Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Eva’s brother said she’d run out of the bookstore without telling him why, just yelling back at him to cover for her. Then she was in an accident in that damn car I should’ve replaced, the twenty-year-old lemon without airbags on every side and with rust in several spots. The thing probably had a safety rating of zero.
I should have put Eva in a tank. But in my folly, I believed she wouldn’t have to drive that old beater again, that the power of my feelings would keep her with me, where she would be safe.
What did I know about love and relationships? Absolutely nothing. But telling a woman I love her was not enough to keep her by my side or show her who I truly am and how much I care. It feels far too late to realize that I care for Eva in ways I didn’t know were possible, to depths I didn’t think I had.
And now, I’m afraid I’ve lost the chance entirely. All I can see, running on a loop, is the image of Eva, small and broken in a hospital bed.
“Move your fucking car!” My fear comes out as rage at the other drivers on the road. It doesn’t matter how fast my car can go when traffic sits like a wall. And it’s raining, on top of everything.
Of course.
After Marco’s call, I’d run out before Dmitri could even call a driver. So he’d hopped into the passenger seat and sat there, rigid, lines of worry around his eyes. He had stopped trying to get information from the hospital after they refused, multiple times, to give out any details.
Neither of us is on Eva’s emergency contact list.
“I’m looking for Eva Volkova.” I’m breathless from the sprint from the parking garage, my voice wild to my ears. The charge nurse at the front desk steps back, her eyes on my face. And I don’t think it’s because of my scars.
Her fingers fly over the keyboard, and she fumbles, hitting backspace when she makes a mistake.
Hurry up! The words are on my tongue when someone shouts my name.
“Evgeny!” I hear it again through the crowd in the lobby and finally see Marco’s tall, slim frame, his head of thick, dark hair so much like Eva’s. It’s slightly wild, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times.
“Marco.”
Dmitri follows as I meet Marco halfway, the foot traffic breaking around us like a wave.
“Eva?” It’s the only word I can squeeze through my tight throat. My heart hammers so hard I think it’s trying to pound out of my ribs.
“She’s okay. She’s okay.” Marco repeats the phrase as though to reassure himself, too, that Eva is, in fact, okay.
“What is ‘okay’?” I realize my tone is too sharp when Marco jerks back, and I have to take a deep breath before I can amend it with a calmer, “What do you mean by ‘she’s okay’?”
I put a hand on his shoulder to steady both of us, and Marco’s shoulders ease just slightly under my palm.
“They said she has some bumps, bruises, and scratches. Her shoulder was dislocated, which they put back in place, and she has a nasty bump on her head. Everything else seems to be okay.” He sucks in a breath before continuing. “The police were kind of surprised, honestly, given the damage to her car. But the other car hit hers in the right place, where she was protected from most of the force.”
“Thank God,” Dmitri murmurs, his eyes lifting heavenward in relief, and then his gaze seeks Marco again. “Everything is okay?”
Marco’s eyes dart to my second-in-command, searching the other man’s face. Something seems to pass between them that I understand as little as I understand Dmitri’s odd emphasis on everything.
At last, Eva’s brother nods slowly. “Yes.”
Dmitri’s shoulders sag, and his head drops as he scrubs a hand over his scalp. “Thank fucking God.”
Belatedly, he realizes what he’s said. His eyes slide to me, the relief replaced by something I don’t recognize. I’m sure he knows I’m going to grill him about it later.
But not now. Now I only want to see Eva. Even if she doesn’t want to see me, I need to see with my own eyes that she’s okay. Just for a moment. Even if it will shatter my heart again.
“Can I see her?” I ask, my voice rough.
Marco exchanges another odd look with Dmitri, pressing his lips in thought. But then he nods. “Yeah. I’ll take you up to her room.”
We go past the floor the sign says is the ICU, and I can only breathe a deep sigh of relief. Instead, we get off at the fourth floor, and Marco leads us down a hallway dressed in gaudy Christmas decorations, with fake garlands strung on the wall between rooms, the nurses’ station festooned with colored lights, miniature trees, and plastic figures of Santa and nutcrackers. Someone is playing Christmas music, low enough that I can’t hear the words, but I recognize the tunes and the bells.