Page 176 of Toxic Salvation
“I appreciate everything you’ve done over the last couple of days. But there’s no need for you to be at the funeral. You’ve got Luka and Tali, and this is going to be a long day.”
“I’m prepared for it to be a long day. I’m coming with you, Kovan. It’s already decided.”
“Vesper—”
“No!” she cries, sharp and fierce. “I get that you’ve got a lot going on, but avoiding me can’t be one of your coping mechanisms. I’m your wife, Kovan. Unless you’re trying to tell me that those vows we made on our balcony were just us playing pretend?”
“Of course they weren’t?—”
“Then why are you pushing me away?”
“Vesper, I’m not pushing you away.”
“Then what is it?” She reaches out tentatively, placing her hand on my arm. “Please, just tell me what’s going on with you, because I’m going crazy here.”
I swallow.Now or never, coward.
“I guess I’m scared that, if you’re exposed to too much of my world, you’re going to want to leave it.”
She looks at me for so long that panic starts to set in. That’s it—she wanted an out and I just handed her one.Fool. You dense fucking fool.
“For a smart man, you sure can be stupid sometimes.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I love you, Kovan. No matter what I see, no matter what I hear. No matter how ugly it gets, I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” She holds her hand out to me, and I take it without hesitation. “Come on, husband. We don’t want to be late.”
There’s a moment of uncertainty in her expression. She’s waiting for me to object, to push back, to insist that she stay behind.
But I realize that as much as I want to do all those things, I want her by my side even more.
So I squeeze her hand.
And we leave together.
59
VESPER
“Why don’t you sit down?”
I turn to Pavel with a sharp look. “I’m not the one who’s been on my feet for six straight hours.” My gaze returns to my husband, who’s making another circuit around the packed funeral parlor. It’s his third lap in the past twenty minutes.
He’s talking to one of the widows. She’s younger than I expected—probably late thirties, early forties at most. Her arm is wrapped protectively around a boy who looks about Luka’s age. Dark hair, serious brown eyes that keep darting between his mother and the imposing man crouched before them.
She dabs at her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief as Kovan rises toward her. His hand comes to rest on her arm. I can’t make out his words from here, but whatever he’s saying makes her smile through her tears. The little boy gawks at him with open wonder.
He’s been doing this all day. Moving from family to family, group to group. Finding the right words to make people smile whenthey should be broken. Giving them reasons to hope when hope seems impossible.
He still looks as immaculate as when we first arrived at the funeral grounds six hours ago. His black suit remains pristine, pressed to perfection. His smile stays sincere for each person who approaches him. His posture remains straight, betraying not the slightest sign of fatigue.
But I know better.
I’ve studied Kovan closely over the past few months, memorized his tells, the ones he probably doesn’t even realize he has.
He isexhausted.
“He needs to sit down,” I say to Pavel, not taking my eyes off my husband. “He’s been at this for hours. Can’t you take over for a bit?”
