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 eyes focused on the EMT as the woman searched her face, gloved hands tracing scratches and bruises and the still-healing scar on her forehead. Her partner responded to the clinical terms that left her mouth calmly as she continued the inspection.
“Can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I—” Eva stuttered, her eyes flicking from the EMT to the ambulance wall to the floor and back in an unnatural way that I didn’t like. “I, uh, sorry, what?”
“Are you hurt anywhere? Can you tell me what’s going on? What happened?” The EMT tried to catch Eva’s gaze.
“I, uh…”
The EMT put her gloved hands on either side of Eva’s face, finally drawing her attention. “I need you to breathe, okay? You’re safe. Take deep breaths and relax.”
Eva did as instructed, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort.
“Can you tell me what happened?” the EMT repeated for the third time.
“I, uh, I think the door hit me in the nose…” Eva stammered, gesturing to her face. “It, uh, hurts, and there was blood…”
I could see the bruises setting in under her eyes, though Eva’s nose wasn’t misshapen.
“You look like you’re bleeding here.” The EMT pointed to the blood on Eva’s shirt.
My wife blinked as though it was her first time seeing it. “That’s, uh, not mine.”
And then her face crumpled as she no doubt realized it was Dmitri’s. Or Vasya’s. Or both.
“Miss, I need you to take a deep breath. You’re safe. I need you to be calm.”
Eva nodded, her lower lip quivering as she took a shaky breath, then another. The only thing I wanted to do was take her into my arms and never let her go, to protect her from the rest of the world so no one could touch her, including the EMTs.
But they needed to make sure she was okay. I needed to know she was okay.
“I’m going to put this on your finger, okay? It’ll check your pulse and oxygen, and then I’ll check out the rest of you. How many weeks are you?”
“I, uh…” Hovering between tears and breathing, Eva looked down at the swell of her stomach. “I…”
“Twenty-three weeks,” I supplied, and the EMT’s gaze flicked to me.
“Are you Dad?” she asked.
The designation caught me by surprise again, but I nodded. “Yes. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. We’re just checking her out. Dad, you need to breathe, too, okay? She’s safe. She’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She said the last for both our benefits. But Eva’s face crumpled again, her entire body heaving with a wracking sob like a tsunami of the whole night’s reality crashing down on her at once.
I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I pulled myself up into the ambulance, my bandaged back screaming in protest, and took Eva into my arms, holding her close, whispering to her that I was there, that she was safe, that we were okay. I moved only enough to let the EMTs do their job.
What had followed that night and the next week is a blur in my memory. All the police questioning, Vasya’s funeral, time at the hospital with Dmitri as he fought for his life, and combing through the wreckage of what had once been my sanctuary.
Eight weeks later, the confusion has finally started to clear, and I see only a shadow in Eva’s eyes now as she smiles up at me from the safety of my arms.
“Come on,” she says, pulling away, then slipping her hand into mine. “Don’t want to be late.”
As we settle into the dark ultrasound room, the tech gives Eva a friendly smile, then slips onto the high stool and flips the switch to raise the bed.
“How are you guys doing today?”
“Good. Tired.”
Eva is more than tired. She’s having trouble sleeping because she can’t get comfortable. She can hardly eat with the constant heartburn. We go on long, slow walks along the beach, the cold waves washing against her swollen ankles and feet. And I wonder how she’s going to make it ten more weeks.
If it is ten weeks. We’ve been warned twins often come early.
But no matter how much Eva complains about feeling like a whale, she is beautiful to me. Even more beautiful with every passing day.
I’m still who I have always been, the Kucherov Demon. But now, I’m also Eva’s husband and the father of our children. If I’m the same hardened monster to the public and with my men, I am someone different with Eva. Someone I suppose was always at my core, in danger of disappearing until Eva broke through my terrible, beastly mask to my heart.
“All right, Mama. You ready to see your babies?”
“Yes.” Eva squeezes my hand, her expression bright and full of wonder, as the sea of gray-and-black shades appears on the big screen in front of us.