Page 99 of Nikola
Dad answered too quickly, “Nothing.”
“Nothing to worry about now,” Mom amended.
Skye didn’t move, her eyes filled with relief and adoration.
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
“Skye, you’ll tell me.” Her gaze flitted to my parents before returning to me. “We won’t start our life by lying to each other.”
She took her bottom lip between her lips, chewing on it, but she didn’t move.
“Mom, Dad,” I said sternly, “give us some privacy.”
“Umm, I don’t?—”
I didn’t let my mom finish. “Now, Mother.”
“Son—”
“Don’t, Vasili.” Dad glared at me, but before he could continue, Mom tugged at his arm. “Let’s give them privacy.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for my sharp tone.”
“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart.”
“Can you draw the window curtains, please? I don’t need them all looking in here,” I asked her, my eyes locked on Skye, who was growing more uncomfortable with each passing second. “I kind of feel like an animal in a zoo.”
“Of course.”
I waited until the curtains were pulled and the door clicked shut, cocooning us in privacy. I tugged Skye onto the hospital bed and kissed her hard. She always smelled and tasted like the most delicious thing, but I could never pinpoint anything on earth to compare it to.
When I broke the kiss, she watched me through a half-lidded, lustful stare. My heartbeat sped up at the love staring at me fromher deep blue eyes, and I couldn’t remember when I’d ever felt happier.
Despite the fact we were in the hospital and I was recovering from a bullet wound.
“Now, tell me. Why is everyone acting so strangely?”
Skye
Nikola’s gaze was locked on me, that familiar gleam in his eyes making my heart stutter, then come to a screeching halt with his next question.
“Now, tell me. Why is everyone acting so strangely?”
His hand held mine, allowing me to answer with my free hand. He laced his fingers with mine, and for several heartbeats, I watched his inked fingers holding my own, my name tattooed on his and his on mine. I could lie, but I didn’t want to. I needed him to know that it didn’t matter. So I shifted, then signed slowly, “The bullet hit your knee and shattered it.”
His eyes shifted down the length of his body, but half of his leg was hidden behind the cast and layers of blankets.
“Okay.” His gaze returned to me. “And?”
“I know just bits and pieces,” I admitted. “Your mom was talking to the doctors, but I wasn’t paying enough attention to read lips.”
“Tell me what you know.” I’d come to know Nikola as playful. A reckless boy turned into a slightly unhinged man. But the somber expression on his face was new to me.
I swallowed.
“You might not be able to walk on that leg. Your mom was exploring reconstructive knee options, but the surgeon disagreed.” I sensed him more than felt him withdrawing.“You’ll be in a wheelchair for a bit, maybe crutches eventually, until the doctors know more.”
He pulled his hand from mine, and in that agonizing moment, I felt a fissure split open inside me—sharp and brutal, like the crack of a mirror shattering. If I could hear it, I knew it would sound like splintering glass, each jagged piece slicing deeper into my chest. My breath hitched, a raw, wounded sound that barely escaped my lips, and I pressed my trembling fingers to the empty space where his touch had just been.
