Twilight Tears, page 33
Pavel dives for it, but I twist him to the side and slam him down on the tile.
Now, it’s just him and me.
It’d be so easy to strangle the life from this miserable bastard. I made a deal with Dima, but he’s taking too long. This can’t wait. Pavel needs to die.
Pavel swipes out at me. He flails and grapples, trying to knock me off balance.
"Your father really didn't give a shit about you, did he?" I ask, ducking away from a poorly-aimed blow. "You can't fight worth shit."
Pavel growls and drives his knee up. He narrowly misses kneeing me in the balls, but I flinch. It’s enough for him to get some leverage and push me off of him.
I roll over my shoulder and rise to my feet as Pavel scrambles to his. He drops into a ready position, his top lip pulled back in a snarl. “I can fight well enough to kill you.”
He lunges forward, but he doesn’t even take a step before the door to the morgue flies open. Dima steps through the doorway, gun raised. Pavel spins towards the door just as Dima fires.
The shot tears through his shoulder. Pavel falls, a hand gripping his bleeding limb.
Dima doesn’t give him a second to recover. He marches over to him and jams the heel of his shoe into Pavel’s wound. He digs in as Pavel screams.
“This is for what you did to my cousin, you fucking useless mudak.”
Pavel shakes his head. “I didn’t know—”
Dima steps on his neck before he can even finish the sentence. Clearly, he isn’t looking for excuses or apologies.
Pavel claws at Dima’s ankle as his face turns red. His tongue swells out of his mouth. Blood vessels in his eyes and cheek burst, turning his skin a mottled red.
“Sorry for the delay,” he grits out, stomping on Pavel’s neck with all of his strength. “Another guard showed up. I had to take care of him.”
I turn around and see a pair of splayed legs through the open door.
Then my phone buzzes. Dima has Pavel well in hand, so I check it. It’s Nik.
Luna is awake and the contractions are back. It’s happening.
“Fuck.”
Dima turns to me, seemingly unaware of the man suffocating under his foot. “What is it now? More guards?”
“Luna is in labor. The twins are coming.”
He lets out a long whistle. “Okay. Then I’ll make this brief.”
He lifts his foot off of Pavel’s neck just long enough for the man to suck in a ragged breath. Then Dima shoots Pavel in the head.
BANG. Then, echo, echo, echo…
And then silence.
“You didn’t need to rush it on my account.”
He waves me off. “That’s all the time the fucker deserved, anyway. I’ll worry about cleaning up. You need to go.”
“I owe you for this,” I say, already halfway to the door.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone like me.” He laughs. “Consider this a baby gift. Go be with your woman.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I run for the stairwell and take the stairs two at a time.
63
LUNA
I grit my teeth as another contraction rips through me. “This shouldn’t be hurting. What was the point of having that long-ass needle in my spine if this is still going to hurt?”
“It hurts me, too,” Nik whimpers. He’s been shaking out his hand between each contraction.
I woke up thirty minutes ago to a slight discomfort. Now, I’m writhing in pain, which was not at all part of the plan.
“Baby A is sunny side up,” a nurse explains calmly.
“He’s a baby, not an egg.” Right? Maybe the pain is making me delirious.
“It means he is coming out face up. It can make an epidural less effective.” She lifts my gown to check my dilation. I shouldn’t be able to feel anything, but I feel her fingers between my legs.
“Fantastic,” I growl. I turn to Nik. “Where is Yakov?”
His face is pale, but he plasters on a smile. “He’s on his way. He’ll be here.”
“He better hurry.” The nurse peels off her gloves. “The babies are coming. I’m going to find a doctor.”
I bite back a sob. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go. The epidural should be working. Yakov should be here instead of you. No offense.”
Nik waves me off. “None taken.”
“I should be calm and relaxed. Maybe sucking on some ice chips.” I whimper as another contraction builds. My entire midsection cinches until I can’t breathe. I feel the urge to push, but I try to fight it. “It’s happening.” I close my eyes as tears roll down my cheeks. “I can’t wait. I’m going to have to push. I’m going to have to do this without him.”
Another nurse is laying out blankets in matching bassinets in the corner. She stops and comes over to check me. “Oh. Oh no.”
“Don’t say it like that,” Nik snaps.
She winces. “Sorry, but she’s ready to push. This is happening fast.”
“No,” I moan. “Yakov isn’t here. Yakov is supposed to be here. He’s their dad. He should be—”
The door to my room slams open.
Yakov jogs towards me, sweaty and with blood splatter on his collar, but he’s never looked better. My body is still on fire, but he’s here. If I wasn’t in excruciating pain with a baby’s skull between my legs, I’d stand up and hug him.
Nik drops my hand and wheels away. “About fucking time. My hand is broken.”
Yakov ignores him and strokes my hair away from my face. I’m sticky with tears and sweat, but he still kisses my forehead. “Everything is okay. You can do this.”
“No, I have to do this. There’s a difference.”
“You have to and you can.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to push out twins. Fuuuuck!” I flail my arm out looking for his hand as another contraction starts. Yakov’s hand slides into mine and I squeeze.
