Page 72 of Baby for My Ex’s Dad

He winces when Rappaport does something to him, then sighs like the pain faded fast. “No boyfriend. I fish with you.”

“Fine, fine. But when you get a boyfriend, we’ll all go fishing together. And target practice on my sister’s fence.”

“It’s… it’s so bright in here.”

It’s not. Not at all. I’m not even sure how Rappaport is seeing what he’s doing.

“I’m going to beat you at chess one day soon, you know?”

He tries to laugh, but then he winces, and his eyes go back to seeing nothing. But he still breathes.

I gently brush his damp hair away from his forehead, glancing out of the corner of my eye to see Rappaport hurriedly and grimly working on him—packing something and calling for assistance. Meanwhile, Pasha’s eyes remain fixed on me. Keep my gaze steady. Stay⁠—

His body suddenly jerks, arching forcefully, producing a sound felt in my spine. His back lifts off the floor against Rappaport’s grip.

And then he goes still.

Still like a dropped thing. His eyes are open, and they are not looking at me anymore. The hand I didn’t even know I was holding goes loose and heavy in mine.

“No,” I hear myself say, from very far away. “No, no, Pasha, no⁠—”

“Move your hands.” Rappaport pushes me back, tearing off the last piece of shirt. His palms slam onto Pasha’s chest as he starts, forceful and relentless, pressing down with all his weight.

I stumble back on my heels, both bloody hands covering my mouth, while Galina’s arm wraps around me tightly. We cling to each other on the bloody rug as a man tries to force another man back into himself.

Compressions. A breath. Compressions.

Pasha’s body jerks, a helpless doll flopping at Rappaport’s demands. Then he coughs, wet and enormous, taking in a breath of a horrible, beautiful rattling sound. His eyes flutter and roll, searching for something, and he is breathing.

Rappaport briefly sinks to his heels for a moment and exhales as if lifting a burden. “There you are. Stay.”

My lungs stretch my ribs to full. My first breath in years.

Suddenly, the room floods back—the sounds, firelight, and the scent of blood. I find myself sobbing into Galina’s shoulder, her firm hand resting on my head. Pasha is alive, breathing. He’ll stay my patient and sweet friend.

I refuse to let go of that tonight, no matter what. I bark, “Do not scare me like that again, do you hear me?”

Then, the EMTs rush in, forming a wall of readiness with radios, stretchers, and a professional air, transforming the study into a scene of straps, shouted numbers, and lifting. They prioritize Pasha first, Rappaport quickly communicating the handoff with concise, practiced language, an IV inserted even before he’s fully lifted.

Klaus, still conscious and gray, finds his father’s face as they lift the stretcher and whispers something to him—an exchange I don’t catch, but Maxim does. Whatever was said changes Maxim’s expression.

As I follow out, red and white lights flood the house through the windows, casting alternating hues over the walls. In the courtyard, it’s chaos and cold air and two ambulances. And if I’m not mistaken, another body.

A squishy one.

Maxim has my hand, gripping it, pulling me toward the one they’re loading Klaus into. “Come with me. Both of them, we go together⁠—”

“Only one extra per unit,” an EMT says, flat, already moving. “One rides with each. That’s it, we’re rolling.”

Maxim stops, and I watch the tear happen in him, his son in one ambulance and me at his side but only one seat in each.

I make it simple for him. “Go with Klaus. He stepped in front of a bullet for me, Max. Go be with your son. I’ve got Pasha, I promise you, I won’t leave him for one second.”

Something breaks and steadies in his face at the same time, grief and gratitude at once. And a love so naked I can’t look away. He cups my jaw, his thumb rough along my cheekbone, and everything he cannot say pours through his eyes instead. I kiss his palm, and then he lets me go, and he climbs up into the ambulance beside his son.

I climb up beside Pasha and take his cold hand in both of mine. Galina and Lev are already peeling off toward the cars to follow. Maxim’s men move with them.

“You’re doing so well,” I tell Pasha, over the EMT’s shoulder, as I climb in after them. “You’re doing so well, and I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”