much now. Especially as I watch Mom storm out of the room with Dad yelling after her in Russian about how she’s the idiot for ending their marriage over such a little thing.
But as soon as she slams the door behind her, he stops yelling. And like a deflated balloon, he sinks back into his huge leather desk chair and steeples a hand over his eyes, panting with exertion. As if that fight took everything he had out of him.
“Papa?” I say into crackling aftermath of their argument.
“I am sorry you saw that, Lasha. Your mother…she will be embarrassed about how she ranted later, and blame me for this, too.”
“I—I…really don’t care what you did to me,” I tell him quietly, my former rage disappearing as quickly as it came on. “But you two can’t break up. You simply can’t. You are absolutely the best couple I’ve ever known.”
My father lowers his hand to look at me, his grey eyes infinitely miserable. “Da, you said this, too, when we called to give you the news after your birthday had passed. And you cried, just as you do now. But then…you did not come home to us. Instead you decided to stay in Kansas and take a full-time job in that backwater office.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come home, but Dad…Papa…I don’t think it was down to me to fix your marriage. Only you and Mom can make this right,” I tell him.
“But she will not listen to me, Lasha,” he answers with a tired look. “She blames me for your departure.”
I considered his words with a nod. “Yes, I can see how my moving out would upset her. She’s never actually had an empty nest so she’s probably having all the feelings that were delayed when I decided to stay on at the compound and help her set up her non-profit foundation. On top of menopause.”
Dad regards me with a sad smile. “You explain this so well. You see, this is why when you were not here, everything fell apart. Perhaps you are wrong, and this divorce she is saying we must have is all your fault.”
“Wow, Dad…” I say.
But before I can launch into a response, he says, “I know…I know, Lasha. Not mentally healthy, blah, blah, blah. How unfair, blah, blah, blah. Do not guilt trip me, blah, blah, blah. Twenty-eight years with me and you still do not have a very good understanding of how Russian parenting works. I spoil you, and I guilt you, and I manipulate you—it is my way.”
“Dad…”
“Also, you have given me no credit for not bringing up the menopause to your mother no matter how badly we fight. I could have said this thing to her, but I have not.”
“I assume that’s because you don’t want Mom to spend the rest of her days in prison for killing you. But congratulations for showing some restraint on one topic,” I answer with a teasing smile, before sobering to softly say, “But Papa…no Papa, let me speak,” I say when he tries to interrupt. There’s no doubt about where I got my interrupting gene from.
He settles back into his seat and I level him with a stern smile. “You must fix this, Papa. Don’t use schemes or manipulate her to do it. Just fix it because you love her and I know she still loves you, no matter what she says, okay?”
Dad looks like he wants to argue with me, but in the end, he simply says, “Okay, I will do this. I will find a way to fix this.”
/>
“And, Papa…” I dip my head with a sympathetic smile as I say, “You know what this means, right?”
He lets loose a heavy sigh. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Ten minutes later I’m on my new phone calling a bioware number reluctantly given to me by my father. It’s a number I am certain must have stored in the phone I lost to the river.
“Hello?” a voice answers carefully. Perhaps because very few people have this number and the one I’m calling from is completely unmarked.
But my heart lights up as I say, “Gracie? Gracie, it’s me.”
“Layla!? Oh, my God, Layla! Dad told me you lost your memory. I’ve been so worried about you. But your father wasn’t letting me through to your phone or allowing me to come visit you. He said it might upset you!”
“I know what he said,” I grumble, feeling all sorts of conflicted feelings toward the man I love most in this world.
But apparently, I’ve already felt all these feelings before. Back in January. And then again in March when my parents announced they would be getting divorced.
“I’m so glad to hear from you!” Gracie tells me, bringing me back from those confusing thoughts. “Does this mean your memory has returned? Are you coming home?”
“No, my memory hasn’t returned,” I confess. “But yes…” I answer to the second question.
Covering my belly with one hand, I’m more determined than ever to find the father of this baby as I say, “Yes, I’m coming home.”
Part 2
Friends with benefits.
That was all we were supposed to be.
We even had a list of rules.
This is the story of how we
ended up breaking every single one.
12
One week before Kukunniwi…
They began breaking the rules almost immediately after they posted them on his kitchen wall.
Never more than 48-hour notice, unless you’re drunk…
L-heart took the full-time job at DWCS, which meant she was occasionally on call, too. Plus, his schedule got even more hectic with his residency wind-down and nationwide fellowship search. Their work demands increased so much that they didn’t see each other for an entire week in April because he was either on call, or she’d made plans during his days off. Six days apart was more than his wolf could take. And his human decided it was easier to let her know in advance which days he’d be off. Not because they were girlfriend and boyfriend, he told his wolf sternly—they could and would never be that—but simply so she could keep her calendar clear for possible hook up nights.
No meals other than the very occasional brunch…
That rule got broken in May when she showed up at his door late one Saturday afternoon.
Four days had passed since they’d seen each other last, and three days had passed since he’d texted her on a whim before his fellowship interview with St. Louis Children’s Hospital: “new rule: no masturbating while I’m away.”
As it turned out, she’d adhered to this latest rule because mere moments after he opened the door to let her in, she’d kissed him, filling his nose with the sweet and heavy scent of her arousal as she rubbed her long body into his, and murmured “Level ten, please” against his lips.
“Strip and wait for me on the bed,” he answered in a gruff voice.
She did as she was told with almost comical speed.
