“There is something else.” I close the folder and tuck it into my jacket for the time being. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you, but I found my mother’s trinket box in Andrei’s garage. When I confronted him, he claimed he was the one who killed her.”
“Do you believe him?” Alexei’s brows pinch together in uncertainty.
“I do,” I confess. “But he claims my mother was going to turn on Vasily. That she was giving information to a neighbor.”
“Perhaps the neighbor on the list?” Alexei ventures.
“That was my first thought.”
“I will see if I can make a connection.”
“Thank you.” I reach out to shake his hand. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
Before he can reply, Magda and Kat appear in the doorway, with Josh still tucked against her side. She must be exhausted from holding him, but I know there’s no prying him away from her right now.
“Josh ate a snack,” she says softly. “But he’s very tired, and I think we need to get him settled in somewhere. Can we go now?”
“Yes, Katya.” I offer her a pained smile. “We can go.”
Kat tests the water in the bathtub with her fingers, her face heavy with exhaustion as Josh wiggles around in her grasp. She can barely hold him at this point, but I know she’s trying to keep a sense of normalcy for him.
“I had a bath already,” Josh protests, his bottom lip quivering. “I want to watch TV.”
“You did have a bath this morning.” Kat glances at his clothes and cringes at the blood that’s been transferred from her. “But you need another one.”
A slamming door down the hall in the hotel causes Kat to flinch. Josh cranes his neck to look up at her, his tiny hand coming up to her face. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
She chokes back a sob, and I gather Josh up into my arms, pulling Kat up beside me. “Mommy is very tired. She’s going to go rest while I get you cleaned up. Okay, buddy?”
Josh still doesn’t seem sold on the idea, and Kat already has a protest on her lips. But I need her to understand that she isn’t doing things alone anymore. This might be the biggest clusterfuck of her life, but it’s mine too. We’re in this together.
“Just go sit down,” I tell her. “Grab a drink from the minibar. Eat something, please. I’ve got this.”
When it dawns on her that she’s too tired to argue, she nods and pads out of the bathroom. A minute later, the television turns on, and I turn my attention to Josh. The first order of business is disposing of these clothes, but luckily for us, Talia was kind enough to give us a few of her son’s outfits to see us through until I can buy some more.
I rifle through the bag, finding a pair of pajamas and hold them up for Josh to examine. “What do you think?”
“Minions?” He smiles his approval. “I like Minions.”
I strip him down, and after a few more feeble protests, I get him into the bathwater. While I was terrified this morning that Josh would never calm down, it seems he’s starting to get back to his normal self. Other than picking up on Kat’s emotions, his main concerns right now are comfort and cartoons. He’s young, and I can only hope that the events of today will be long forgotten over the coming weeks, but I have no way of knowing that.
After I get Josh washed up, I drain the tub and start a new bath while I dry him off with a towel.
“Another bath?” His face pinches in concern.
I chuckle as I kneel before him and help him into his pajamas. “That’s for Mommy.”
“So, I can watch TV now?” he pleads.
“Yes, you can watch a little TV now.”
When he slips his hand in mine, something in my chest gives way. It feels like a brick wall with twenty years of repressed emotion crumbling under the weight of this one simple gesture.
My son.
It’s still difficult to wrap my head around the fact that I’m a father. And right now, at this moment, I want more than anything for him to understand that. Whatever happens, I will protect him. I will take care of him. Even if that means going to war with Vasily.
Kat opens her eyes when we enter the room, stirring to life from the chair she’s curled into. Her clothes are still a mess, and I know she needs to rest, but I also know she’s desperate to wash the day off her.
I help Josh onto the bed, and she watches him as he settles onto his stomach and focuses on the singing dogs on TV. Within about two seconds, he’s zoned out, and I’m in front of Kat, helping her up.
“What are we doing?” She protests.
“Getting you cleaned up.”
“But Josh—”
“Josh will be okay right here. And we’ll leave the bathroom door open so you can hear him, all right?”
It takes her a minute to nod her acceptance, but when I lead her into the bathroom, she attempts to start stripping off her clothes. Her limbs are too weak, and she can barely muster the energy, so I stop her, pausing to kiss her forehead and pull her against my chest. When I do, she chokes back a sob at the first glimpse of comfort she’s had all day.
“It’s okay, Katya. I’ve got you now.”
Silent tears spill against my chest as I cradle her against me, and this time, I don’t ask her to hold back. She lets it all out, until there’s nothing left, and still we stand there. I pet her hair, rub her back, kiss her face. A reassuring presence is all I can be for her right now. This morning, I failed her. She probably doesn’t trust me to tell her I won’t let it happen again, but right now, I’m all she has.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I whisper in her ear. “Just let me take care of you.”
Slowly, I strip off her clothes, piece by piece, until she’s naked before me. On any other occasion, I would already be balls deep inside her. But right now, that isn’t what she needs. So instead, I help her into the bath and kneel beside the tub, using the detachable showerhead to begin the process of washing her body. At this moment, she’s never looked so small. So fragile. My eyes absorb every detail of her skin, with my fingers following. I almost lost this today. That sinks in, over and over again, every second worse than the last. I’m trying not to think about it when I touch the birthmark on the back of her neck.
“Josh has the same one,” I croak.
Kat nods. “I know.”
She shivers when my soapy hands skate over her shoulders and down to her chest, grazing her nipples. Even when she’s bruised and bloodied, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I wash her hair, massaging her scalp and her shoulders, and then rinse it all off before draining and refilling the tub once more with clean water. As she relaxes back against the porcelain wall, my fingers slip between her thighs, and her eyes open at half-mast.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “He can’t see in here.”
Her eyes fall shut again, and I drag my fingers over her clit, slowly massaging her there while she shudders, biting back her pleasure. It isn’t sexual. It’s just intimate. A way to release some of her emotions and allow her to fully relax. And as I bring her to climax, I’m satisfied that I’ve done my job when she bucks against me, her breath hissing between her teeth.