Page 61 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
“S’up?”
“I need you to take me home,” I gasp breathlessly as the elevator descends.
“Excuse me?”
“My dad came to visit me, but I never told him I’m staying with Maxim, so he’s at my old apartment! I need you to drive me there right now!”
“Two minutes?”Dad stands at the base of the steps leading up to my apartment building as I sprint toward him. Toto dropped me off around the block so as not to raise suspicion, but it took the better part of twenty minutes to get here.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp as I slide to a stop in front of him, kicking up some of the snow coating the street. “I got talking to an old friend and time just…” I wave my hands and then pull him into a hug. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“You got talking so intently that you forgot your groceries?” Dad hugs me back with one arm and gazes down at my empty hands. “I thought you went to the store?”
“I did!” Shit. “I, uhm… y’know, there was just nothing there I needed. I was just hungry and you know what they say. Always shop on a full stomach.”
“Do they say that?” He looks at me quizzically, but I quickly brush him off and jog up the steps.
“I hope they do. Anyway, come in!” Sliding my key in the lock, I let myself into my apartment and am immediately hit by the smell of rotten food. “Oh, no,” I whisper under my breath. There’s a brief moment where I pray Dad won’t notice, but his nose scrunches before he’s even halfway through the door.
“Hollie, what’s that smell?”
“Uhm… what smell?” I hurry toward the kitchen with him in tow.
“You don’t smell that?”
“No, I don't smell anything. What do you smell?”
“Old takeout and off milk.” He grimaces and beelines for my fridge.
I try to play off the stink and act like I’m blind to the smell, shaking my head. “I smell nothing. It must just be your nose.”
“Really?” He turns away from the fridge, delicately holding some old Chinese takeout containers, very clearly long past their shelf life. “How busy are you that you don’t smell this?”
“Honestly, I’m working so much, I’m barely home!” Strained laughter escapes me and together, we clear out the fridge, dispose of all food long past its edible date, and give the place a good clean.
None of this ever crossed my mind. I’ve been so caught up in the whirlwind of Maxim, the marriage, his father, and the club on top of my own gigs that my own apartment just faded from my thoughts. I try not to think about that even now as I turn on the kettle and gather two mugs.
“Coffee?”
“As long as there’s nothing growing out of the mug.”
“They’re fine,” I assure him with a laugh.
“You haven’t decorated?” Dad settles on the stool near the island counter and glances back toward my lounge, which hasn’t seen a lick of love since July 4th.
“I haven’t had time.”
“You always decorate.”
“I know.” I place a hot mug of coffee down in front of him alongside a small dish of sugar. “I’ve just been really busy.”
“With work?”
“Mhm.”
“And your new husband.”
I freeze momentarily, staring down into my coffee mug and then nodding. “Yep.”