Only to have him crawl into bed beside her, still fully clothed and holding his work touchpad. A few minutes passed while she silently watched him sift through his never-ending mountain of paperwork. Until she finally asked, “When will we—?”
“Those words aren’t on your list,” he reminded her, without glancing up from the screen.
“Please?” she asked prettily.
Only to get ignored.
At first, her “pleases” were gracious and gentle. But then they became more and more insistent, delivered with kisses on his cheek and small licks and nips on his neck. He didn’t respond to anything she said or did—which was easy for his human who liked the cruel teasing, but torturous for his wolf who’d missed her.
But both his wolf and human bit out a sharp “don’t” when her hand wandered to close to her naked sex. “I’ll have to send you home if you can’t follow the rules,” he warned.
By the time he switched from work to some old entertainment content called Stargate Atlantis, she was full-on begging. Rubbing herself against the side of his body like a desperate she-wolf—
Fuck. Like a desperate feline. He’d meant to think feline. Because L-heart wasn’t a she-wolf. She was human. And he took a few seconds to firmly remind his wolf of that fact. For the gazillionth time.
Perhaps because of his “Freudian slip,” he didn’t punish her when, after snatching a foil package from his box of wrappers, she pulled the touchpad out of his hands and threw it across the bed.
“Please…please…please…” she chanted as she pulled his joggers down and off his legs.
Fighting to keep his face impassive, he watched her stretch the wrapper over his long cock. “I didn’t give you permission to do that,” he said when she climbed on top of him.
The look she gave him in response turned his dick to concrete in her hand. Desperate, apologetic, completely riddled with helpless lust as she lifted her hips and lined herself up over him.
“Please…” she whimpered. Then, before he could stop her, she slid down and sheathed his erection with her warm pussy. It was so wet he could feel hot liquid dripping from her onto his balls.
“Please,” she moaned again. He watched as she began to move up and down the length of his shaft, but she was too dazed with lust to find a rhythm.
Alright, no more games.
He flipped her over, somehow managing to keep them joined at the waist. Then he punished her hard for ending their game before he was ready. His hips pistoning between her legs, he fucked her without mercy, filthy words about what a nasty girl she was spilling unfiltered from his mouth until her body tightened beneath his and she came with a final, “Please!”
This time he didn’t fight it. He just let his body soar with her off the cliff until they both landed, panting hard, back in the bed. He should have rolled off her then, business done. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed there, holding her tight until his dick softened inside her. Then, and only then, did he unknot, taking the wrapper with him as he did.
Pull out, said his wolf.
What?
You said “unknot.” You can’t knot inside a human, and she’s not a she-wolf in heat. You pulled out.
He cursed inwardly. Now his wolf was reminding him of all the places their relationship could never go.
You like her but don’t want to admit it, his wolf said, staring straight into his soul.
“Wanna order something to eat?” he asked out loud, trying to drown the wolf out. Trying to focus on something other than all the contradictory wants and needs messing with his mind.
“That sounds lovely,” she answered.
So that’s what they did, because he’d already kept her there for so long, and couldn’t fuck her a second time without at least feeding her. At least that’s what he told himself the first time it happened. The next few times he simply ignored his wary human and his smug wolf.
But rules were definitely being broken. And once they started eating dinners together whenever she stayed over, things began to change.
He began calling her L-heart on the regular, and her “Hey, Buddy!” greeting took on a whole different meaning. Mostly because it was often delivered with a sensual kiss the moment he walked in the door. (Yes, “he.” She now had a key to his place and was often waiting inside for him to return from another long work shift.)
This also had nothing to do with them being boyfriend and girlfriend, he reminded his wolf as he handed over a copy of the old-fashioned key. DWCS was about equidistance between both their places and she didn’t like driverless cars. It seemed stupid for her to walk all
the way back to her place on agreed upon hook up nights and then come over later because he didn’t get off work until the evening.
No cuddling…
Around the time he gave her the key to his apartment, she began asking for level five sex about once or twice a week. Level five required him to be gentler. No dirty talk. Just quiet, but weirdly intense sex that was often accompanied by orgasms bigger than any he’d ever experienced. With her, with others, or with his hand. Afterwards, it felt impossible not to drag her into his arms, settling in for a good night’s sleep, free of nightmares.
Whatever. It worked for both of them. That was all that mattered.
At least that was what he told himself. Until the Friday night when she texted, “I know I slept over last night, but may I come over tonight, too? And if the answer is yes, I’d be very grateful if you could pick up ice cream.”
No sleeping over more than two nights in a row…
He was in the middle of dictating his post-op paperwork on the Riverez boy’s umbilical hernia repair, but he dropped everything to text back, “gotta work late had back-to-back surgeries today but come over and wait for me.” His thumb hovered over the send icon then at the last moment he added, “what’s wrong?”
Grey dots immediately appeared on the phone’s old-fashioned text messaging interface, but they lingered for a long time before a short message popped up on his screen: “I’ve had a long day.”
High Media-understatement bullshit, he sensed, before impatiently typing back, “why long day?”
“I accompanied the police to pull two children from a hot car. They were left inside by their mother while she went to score oxy. One child made it out alive, the other did not. He was a baby.”
Fuck. He didn’t like to think too much about her job requirements. He could barely look parents in the eyes when he lost a kid. But what she had to deal with; kids and parents at their worst…
“want me to get some beer too?” he texted back.
KNUD, Her Big Bad Wolf: 50 Loving States, Kansas Page 9
