10. April

10

APRIL

I've only ever felt home in three places in my life.

One: the brownstone I shared with my grandmother. It's where I grew up—where I finally felt accepted for the first time. There, I could go to sleep with both eyes closed. I didn't even have to wonder if I'd be woken up by the sound of my mother yelling, or my father throwing furniture into the walls. Out of this world, right? What a luxury. What a privilege.

Two: my hole-in-the-wall with June. For my whole adult life, it's been my safe space: just me, her, and a shared bowl of mac-and-cheese on a ratty old couch. I don't know many people who would call it "heaven," but it was heaven to me.

Three: Matvey's penthouse.

It wasn't as immediate there, though. For the longest time, it felt like a prison. And then, towards the end, it turned back into a cage. A golden one, yeah, but find me a single prisoner who'd care about the color of their cell bars. Not me, that's for sure.

But for a while, in the middle days, it didn't feel like that.

It felt like home .

The penthouse is exactly as I remember it: the luxurious sofas, the sleek décor, the stunning floor-to-ceiling windows. The only significant change is the dinner table.

I run my hand along the surface of this new one. It's… colder. Steel and glass instead of sun-warmed wood. The corners are sharp, like I could cut my finger on them just by poking too hard.

We're gonna need to baby-proof these when May's older , I find myself thinking.

And then: Wait. Are we still going to be here when she's older?

Am I still going to be here?

I yank the emergency brakes on my train of thought. It's way too early to worry about that. To think about something as vague as the future.

Especially when I'm still trying to make sense of the present.

"Where do you want these?" Yuri wheezes from the heap of suitcases in the doorway.

Anywhere but here. "It's okay," I answer from the middle of the living room. "You can just leave them there. Do you want some water?"

It feels strange, acting like the lady of the house. Like this place is mine in any way that matters.

But maybe it's not the penthouse that's different. Maybe I'm just not the same person who walked out.

I take Yuri's wheezing for an affirmative and bring him some fluids. "Familiar, isn't it? This whole scene," I joke.

Yuri guzzles down the water and grins. "Kind of. Last time, it was toys."

"Mhmm. This time, it's just boring supplies."

"Nothing boring ‘bout a stroller filled with diaper packs."

I hum in agreement. If I've learned anything in these past few weeks on the run, it's that newborns need a lot of interesting things. So interesting, in fact, they can cost you an arm and a leg and a plasma donation. "Last time, you had to haul everything inside on your own, too."

Yuri shrugs. "Last time was an apology from Matvey."

"And this time?"

His face dims. "This time, it's an apology, too," he mumbles.

An apology to Matvey, I read between the lines.

Guilt pierces my heart. I should be getting used to the feeling, shouldn't I? Being the worst thing that's ever happened to everybody. Instead, the pain just keeps getting worse.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too," I say shyly. "I put you in an impossible position. I wasn't thinking about you, or what this would do to you, or to your relationship with Matvey. If anybody deserves an apology here, it's you."

I stroke my baby for courage as I speak. Nugget is a comforting weight in my arms—no, May , I remind myself. I'll need to get the hang of that. Can't keep calling her like food forever, can I?

But it brings back so many memories…

Next to me, Yuri shakes his head. "I put you in an impossible position. I don't know if… if Matvey told you yet, but I…"

I watch his face twist into an expression of pain. The petty part of me says I should let him stew a little longer. Unintentionally or not, he was the catalyst for my falling out with Matvey—the spark that lit the fire on our love. Afterwards, there was nothing left but ashes.

But the rest of me rebels against the thought: Yuri helped me. More than that, he was the only one who did. The one who had the most to lose.

And I can't watch him torture himself for one more second. "I know," I reassure him. "It's okay. I don't blame you at all."

"But it's not okay! I?—"

"You protected your family," I cut him off. "You did what you had to do. And so did I."

Something flickers across his face then. Something like amusement. "You sound just like Matvey."

I act surprised. "Yeah? Imagine that."

There are other words, fighting to get out, but I lock them far away. Words Matvey said to me, and words he didn't.

Say to me , that is.

A piece of advice to all the pakhans out there: if you're going to argue with your brother, do it far away from the object of contention.

And maybe don't shout so loud.

"You'd lie to April again?"

"I would."

Last night, those words gutted me. For a hot second, I thought I'd never get back up. The regret I thought I saw in his eyes, the sadness—how long did it take for Matvey to rationalize his way out of it? A day? An hour? Or even less than that?

But I did get back up. Eventually. I dusted off my broken heart, picked up my baby, and got myself all the way back to my dear old cage.

If there's one thing parenthood taught me, it's to bleed in silence.

"Who knew it'd be this hard, huh?" I muse out loud. "Being parents?"

Yuri makes a choking noise in his throat. "I wouldn't… know about that."

Yeah, you do. You're a dad in the making already. "Plenty of time to figure it out, though, right?"

"I guess," he mumbles, uncomfortable the way only a new parent can be. He may be Matvey's brother, but I could swear I see myself in his eyes: that big, neon sign flashing the words I Am Freaking TF Out with every single blink. "It's going to be at least six more months, and Petra—" Yuri halts, looking guilty. "Sorry. I probably shouldn't mention her to you. Not after…"

"The wedding?" I list off the top of my head. "The forced heist? The hospital scare?"

"Don't forget the kidnapping at gunpoint," someone chimes in.

Our heads snap towards the door in unison. "Petya," Yuri murmurs. "You shouldn't…"

"—be here?" Petra fills in from the doorway. "Neither should she. I told you that motel was a shitty idea. Next time, leave the hiding to me."

Petra. I haven't seen her since that day at the Mallard. The day everything changed between us—and between me and Matvey.

Then everything changed again, and I thought it was her fault.

It's odd—for over a month, I've cursed this woman out in my nightmares, cursed the way she played me for a fool. The way I thought I'd let myself be played for a fool.

But none of that was real.

"April…" She's suddenly uncertain now that she's speaking directly to me. "Can we talk?"

A month ago, I would have used a few choice words to answer that question. Mostly creative suggestions on where a hypothetical backstabbing bitch could put—or possibly shove—her desire to talk to me.

Now, I find myself nodding once.

Petra turns to Yuri. "Give us a moment?"

"Of course," he says. "I'll go check in with the guard detail."

I watch in silence as Petra's hand brushes the air above Yuri's shoulder in an almost-touch. The way his voice softens in return. The way their eyes meet and don't, as if afraid someone might see too much.

If I wasn't holding a baby right now, I would smack myself right across the face. How in the hell could I have missed it? How could anyone have missed it?

When Yuri finally steps out, the tension becomes unbearable. It's so thick, I could dice it into sashimi.

Then Petra starts talking.