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“We gave him medical attention on the spot, stabilized him before we took him to the nearest hospital. We had our own doctors fly in so they could treat him. Every single one told us he wouldn’t make it. His injuries were too severe, his brain too far damaged.”
“You didn’t believe them.” I’m not asking him a question. Iknowinstinctively that’s what he would have believed becauseIwouldn’t have given up on Z until the last breath had left her body.
Uri nods. “Niko and I took turns at his bedside. He needed a dozen different surgeries in the first few weeks. His body was broken—but bodies are easy to fix. The mind, however…”
I clamp down on my bottom lip.Do not cry. Don’t make this about you.
“He was in a coma for almost four months before he woke up. But it took a while for us to figure out that he was… different. Not his normal self. He had regressed in so many different ways but the doctors said that was normal for a coma patient. That he would need to be taught certain things all over again. We were expecting it.” He exhales sharply. “What we weren’t expecting was the personality change—or rather the personality regression. Mentally speaking, it was like he had aged backwards. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. His next birthday will be his twenty-second… but the Lev I knew back then never grew up.”
I can’t stop a tear from sliding down the side of my face. “Uri… I can’t imagine…”
“There’s no cure,” he says almost defensively. “There’s no hope. There’s no getting better for Lev. This is how he’ll always be. He’ll always be dependent on other people to look after him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he snarls harshly. “Lev is not a burden to me. Nor has he ever been.”
I flinch but I understand his defensive instincts perfectly. Rather than feel wounded, I feel only respect. This immense and overwhelming respect for Uri and everything he has done for Lev. Everything he hasbeenfor Lev.
“That’s not how I meant it,” I tell him softly. “I’m just sorry that your family had to go through that. All of it. Any of it.”
He’s not quite meeting my eyes. His silence is heavy with the weight of his grief. Or maybe I’m just projecting. And because I’m uncomfortable with silences and because there’s nothing I can see right now that would change anything or make it better, I cave to my worst instinct.
I reach out and take his hand.
There’s an initial stab of fear when I first make contact. And then our fingers link together and it feels natural. Like we’ve been holding hands our entire lives.
“I get it now. The high walls, the security, the basement. It’s just all the ways you’re trying to protect him. To keep him happy and comfortable.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure if he’s ever truly happy.”
I can hear it in his voice—the burden of falling short. The burden of feeling like whatever you do is not enough. I felt something similar after Ziva’s death.
In the end, all you’re left with is guilt to add to the grief.
It doesn’t help.
I squeeze his hand, surprised and happy that he hasn’t pulled away. “He loves you, Uri. He looks up to you. He didn’t say a lot but from the little he did say, I understood that much.”
Whether by accident or intention, I don’t know, but his eyes meet mine. And he doesn’t look away. “You’re crying,” he whispers.
“I cry only when it’s important.”
I’m not sure who leans in first. Maybe it’s him; more likely, it’s me. But our lips collide. It’s gentle, soft, maybe a bit desperate, but there’s nothing remotely tentative about this kiss. It feels like an emotional lifeline.
And it feels as much for me as it is for him.
The entire time, he doesn’t let go of my hand.
We’ve had sex before—twice now—and yet it’s never felt quite this intimate.There’s something about this kiss that’s different. There’s something about the last few minutes that have changed everything.
Maybe Uri realizes the same thing, too, because he breaks the kiss abruptly and pulls his hand out from underneath mine.
Then he’s off the bed so fast that I think he might have just given me whiplash. I bring my fingers to my lips, still tasting the phantom kiss he’s left behind. I can only see his profile from the way he’s standing, several feet away from me now.
I feel like I’m supposed to apologize. But honestly? I’m not sorry.
“I should go and check on Lev,” he says gruffly, already turning for the door.
