Page 17 of Crimson Flames

“You can hit me, Daddy B, if that’s what it’s going to take.”

I lower my arm, not knowing what to do as Lev walks beside Damien and rests a hand on my shoulder. He carefully pulls out the last remaining chair from the table beside us, and without thought, I sit.

“Sometimes,” Lev says softly as he leans against Damien, who is now perched on the counter, “we just need to sit together in our grief. We can’t begin to understand how you feel, Boris, but we can sit here with you for as long as it takes. Until you’re ready.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I am unable to meet his gaze as I stare at my already bruised and bloodied knuckles, the pain not yet registering.

“Ready for what?” My voice is broken and hardly above a whisper.

“For the next step,” Lev states simply.

Time passes as we sit there, emotions threatening to overwhelm me every few minutes. I alternate between placing my head in the crook of my arm to cry and picking at the wounds trying to seal on my hands.

Through it all, they sit there with me. Never speaking a word but always lending a silent touch. I have never had men in my corner before; I’ve always had to do it alone.

I see now why Dr. K tells us that family is important, why connection is important. That piece of me I believed could never be mended begins to feel a little less shattered than before.

“What is the next step?” I ask, my eyes unable to spill anything else.

Lev shrugs. “Whatever you want it to be.”

The destruction around me sets in. “Maybe we should clean up. Where is the chef?”

Damien snorts. “You scared him away. Don’t worry, Havoc got him back and took him to the other kitchen.”

I don’t even remember him coming in here.“We should clean this up. I also need to make calls to the parents of the children who did not make it.”

“No.” A feisty redhead walks into the room with frustration evident in every step.

“That is my job, Boris,” Dr. K says. “Your job is to go back to the hospital and be with the one you love.”

I look away from her, but she invades my space. “As a therapist, my job is to help you come to the realization that youare being an ignorant child all on your own. But quite simply, I do not have time for that.”

She leans down so that our faces are only inches apart. I have no choice but to look at the barely controlled frustration in her eyes.

“There are children here who need me, a confused child at the hospital who will not leave Nessa’s side, and a barely contained Cillian on the cusp of a killing spree. When Nessa wakes up, she is going to need all of us, but mostly, she is going to needyou. So get up and go be with her. You can be sad there while also saving your relationship and supporting the woman you love.”

I stand swiftly, my chair almost falling back. “My grief is my own to carry,” I snap. “I am aware that everyone here is hurting, but it is my job to process this on my own just as it is yours.”

She is unfazed by my words and my temper.

“No. It is not.” She steps into me until we are almost chest to chest. Dr. K is a thin woman, but her height is nearly the same as my six-foot-three, making her cool blue gaze lock onto mine.

“Your grief is all of ours, but mostly it is Nessa’s to share with you. I will not allow you to cause her more pain today. You promised her together, Boris. This is where you mean it.”

Evie steps into the room then, a perfect harmony of fury and pain battling in her eyes. “Are you willing to lose her? For good this time?”

I am about to argue, to tell her she does not get to decide what I do, when my son walks into the room. His face is red, and I have never seen him filled with such grief.

“Do you know what Nessa said to me when I spoke with her about your relationship?”

I had no idea he had said anything to her.

I shake my head. His jaw ticks as he gets closer to me, anger radiating from every step.

“She said that she loved you like the feeling of freedom and the comfort of home. If she wakes up alone, you are keeping that comfort from her, and I do not know if any of us will be able to forgive you for that.”

“Son,” I choke out, reaching for him. Alexi rarely shows emotion, but when he does, it is monumental.

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