Page 33 of The Pucking Arrangement

But before I can argue, Ris is grabbing both our hands, tugging us toward the stairs like she’s orchestrating a love story instead of bedtime.

And for the first time since Elena died, I feel absolutely powerless.

* * *

Bath time is pure hell. Not because Ris fights it—she’s too busy chatting about skating drills and her latestElephant & Piggiebook—but because Erin is sitting on the closed toilet lid, watching.

Every ordinary moment feels like another crack in my armor. The way she hands me a towel before I ask. How she keeps Ris engaged, distracting her from the shampoo with easy chatter. The easy grace with which she fits into this routine, like she belongs here. Like she’s always belonged here.

“Story time!” Ris declares, bouncing onto her bed and patting the mattress on either side of her. “Both of you!”

Der’mo.

The bed is too damn small for this. I hesitate, but Erin’s already sinking onto the other side, crossing her legs beneath her. I lower myself onto the mattress, my body too big for the space, for this situation.

“Elephant & Piggie!” Ris announces, holding up the book. “I get to be Gerald,” she decides proudly.

“Then I’ll be Piggie.” Erin flips the book open. Her voice is warm, teasing, and when she launches into the silliest, most ridiculous Piggie impression I’ve ever heard, Ris dissolves into giggles.

I swear my heart skips.

“Papa should do the other voices,” Ris demands, looking up at me expectantly.

“Oh no, I don’t?—”

“Please?”

Two sets of eyes. One pleading, the other dancing with amusement.

I sigh, already defeated. “Fine,” I grumble. And before I know it, I’m deepening my voice for the squirrels, adding a nasal whine for the pigeon, watching as Erin’s laughter spills across the bed, quiet and breathless and far too beautiful.

“‘I love my new toy!’“ Ris reads carefully, her small finger tracing each word. “‘Oh no! My new toy is broken!’”

“You’re such a good reader,” Erin praises, her voice full of warmth. Even from across the bed, something about the softness in her expression makes my stomach tighten.

I should not be watching her this closely. I should not notice the way the dim light catches the freckles on her nose, or how she tucks her hair behind her ear absentmindedly, or how she looks at my daughter like she’s the most important person in the world.

It’s familiar. Intimate.

And I want more of it so badly my teeth ache.

By the time Ris drifts off, I’m thoroughly wrecked.

Erin slips off the bed first, careful not to wake her, and I follow, tucking the blanket around my daughter before easing the door closed.

In the hallway, Erin pauses.

“That was nice,” she murmurs. “Storytime. You’re good at this, the dad thing.”

The simple praise knocks the air from my lungs.

I need to step back, put space between us, rebuild my walls before they crumble entirely. But instead, I find myself leaning in, like a man drawn to his own destruction.

“Goodnight, Dmitri.”

She says it too quickly. Like she knows exactly what I was about to do. Like she needs to escape before I actually do it.

Then she disappears behind her door, leaving me standing in the hallway, staring at the wood grain like an idiot.

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