Page 119 of Santa Daddy
I believed him. Every pale scar and jagged line on his back and chest told its own story. Blades. Bullets. Fists. A lifetime of people trying to end him and failing.
As I cleaned around the wound, a memory flashed—him in that alley, standing over a body with blood on his hands. For weeks, that had been proof in my mind.
Proof that he was the villain.
Now, sitting in this rotten little cabin, seeing how he’d automatically put himself between me and every window, stacked weapons within easy reach, and stayed awake while I dozed in tiny snatches… the scene in the alley shifted.
Context changed everything.
“You saved my life that day,” I said quietly. “In the alley. I thought you were the monster in the story. Turns out you were the one cleaning up someone else’s mess.”
His shoulders went rigid under my hands.
“Heroes do not kill people, kotyonok,” he said.
“Heroes kill people all the time,” I said, starting to wrap fresh gauze around his shoulder. “They just do it so other people don’t die instead.”
He turned his head to look at me, and for a moment I saw something raw flicker in his eyes. A question he didn’t know how to ask.
“What happens after?” I asked, fastening the bandage. “After you hit Maksim. After you burn down whoever else is stupid enough to come for us. What happens to us?”
To our baby. To whatever this was turning into.
“I don’t know,” he said.
The honesty scared me more than any threat.
I slipped around to sit in front of him, studying the pallor under his skin, the way he sat just slightly guarded on one side.
“Then you’d better start thinking about it,” I said softly. “Because I need to know what I’m fighting for here.”
Besides not dying. Besides giving this kid a chance at something better than growing up on the run.
He was quiet long enough that I started to wonder if he’d shut down entirely. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, like he had to drag the words out through old scar tissue.
“I have never wanted a future,” he said. “Not really. Men like me do not get them. We get few years of power and then a bullet or a cell.”
He lifted his gaze to mine.
“Then you happened,” he said simply. “And suddenly… forever sounded nice.”
The word did something to my chest. Forever. It felt like a promise and a dare.
“You protect me with bullets,” I said, reaching out to touch the side of his face that wasn’t bruised or bloodied. “Let me protect you with truth.”
Something in his expression cracked. Like armor finally giving way.
“What truth?” he asked.
“That you don’t have to carry all of this alone anymore,” I said. “Whatever made you into this beautiful, dangerous man”—his mouth twitched at the adjective—“you can trust me with it. I’m done running from you.”
Let me in. Let me see you, not just the weapon you’ve become.
He leaned into my palm, closing his eyes for a heartbeat like my touch was the first gentle thing he’d let himself feel in a long time.
When he opened them again, they were raw. Unguarded in a way that made my throat hurt.
“My father,” he said. “He taught me that caring makes you weak. That love is liability men like us cannot afford.”
