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It’s the same thing he said to me the night he showed up at the house. That night, it was Natascha’s blood on his hands.
I don’t want to know whose blood it is now.
I glance over to the crib to make sure Nina is sleeping through this. Miraculously, she is. I can only hope she sleeps through nights like these for as long as they continue to happen.
“I was expecting you back hours ago,” I whisper, inching towards him. “What happened?”
“We were attacked.”
“‘We’?” I look over his shoulder, but it’s just him here.
He flinches, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. “I need to get cleaned up.”
Ignoring the pain shooting up and down my hip—a direct result of the hours of pacing I did before he walked in—I reach for him. “I’m right here. Let me help you.”
He doesn’t brush me off like I expect. Instead, he allows me to lead him into the bathroom. He watches with a blank expression as I fill a bowl with warm water and find a hand towel.
The blood around his wrists is dark and flaky—hours old, at least—and it disappears under the cuff of his shirt. So, I start undoing the buttons and checking to make sure he’s whole. He was right—the blood isn’t his—but he’s not unscathed. There are fresh scrapes and bruises all over his chest and arms. Discarding his bloody clothes, I run the wet towel over his chest, massaging until his skin is clean.
I try to meet his eyes, but he looks away pointedly. It seems the only time he can look at me is when I’m not looking back.
Finally, when I’m sure my imagination has to be worse than the truth, I ask, “Arsen, what happened?”
“A mistake,” he says brusquely. “One I might not be able to take back. But one I can ensure I never make it again.”
Fear closes my throat and keeps me from asking the rest of my questions.
Arsen doesn’t move as I drop the bloody towel into the bowl and wash my hands. I’ve never seen him so still. So distant.
I can’t take it.
I cup his face, forcing his eyes to mine. “Please,” I whisper, “come back to me.”
His green eyes are dim. They flicker to mine for only a second before they drop away. “Dominik was shot tonight.”
My hands fall away. I stumble back, my elbow knocking the bowl of red water on the counter. Looking at it now makes my stomach churn. “What?”
“He’s in emergency surgery. Kira’s probably at the hospital by now.” He says it with a resigned sigh I don’t understand.
Dominik is one of his best friends. Arsen loves him, loves Kira. I know it.
“We need to be there.” I’m already running through a list in my head of what I need to do.Get dressed, have Polina watch Nina, find Arsen a new shirt.“She needs someone with her. Oh, God.”
“There’s no point looking to God,” Arsen interrupts harshly. “He can’t hear us.”
Suddenly, Arsen’s strange behavior—his coldness and detachment—makes perfect sense to me. I grab his hand, kiss it, hold it against my beating heart. “I’m not going anywhere, Arsen. I’m gonna be right here with you, okay? We’re not going to lose Dominik.”
His eyes snap to me. It’s the most focused he’s looked since he walked into our room. “Will you get ready?”
“Of course. Give me ten minutes. I’ll put on some clothes, and we can go to the hospital. I’ll have Polina look after Nina while we’re?—”
“No.” He pulls his hand away, his eyes once again trained on the floor. “Nina can come with you.”
I’m not sure we should be taking Nina to the hospital, especially under the circumstances. I’d feel much better leaving her here with Polina and my mom, but I decide not to argue with Arsen now.
If he feels more secure with us all together, I want to give him that.
“Okay. We’ll bring her with us.”
