18

Ravil
Against my better judgement, Saturday, I drive Lucy to her father’s rehab center as a reward for her good behavior.
She settled into an uneasy routine for the rest of the week. We took daily walks and swims, shared meals. Shared long, intense sex sessions. Natasha came by to massage her every day. To my amusement, she requested perogies every day and devoured them like they were the finest delicacy. She practiced her Russian with the guys, whom I still have not allowed to speak English to her, despite the fact that she knows they can.
Dima and I closely monitored her phone calls and communications, but she didn’t seem to make any secret or overt pleas for help. Gretchen, her friend from DC-the one she came to Black Light with-called a couple times, but Lucy didn’t answer or call back.
For whatever reason, she’s being compliant. I’m not foolish enough to believe she’s accepted her fate. I know she’s biding her time.
“Thank you for this,” she says, staring straight forward through the windshield of my Jaguar I-Pace.
“You will not make me sorry.” It’s a warning.
“Are you going to come in?”
“Yes,” I say. “And you won’t leave my side for a single moment.” I can imagine her trying to slip a note in her mother’s purse or leave it somewhere in the room. Or even blatantly call for help. Bringing her here is a terrible idea. And yet, denying her something so important also felt wrong.
She chews on the inside of her lip, considering me.
“Who do they think is the father of their grandchild?” I ask.
“An anonymous sperm donor,” she says.
I allow a smirk to play on my lips. “Which isn’t that far off. It was nearly anonymous.” We hadn’t exchanged real names at Black Light.
She appears relieved by my reaction. Or non-reaction. “Yes.”
“Except you told me you’d take a morning after pill. Did you know then that you didn’t plan to?”
I can tell by the way her gaze slides away that she did.
“I’m glad,” I offer. “Families are forbidden to bratva. We live by a code that requires us to remove ourselves from all previous family, to never marry and to swear allegiance only to the brotherhood. So I didn’t think I would ever have a child.”
“And now you can?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’m not in Russia anymore. I am the leader of this cell. I am changing the rules.”
“Will our son be in danger?”
“Neither of you will be in danger. I promise you that. If there’s a challenge, it will be for my seat, and the danger will be solely mine. But there will be no challenge. I have no interest in the power struggles back in Russia, and here there are none.”
She stares down at her fingernails. The pale paint is starting to chip. I make a mental note to bring someone in to give her a mani-pedi. “I was afraid I wouldn’t have children. I broke up with Jeffrey because after eight years, he wouldn’t commit. He loved me, but for some reason, he just wasn’t sure about the marriage and family thing. And I knew I wanted it. And I was scared-” her voice chokes, and she stops speaking.
I reach over and pick up her hand, squeezing it.
“I was scared it might never happen for me. I’m thirty-five. I put law school and my career first. I thought I’d have time to have babies once I was established. But then Jeffrey never got on board. And by the time I realized he never would, it seemed like it was too late to meet someone new. So when your condom broke… well, it seemed like an opportunity I might not have again. So I took it.”
I release her hand, remembering that she took it without telling me. And that she still believes she made the right choice. She would still prefer me out of our child’s life.
We arrive at the rehab home, and I park the Jaguar. “Leave your purse in the car,” I tell her, in case she has a note prepared. I check her pockets before taking her hand and leading her in.
We sign in at the front desk where the pretty young attendant greets Lucy by name and looks at me curiously. “You can go on back. Your mother’s already there,” she tells Lucy.
The place is nice-definitely on the higher end for a rehab home but still with the medicinal smell that stings my nostrils. Lucy leads me down the hallway to a room where the door is open. She enters. “Hi, Dad,” she says overly brightly.
An older man in a wheelchair looks over, and the left side of his mouth lifts in a smile. The right side of his face remains slack and unexpressive. Controlling the wheelchair with a joystick, he spins it to face us.
“Hi Mom.” Lucy gives the elegant but depressed-looking woman in the room a hug. “How’s he doing?”
“Who is this?” her mother demands without answering, her gaze resting on me.
I step forward and shake her hand. “Hi Barbara,” I greet her by name. “I’m Ravil Baranov. I’m the father of Lucy’s child.”
Lucy and her mother both suck in shocked breaths. Her father spins the wheelchair to face me, one bushy gray brow down.
“What? How did this happen?” her mother exclaims.
Lucy clears her throat. “Ah, I think that part would be rather obvious, Mom.”
Her mother still stares in confusion, not understanding. “I thought donors in this sort of thing sign away all their rights.” She looks to Lucy’s dad for confirmation, even though the man is no longer capable of speaking.
“We met last Valentine’s Day,” I say. “The baby was conceived naturally.” I’ve learned that sticking close to the truth is always the best strategy. “We’ve only recently become reacquainted.” I hold my hand out to Lucy’s father although I’m not sure he’s capable of shaking it. His right hand is curled into a ball on his lap. “Ravil Baranov.”
He offers his left, working hand. I quickly change hands and clasp it. He squeezes too hard-far too hard. I can’t tell if it’s a message or he can’t modulate his grip.
Judging by the way his alarmed gaze takes in the tattoos on my knuckles, it’s a message. That’s when I realize Nick Lawrence has all his faculties intact. He’s just trapped in a body incapable of speech or walking. Lucky for me, I guess, or he’d be raising the alarm about Lucy’s freedom.
