I could gain a lot, but I have to take a chance on him to find out.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
Chapter 1
Blair
Five years later
Itrace the recipe card again, triple-checking it against what I have laid out on the counter. I don’t think I’m missing anything, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. If I forgot something, it wouldn’t be a big deal to pivot and make something else, but I need a win tonight, even if it’s just a nice dinner.
Niko’s playing upstairs, happy and content. After an afternoon running around the park, he’s all tuckered out. If I’m lucky, he’ll fall asleep tonight without any problems, regardless of whether or not his father’s home.
The house is as clean as it’s going to get when there’s a toddler helping, I have everything I need for dinner, and it isn’t even that late yet.
I feel like a Super Mom.
It’s not enough to keep me from looking at the clock on the stove every few minutes like it’ll fix the rest of my life, but I try to savor the little wins while I can.
Evenings have a habit of creeping forward as slowly as possible before they slam into me like a brick wall, and bracing for it wears on me just as much as the hit.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing my shoulders to relax.
I can’t do anything to change what’s happening outside of this house, so I have to find a way to be grateful for the things that Icancontrol.
The pitter-patter of little feet startles me out of my quiet meditation, making me smile. No matter how miserable I am, Niko never fails to cheer me up.
“Mama!” he cries, and the warble of his voice is enough to have me tensing all over again, whipping around to make sure he isn’t hurt. “Mama! I need help!”
For a moment, all I can do is blink at him. He’s holding out his hands, fingers spread wide like I need help seeing what’s wrong. His hands are stained a blue so dark it almost looks black, and the same color is smeared across his face, even streaked through his golden blond hair. A pit opens up in my stomach, and I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry.
If it was a bright blue, I’d at least be able to reassure myself that it’s from his markers, or maybe he got into his finger paint, something that’s washable and non-toxic. But of course the small tornado that I call my son wouldn’t do something as simple as that.
His brown eyes shimmer with unshed tears as his chin wobbles.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I soothe, pulling him against my chest. I almost regret it when I feel how wet his hands are against theback of my shirt. “Let’s go get washed up, and we’ll figure this out, okay?” He nods, tucking his head under my chin as I carry him toward the bathroom, taking great care to ignore the blue handprints and smears that decorate the walls along the way.
Forty-five minutes later, my plans of a nice dinner have been abandoned, and Niko’s humming happily to himself as he tears into his microwaved chicken nuggets and boxed mac and cheese. I stare at my plate, reminding myself how much worse it could have been. I can handle ink, but if he’d found one of Daniil’s weapons?
Through the relative peace and quiet, the sound of front door unlocking is as loud as a gunshot. I brace myself just as Niko takes off, sprinting toward the front hall. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s been told to wait for either Daniil or I, it’s like talking to a brick wall. He’s too young to understand that our world is dangerous, and he’s too eager to see his father to learn caution.
Niko’s dinner is instantly forgotten, and I have to take off after him before he can try to open the door on his own.
I manage to pull him to me just before he’s able to slam into the black door, immediately wiggling to get loose as I pull him back. Experience tells me that it’s Daniil, but life’s taught me to rely on what I can see, not what I thinkI know.
As soon as Daniil’s through the door, he drops his briefcase and the band of tension around my chest loosens. He crouches, arms spread wide open in greeting.
“Papa!” Niko shoves back against my chest and slips free.
“Niko!” Daniil’s hair is a mess and his tie is loose, but he’s full of enthusiasm as he wraps his arms around our son, lifting himinto the air. There are matching smiles on both of their faces. It’s their standard greeting, and it fills me with a sense of longing, just like it has every other time they see each other after a long day.
I stand at the edge of the room and swallow thickly, feeling like a voyeur as he carries Niko further into the house. It’s apparent the moment he actually notices Niko’s face, because he stops dead in his tracks, his whole body going tense. His eyes dart to me, looking almost panicked.
“Uh, hey.”
“Hey.”
He looks between Niko and me again, mouth gaping while he processes.
