His (Ties That Bind #2) - Natasha Knight Page 0,53

are going swimming again today. He said if I beat him across the pool again, then I get ice cream.”

“Uncle Maxim?”

I quirk a brow, and Maxim shrugs in the background. “It’s new. I figured—”

“It’s perfect,” I tell him. We might have the most fucked-up family in the world, but we are a family. Just last week, I explained to Josh that Gleb is his grandfather, and he accepted it with one simple question. Could he go swimming at Grandpa Gleb’s all the time?

“So, ice cream, huh?” I force my voice to be light as I examine Josh’s happy face. “Are you getting any veggies in there too?”

“He’s having some carrots with lunch,” Maxim assures me.

Josh nods. “And chicken nuggets.”

“Well, you keep holding down the fort for me, okay, buddy? I’m going to keep taking care of Mommy, but I promise I’ll come to see you just as soon as I can.”

“Is Mommy’s owie better?” he asks, hope shining in his eyes.

Acid burns my throat as I nod. “She’s still getting lots of rest so she can try to get rid of the owie.”

“Can you give her a hug for me?” Josh asks. “And tell her that I beat Uncle Maxim at swimming?”

“I’ll tell her,” I assure him. “I love you, buddy.”

He grins, blue lips stretching wide. “I love you too, Daddy.”

Maxim takes the phone off video chat and gets back on the line. “Are you sure I can’t bring you anything? A change of clothes? Something to eat?”

“No, I’m good. I just appreciate you staying with Josh. I feel better having him there.”

Even though the threat is gone, it doesn’t mean my worries are. I think when it comes to my family, I will always worry.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” Maxim says. “And next time you call, give me some good news.”

“I’m trying, old man.”

We say our goodbyes and disconnect the line. I drink my coffee in silence, mulling over the uncertainties of the future. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Kat, but I know that the doctors told me I’m going to be a father again, if Kat can sustain the pregnancy.

In any other circumstances, I’d be over the fucking moon with pride and excitement. This time was supposed to be different. We were supposed to do it together. But instead, the reality is I might be doing alone, if it ends up happening at all. And nothing about that scenario is ever going to be okay.

23

Kat

I’m floating. That’s the first sensation I register. It’s bright. There’s light all around me but not from any source that I can see. Just bright white light.

Am I dead? I don’t feel my body. I just feel myself float as if I’m supported on a puff of air.

Did I die?

Panic washes over me, and the sensation passes.

Josh.

If I’m dead, I can’t be there for Josh. What if Lev’s dead too? What if he ends up in foster care, and what if a couple like the Georges get him? What if...

“Shh, baby.”

I’m instantly calmed by the voice. The noise I’d barely registered levels out in the background.

I look around. I’m floating again.

A glimpse of red hair catches my eye. It’s fleeting. There, then gone, then back.

She’s here. And even though her back is to me, I know it’s her. I know. She’s holding something. Cradling it. I can tell from the way she’s standing.

I sit up. It takes some effort, and when I look down at myself, my hands are bruised and deathly white, and there are wires everywhere.

I shake my head, looking up at her again.

“Mom?”

She turns like she just realized I was there, and she smiles, and she’s so beautiful that I feel my eyes fill up with tears. She’s just like I remember from when I was little. When she’d hold me as I fell asleep and I’d hold on to her hair like Josh does to mine.

“I miss you, Mom.”

“My baby girl all grown up.” I hear the words even though her lips don’t move.

“Am I dead?” I ask. The peaceful feeling fades again, panic filling me instead.

She tilts her head to the side and looks sad for a moment, but then she smiles again. A reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her,” she says.

As soon as her words are out, I feel a sharp pain in my stomach. The floating sensation is gone, replaced by sound, too much sound. Machines and people and pain. Oh my god, the pain.

“She’s bleeding,” a woman calls out,