Page 186 of Bleed with Me

Nina’s thumb brushed away a tear from my cheek.

“But none of that means you killed them.”

My chest clutched painfully.

“Tell that to the man who’s replayed that day every night for a decade.”

“Dorian…” she whispered, resting her forehead against mine. “You’ve been punishing yourself for ten years.” Another shaky exhale left my mouth. “I think you’ve served your sentence. It’s time to move on.”

“But I don’t know how.”

-74-

Nina

The coffee machine hummed, disturbing the calming silence in the kitchen. I stared at the droplets falling into the mug, my brain glitching as it jumped from one thought to another. There was no order to them. The images of a car crash, an unborn baby, a funeral, and Dorian covered in blood torturing faceless men invaded my mind, dragging my concentration from everything else.

It was a horrible tragedy. One that surprisingly wasn’t caused by a mafia lifestyle, and maybe that’s why it hurt so much just to think about it. And knowing how it affected Dorian, my heart almost broke for him.

He was so lonely in his suffering. Everyone believed he moved on, but he stayed frozen in that time, replaying it over and over, diagnosing it, trying to find the moment he could’ve changed to prevent it. But the sad reality was that no one had the power to change that painful outcome. Still, I was prepared to do everything possible to be by his side and drag him away from the path he knew so well.

Dorian carried that guilt for so long it became part of him. I wasn’t stupid enough to think one conversation would make it disappear, but I also wasn’t going to stand by and watch him keep feeding it. He had Aryna and me. And if he truly meant what he said about us becoming a family, then sooner or later, he would have to stop looking backward long enough to see what was right in front of him.

I cupped the mug of steamy coffee with my hands, leaning against the kitchen counter. Recalling our later conversation about opening the clinic and performing minor surgeries, I exhaled heavily.

How much effort he put into his public image was astonishing. There was no mention of Caroline, the baby, or the tragic crash. I knew because I spent half of the night searching the internet, but I found only one article about it. There were no names, no photos, just the information that a kindergarten teacher died. Malin erased her like she had never existed, while Dorian kept her with him for almost a decade.

This family's coping mechanism was surely extraordinary.

I shook my head at that thought, forcing my attention to the fridge. I had a six-year-old kid at home, and I could barely make coffee.

Cooking freaked me out because I’d seen our neighbor accidentally pour boiling water over herself. And the last thing I wanted was to destroy my perfect manicure with baking or whatever women did in the kitchen these days.

“We need a cook,” I mumbled under my breath, fishing out my phone. I scrolled through the contacts, musing that maybe someone from my grandpa’s mansion could be a good choice to help me out. He employed a couple of amazing chefs. But before I could dial the first number, a high-pitched scream reached my ears, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

“Mommy Ninaaaaa!” Aryna yelled from the upper floor. I ran to the living room like my ass was on fire when another “Mommy Ninaaaaaa” echoed through the open space.

“What?” I yelled, stopping under the stairs, watching her hop down.

“Oh.” She flashed me a wide grin. Her golden hair resembled a bird's nest, and she dragged her enormous teddy bear behind. “Here you are.”

“Yes, here I am,” I confirmed, my heart pounding. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Her smile widened, coral-blue eyes glowing with mischief. “I just couldn’t find you.” She shrugged nonchalantly, hopping past me.

My mouth hung open as I followed her, glancing at my watch. It was five minutes after eight. Shaking my head at her antics, I grabbed my coffee, trying not to laugh while she fought with a huge chair.

“Need help?” I asked, casting a deadly glare at Dorian’s phone when Aryna shook her head.

It wouldn’t stop buzzing on the nightstand, so I took it with me so he could rest a little more after the emotionally exhausting night. But when the name Stephanie flashed across the screen, my temper rose dangerously high. Not only did I have to make peace with a dead woman whose memory haunted him, but apparently his life was full of living women too.

“I’m hungry,” Aryna disturbed my internal jealousy fit, pouting. “I want waffles.”

“I don’t cook, angel,” I said, turning the screen upside down. I should’ve probably woken him up if Stephanie needed him so badly, but there were enough doctors in New York, right? They’d manage.

“Every mommy cooks.” Aryna’s adorable little nose wrinkled as she stared at me.

“I told you, I’m not a mommy.” I set the mug aside. “And I surely don’t cook.”