Page 73 of Leo, My Partner

“Can you bake raspberry pirogue?” Ivan asks, his face lighting up in a way I’ve never seen. “I have not had in many years. Would love some before I die.”

Ty gasps, making his way to Ivan and grasping his hands. “Die? Ivan, are you sick?”

He nods. “I am, kolibri. But it is okay. I am here. Dying,” he shrugs, “not so bad.”

A small sob leaves Ty’s mouth as he gingerly hugs Ivan. “I’m glad you came, Ivan. We’ll take care of you. Right?” Ty peers at me pleadingly, and I nod. He glances back at Ivan, framing his frail face. Even though Ivan towers over Ty, he looks small. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“Spasiba, kolibri.” He pats Ty’s. hand softly. “Now, I need to see my son.”

Ty hugs Ivan, then walks back over to me. “I’ll find out how to make the pirog.” Ty tries the word out, and Ivan nods appreciatively when he gets it right. Ty beams at him.

Bringing his face to mine, I give Ty a quick kiss. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Love you.”

“Love you too. Take your time.”

Ivan, Blu, and I ride the elevator down in silence and climb into Blu’s SUV when the valet pulls it around. The SUV is easier for Ivan to get in and out of, something I’m sure Blu recognized.

The drive is quiet as well. From the backseat, I watch how Ivan looks around at the surroundings, his face scrunched as if he’s trying to remember everything he sees. My heart thumps for a completely different reason than what Ty makes me feel. The impending death of the only parent that gave a shit about me hurts more than I imagined it would.

It’s insane that I figured he would be around forever, but Ivan always seemed larger than life. A Russian force no one could defeat. I’ve seen him take down men twice, three times his size with ease. For him to be brought low by cancer almost seems laughable, though there’s nothing funny about it.

We pull up to the extremely large house, Blu parking in the middle of the circular driveway. Ivan steps out slowly, like everything hurts, but he squares his shoulders and follows Blu up the stairs to the door.

It flies open, and an older version of Blu steps out, a look of disbelief on his face, his gaze bouncing from me to Ivan. Even though Blu and I have been in touch, I haven’t brought up wanting to see my aunt Barbara and uncle Clinton again. There was no reason for me to. When I left North Carolina for Russia, I never looked back, wanting to forge my own life.

His hand flying to his mouth, Clinton mutters, “Brad? Papa?”

Ivan straightens his shoulders and nods his head solemnly. “Privet, Dimitri.”

CHAPTER 24

TYSHAWN

Two days later, Leo, June, Blu, Ivan, and I are sitting around the table at Blu’s parents, Clinton and Barbara’s house. They asked us to have dinner as a family since Ivan dropped the bomb on Clinton that he’s dying.

I don’t know Ivan well, but I really like him, and it hurts he’s not going to be around for much longer. When we met in London, I figured there would be plenty of time for me to get to know the man that raised Leo. While he’s here though, I’ll make sure to keep him comfortable.

Ivan has been staying with us in Leo’s office, but half the time, I forget he’s there. He moves around so quietly.Then he’ll let loose one of those hacking coughs, and I’ll remember.

I did manage to make the raspberry pirog he asked me about, and he told me it was the best he’s had. My heart felt light as he ate, complimenting me in both English and Russian.

Now we’re at Blu’s parent’s home, passing around more pirog after we’ve finished our meal.

“This is fantastic,” Barbara says, looking at me with a smile. “I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s your favorite dessert, Ivan?”

Ivan’s eyes flick over to Barbara, and her wide smile falters a bit. It’s hard to be stared down like that by a psychopath, but she’s been holding her own. “It is. Ty did good job.” Ivan squeezes my shoulder, and I pat his frail hand.

It’s only been about a month since London, and Ivan has already lost a ton of weight since then. I’ve been making sure he eats well and drinks plenty of water, but the cancer riddling his body won’t allow him to maintain weight. I hate seeing it.

Clinton looks at Ivan, his gaze questioning. “We didn’t have it when we were growing up. It seems Mom didn’t want any reminders of you.”

If Ivan feels any way about that remark, he doesn’t show it. “I suppose that make sense. She change your name, after all.”

“No, she kept it. Dimitri is my middle name.”

Ivan’s throat bobs, but he simply nods.

Clinton’s eyes drift to Leo. “Brad, I?—”

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