“How’s Dad?” Lucy asks again, obviously trying to change the subject.
“Your father’s had his physical therapy already today, and the speech therapist was in. They have him using this iPad to communicate, but he doesn’t seem to like it,” her mother reports. “How are things at the firm?”
Lucy shrugs. “They want to replace Dad with a new partner, and I don’t think they want me.” She shoots a wry glance at her father, who frowns even deeper. He opens his mouth a couple times, his lips rounding like he’s trying to form words, but he eventually gives up, shakes his head in obvious frustration.
“They can’t pick a new partner without your father’s vote,” Lucy’s mother says.
“Oh, I think they plan to,” Lucy says. “I think that’s precisely why they chose now to act.”
Her father makes some unintelligible sounds.
“They’d have to buy out his share,” Barbara says. “And I’ve had no offers.”
Nick lifts his good foot and plops it down on the wheelchair foot pad, like he’s stomping it.
“I know, dear. I wouldn’t accept them anyway. You plan on going back.”
I hide my wince. In my unprofessional opinion, there’s no way in hell Nick Lawrence will practice law again. But you never know. Miracles do happen.
“But he still has a vote and a voice in any decision they make. I will call Dick myself and tell him I’ll stand in as his proxy until he recovers.”
“No, Mom,” Lucy snaps. “They already think I’ve had everything handed to me because Dad is a partner. If I make partner, it’s going to be on my own merits not because my mother called and pitched a fit.”
Barbara sniffs. “Well, who do you think they want to be partner?”
“I don’t know. But Dick stopped by my office to tell me again how representing members of organized crime is destroying the firm’s reputation. Nevermind that nearly all my cases are referrals from the Tacones. Nevermind I made as much or more for the firm as any associate last year.”
Nick turns his wheelchair to face me directly and tries to speak again.
Lucy darts a glance at him then me.
I don’t play dumb. The truth is, I see the man’s obvious frustration with being unable to interact.
I grab a stool and sit myself right in front of him, meeting his defiant glare. “I care about your daughter, Nick,” I tell him. “I was surprised but happy to learn about her pregnancy. We are committed to seeing if we can work things out to raise our baby together.”
Lucy goes still. Nick studies me intently, like he’s trying to read the rest of the story.
“Wh-where did you say you two met?” Barbara asks.
“Washington, DC,” Ravil answers. “I was there on business. Neither of us actually realized we both lived in the same city until I was in her office this week.”
“Lucy?” her mother warbles. “Is this… all true?” The woman appears shocked. I’m sure Lucy engaging in a one night stand in Washington, DC is completely out of character for her daughter.
“Yes,” Lucy murmurs. “It’s true. Ravil actually showed up as a client Monday,” she tells her father. “Well, I’m representing a young man he posted bail for. He hired me.”
I take her hand and squeeze it.
“Well, lots of people learn to co-parent without becoming a couple,” Barbara offers.
Christ. Do I really seem that unsuitable? Offense taken.
“Indeed.” I stand. “Well, we can’t stay long. We have a birthing class to attend.”
“Lamaze?” her mother asks.
“Bradley Method,” I answer. Lucy hides her surprise because this is the first I’ve mentioned the class or the method. “But we’re also considering hypnobirthing. Harnessing the power of the mind to create a relaxed and painless birth. It’s up to Lucy, of course.”
She gives me a tight smile.
I lean over to shake Nick’s left hand again. “I’m going to take good care of Lucy, don’t worry.”
Lucy leans over and kisses his cheek. “I love you, Dad. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.” She hugs her mom again. “Bye, Mom.”
As we walk out, I take her hand and find it trembling. She sniffs. I stop, realizing she’s holding in tears. A deep sense of horror ripples through me. Like my body physically can’t stand seeing her upset.
“Lucy…”
She jerks her hand out of mine and waves it at me. “It’s all right. I cry every time I leave here. It’s the pregnancy hormones. And I hate-” she chokes a bit- “seeing him like that.”
“Oh, kitten, I know.” I stop and pull her gently into my arms. She doesn’t exactly resist, but she doesn’t hug me back. Her back shakes with another sob. We stand in the hallway, and I rub a slow circle over her back, holding her body flush against mine, the curve of her belly pressing against my hips. After a moment, she softens and presses her face into my shoulder.
“It’s just not fair, you know? He’s such a smart man. And I can tell he’s still there, but he just can’t speak any more. It kills me.”
“It’s possible for the brain to rewire,” I tell her although I’m not so sure. His skin was gray. His breath sometimes labored. Her father didn’t look healthy to me. Like the stroke might have been the first of many signs of deteriorating body due to old age and a stressful career.
“I want him to meet Benjamin,” she says, as if she was thinking the same thing.
“I’m sure he wants that, too. I’ll bet he’ll make sure to hang on for that, kitten.”
She pushes away and wipes at the smudge of her mascara on my white button-down. “I’m sorry.”
I cover her hand. “I’m not.” It’s true-comforting Lucy feels like a privilege. I kiss her temple. “Come on, I’ll bet you’re hungry again.”
She sniffs and gives me a watery smile. “Actually, I am. I really want an Oreo Blizzard from Dairy Queen.”
I smile. “Coming right up. Let’s go, beautiful.”