The nurse props my feet up in stirrups and I could care less that my bare ass is hanging out for the room to see. Nothing matters except getting these babies out of me.
“You can push if you need to,” she says. “But wait for another contraction. A doctor is coming soon.”
It’s too late for that. I don’t even have to try to push. My body is doing it on its own, doctor be damned.
I push until my lungs are spent and I’m dizzy. Yakov reaches over my head and then places an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. I have no idea how he knows what to do, but then again, I’m not surprised. He seems to know how to do everything.
He holds my hand with both of his and leans in close. “What do you need?”
“I need to hear you admit that this is all your fucking fault,” I mutter.
He chuckles and curls his hand around my cheek. “This is all my fault. But I promise I’ll make it up to you, solnyshka.”
“How?” I squeak out as another contraction starts.
“I’ll change every last diaper,” Yakov whispers in my ear as I push. “I’ll rock them to sleep in the middle of the night. I’ll bathe them and make bottles.”
The pain is the worst it’s been, but I can see our future like a movie in my head. I can see Yakov with a baby tucked in each arm. The thought makes it all bearable.
I want that. I want that future with him and our babies.
The door opens and an older woman comes in. She introduces herself as my midwife, but they could have an intern between my legs for all I care.
“I can see the head,” the woman announces. “They’re going to be small little babes. One more push and you’ll have baby number one out, okay? Push hard for me, Luna.”
Yakov braces himself by my bed, his fingers warm around my hand. “You can do this, solnyshka.”
As the contraction begins to ramp up, I squeeze my eyes closed and push.
I bear down with everything I have, screaming to the ceiling. It’s a primal release of the stress and fear of the last seven months. I let it all go. This is a new beginning. The start to a better future for my babies.
“Keep pushing,” the midwife urges. “Head is out. The shoulders are coming.”
I can’t breathe. My lungs are seizing up. But somehow, I dig deep and keep pushing. Yakov’s hand braces my shoulders, helping lift me into the right position.
Just as I run out of air and fall back, a tiny wail breaks through the silence.
I snap my eyes to Yakov and he’s staring down at the end of the bed. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him awestruck.
“It’s a boy!” the midwife yells, holding up a pink and purple, slime-covered infant.
“He’s beautiful,” I sob, reaching for him.
The nurse wraps him in a towel and lays him on my chest. It’s an out-of-body experience. I’m staring down at my baby, but it feels like I’m watching a movie. Like someone is going to yell, “Cut!” and snatch him away any second.
“Hey, little man,” Yakov whispers, stroking a finger down our baby’s arm.
“His arm is smaller than your finger.” Tears well in my eyes. “He’s so small.”
But there isn’t time to stare in wonder or panic because another contraction starts.
I groan and the nurse whisks my baby boy away to weigh him and clean him up. I would care a lot more if the contractions didn’t hurt so damn much.
We go through it all again like a nightmare on loop. I squeeze Yakov’s hand until even he winces in pain. The nurse counts down each contraction, asking me to push until I’m on the verge of blacking out from lack of oxygen.
Then, before I know it, another tiny cry fills the room. This one is watery and weak, but I set my fear aside as the midwife lays the baby on my chest.
“Your little girl,” she murmurs.
The midwife and nurse chat quietly in the corner, but I’m fully focused on my daughter. Our daughter.
“My girl,” Yakov breathes. His face is stretched in a rare grin.
“Have I been replaced so quickly?” I tease in a weak mumble.
“You’re my woman. No one can replace you.” He leans over and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You were incredible, solnyshka.”
I smile up at him just as the nurse appears over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but both babies need to be taken to the NICU.”
My heart jolts. “Are they okay?”
“They’re doing really well, but they’re small. Your daughter has some fluid in her lungs. We need to monitor them closely.”
“Can I go with them?” I ask, reluctantly handing my daughter over to the woman.
“In a little bit,” she says gently. “You need to rest. Don’t worry—I won’t let them out of my sight.”
I don’t have a choice but to trust her.
As soon as she wheels the bassinets out of the room, I turn to Yakov. “Is he gone?”
“Dr. Jenkins or Pavel?” he asks. Then he waves away the question. “Doesn’t matter. The answer is yes.”
That explains the blood on his collar.
“We’re safe?”
He smooths my hair away from my forehead. “You are safe. No one is going to hurt you or our babies. I have guards stationed in the hall. They’ll follow the babies to the NICU. You can trust me.”
Of course he has it all handled. He thought of everything.
“I do. I trust you, Yakov.” I loll my head back and let my eyes flutter closed. Exhaustion settles over me like a blanket. My entire body is heavy.
“Rest.” His lips brush over my cheek. “You just gave birth to twins and made me the happiest man in the world. I think that’s enough for a day’s work. You deserve a nap.”
My lips tilt into a tired smile just as I drift off, exhausted and unbelievably happy.
EPILOGUE: LUNA
I crack open the door of the nursery and find Yakov standing between the cribs, looking down at our babies sleeping. It’s been his favorite place ever since the twins were finally released from the NICU a week ago.
“You’re supposed to sleep when the babies are sleeping,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist.
He covers my hands with his. “I’m not tired.”
“Impossible. You were up all night with Alina.”
Coming home has been a tough transition for our princess. She needed more care in the NICU than her brother, Nikolai. She’s not used to lying in a crib. The only way she sleeps peacefully is when someone is holding her or, like now, when she’s swaddled close to her brother.
“Not all night,” Yakov says. “She settled down after four this morning. I got a few hours.”
I press my cheek to his muscled back, hugging him close. “Remember when you wanted to hire a team of nurses to take care of the babies? Where did that guy go?”
“I think ‘that guy’ is wrapped around Alina’s finger,” Yakov admits with a grin.
He was insistent for the first couple weeks after the twins were born that we needed an army of nurses and nannies to help us take care of the twins.. But as we spent hour after hour and day after day in the NICU, he started singing another tune. By the end, Yakov didn’t even want to let the NICU nurses care for the twins. He wanted to do everything himself.
So far, he’s kept all the promises that he made to me during labor. He is always there to change a diaper, make a bottle, and rock a screaming baby back to sleep.
“Well, your mother is living here specifically to help with the twins. She keeps asking me to remind you that you can wake her up in the middle of the night. She’d be happy to help.”
He frowns. “Why is she telling you to remind me? She could remind me herself.”
“She could, but she knows that I have a way of getting through to you.”
Yakov bites back a smile. “Oh, you do, do you?”
I hum, slowly spinning him towards me. I hook my hands around his back and rest my chin on his chest. “You may be a bloody brute to the rest of the world, but for me, you’re a great big softie.”
He arches a brow even as his hands slide down my waist to my ass. He hauls me close, grinding our hips together. “There’s nothing soft about me, solnyshka.”
Heat swirls low in my belly. For the six weeks the twins were in the hospital, I didn’t have space to think about anything else. Yakov and I were so busy taking care of them that the thought of taking care of ourselves was nonexistent.
But now… it exists.
I press my hands to his chest and put some space between us. “You and I are taking the night off.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” I tell him. “We are going to ask your mom to watch the kids and we are going to be off-duty for the first time in seven weeks.”
“You think my mom can handle everything on her own?”
I roll my eyes. “You know she can. She’s better at swaddling Nikolai than I am and she’s the only one who can get Alina to burp.”
I was terrified of what life with Ofeliya would look like. The woman was overbearing before. What was it going to be like now that I also had two premature infants to care for? But since the moment the babies were born—and especially since they came home a week ago—she has been nothing but a fount of helpful advice and patience.
The first night the twins were home, I practically shoved Alina at Ofeliya, begging her to help me. She could have taken over and made me feel like an incapable mother. Instead, she tucked Alina into my arms, squeezed my shoulders, and assured me that I could do it. She sat with me until one in the morning, soothing me while I soothed Alina.
In my book, the woman is a saint.
“Of course she can handle the twins,” Yakov says. “I’m worried about whether she can handle the twins and Mariya.”
I laugh and have to quickly cover my mouth when Alina stirs. “Thankfully, Mariya isn’t here tonight. She’s staying with Nikandr at his place.”
At first, Mariya was staying with Nikandr to make sure he was adjusting okay to life on his own in a wheelchair. Now, she stays with him because she turned eighteen three weeks ago and can get into a lot more clubs without having to use her laughably bad fake ID. Nik’s apartment is in the heart of downtown, which is a lot more exciting than living in “Norman Rockwell’s wet dream.” Those are her words, not mine.
“Then it looks like there’s no reason why we can’t get away for a few hours.” Yakov dips his head, his lips brushing against my earlobe. “Wear something sinful.”
“Sounds like you have a plan,” I say, suddenly a little more breathless.
He shrugs. “Plan, twisted fantasies—whatever you want to call it.”
I twist one way and then the other, examining myself from every angle.
Eight months ago, this red dress fit me like a glove. It hugged my waist, pushed up the girls so I had the perfect amount of cleavage, and the slit was high without being trashy. It was the dream date night dress.
Now, it fits me like an overstuffed trash bag.
My stomach is lumpy, my boobs are swollen with milk and spilling out of the top of the dress, and the extra padding around my thighs has turned the slit into a proper cutout. My entire right leg is hanging out.
“I can’t wear this,” I mutter to myself for the tenth time.
The only reason I haven’t marched back into the closet to find something else is that there isn’t anything else. That and the fact that it’s been months since I’ve walked in heels and I’m feeling unsteady in my stilettos.
Yakov wanted “sinful.” It was an order. But the only things that fit me right now are my maternity leggings and the oversized t-shirts I wear to bed. Neither of which are something I can wear to a night out with Yakov. Not when he’s going to look immaculate in some perfectly tailored suit.
I’m turned around, examining myself from behind, when the door to the bedroom opens.
“My mother acted like it was Christmas morning when I handed the babies over,” Yakov says. “She insisted on changing a diaper herself. Can you believe that?”
