7. April

7

APRIL

My hand stops midair. "‘Son'?"

Matvey doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to say anything. One look at his face tells me all I need to know.

Carmine is Matvey's father.

"Matvey!" Yuri storms in, followed by a panting Grisha. "Are you hurt?!" Then he sees the blood. His face pales. "Motya…"

He makes to move closer, but Matvey stops him with a glare. "He's still nearby," he growls. "Go, both of you."

"But Matvey…!"

"I said go !"

"He's fine," I add, taking pity on Yuri. "It's just a flesh wound. I'll patch him up."

"You will do no such thing."

"Yes, I will."

"I said?—"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Matvey's gaze grows in and out of focus. He's lost so much blood, he can't even tell which finger I'm holding up. And that should be an easy one. "Fine," he grumbles eventually. "Do what you must."

Only then does Yuri finally start heading out.

At the door, though, Matvey stops him. "Yura… it's him."

Yuri doesn't say anything to that. He simply stops, a heartbeat and a half, before obeying his pakhan 's orders and fleeing into the night after Carmine.

No—after their father.

Then the cabin turns silent.

Matvey's gaze wanders around the room. Mine isn't any steadier. After all that's gone down, we're left with nothing to say to each other.

Again .

"You shouldn't be so hard on him." Anything to break this wretched silence.

"I'll be as hard on my brother as I like," he growls back.

"It's my fault he did what he did. I put him in an impossible position."

"Believe me—I know."

It's the way he spits out those words, filled with venom and contempt, that finally makes me snap. "Did you even mean a word of what you said? Or was it all just coded language?"

Matvey stays silent. I was an idiot. I'm sorry.

No, I was the idiot. For ever believing him again.

"Take off your jacket and shirt," I sigh.

Matvey gives me a cold glare. "I don't need your help."

"Yeah, you do. So either take them off or bleed to death." Then, because he might actually pick the latter, I add, "I won't have you holding your daughter with blood all over you."

At those words, he finally seems to remember the reason he's here. Because at this point, it sure as hell isn't for me. "Where is she?"

I grab her from my other side. With the bullet wound, it's all Matvey can do to wait for me to place her in his arms. I don't make him wait long.

As soon as he's stripped bare to the waist, I give her to him. My daughter. His daughter.

The second I do, I feel faint.

Because all my mistakes hit me like a freight train.

His eyes light up. Every single muscle softens on his face, lips parting into an expression of pure wonder. It's like he's realizing it for the first time: I have a daughter. This is my daughter.

And I'm the one who took her from him.

What was I thinking?

If I had my way, I would have kept her from him forever. Kept her safe with me, where I knew she would be happy. That's what I've been telling myself over and over: she would be happy with me .

But how could I truly know that? How can I still think that, when her father is looking at her like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen?

"Hello, little one," he breathes.

For the longest time, he says nothing else. Only stares into the eyes of his daughter.

I swallow my guilt and take the opportunity to get up and look for what I need. I grab a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet. If there's a good thing about murder cabins in the woods, it's that there's always a liquor cabinet. Then I grab my sewing kit.

When Matvey sees me come back with the supplies, he frowns. "Where did you even get that?"

"Thank Carmine. He saw fit to kidnap my bag, too." I pour a generous amount of whiskey on the needle and thread, then hand it to Matvey. "Here. Sterilize the?—"

But he's already halfway through the bottle.

" … wound. Never mind."

Wordlessly, I grab another.

As I give Matvey's shoulder a booze bath, he keeps the baby safely tucked in his other arm. Not a single drop touches her, of alcohol or otherwise. In moments, she's already fallen asleep.

He's perfect with her , I think with another stab of guilt. They're perfect together.

"You can put her down, you know," I tell him. "She sleeps like the dead."

"I'm not leaving her."

"This is gonna hurt."

"I said I'm not leaving her."

Guilt stabs me harder.

I pick up my tweezers and force my hands not to shake. Or my voice. "Fine. Have it your way."

I don't offer him something to bite down on. He doesn't ask for it. "Check for an exit wound," he barks instead.

"Already did. It's there."

With that, we fall back into silence.

After I'm done picking out the debris, I let my hands follow the familiar planes of Matvey's back—the taut muscles, the sturdy bones. I've touched this place so many times: hugging, caressing, holding on for dear life as I shattered around him. I didn't need an excuse then.

Certainly not a life-or-death one.

"Hold still."

"I am still."

"You're shifting. The scar's gonna come out all jagged."

"Why does that even matter?" he snaps.

I hesitate, needle in the air. "You have beautiful skin," I settle on. The truth, for once. "It'd be a shame to have it marred."

To have it marred because of me .

He doesn't say anything in return.

But he does eventually put our daughter back down. I watch his fingers clench around the fabric of his pants, teeth gritted against the pain and dizziness. I don't say anything, either. But as my fingers skate around the wound, I feel Matvey's pulse quicken.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

I wonder if he's feeling it, too—what I'm feeling. The chemistry between us, sparking back to life with a single touch. Or maybe it really is just pain, and I'm imagining things again. Like I imagined everything between us.

But Matvey refuses to give me a straight answer. "I'm fine."

"You're breathing harder."

"I said I'm fine."

More silence. Silence, silence, silence. Is that all that's left of us? Is that all I can have? Is that all I deserve?

"April?" Matvey asks suddenly. "Are you… crying?"

Only then do I realize he's right.

And then I can't do it anymore. I can't keep it in any longer. "I hate this," I finally blurt out. "I hate us. What we've become."

"April—" Matvey tries to turn his head, but I steer it back around.

"Keep still," I whisper.

A beat goes by in silence. Then: "Talk to me."

" Talk to you?" I snap. "All I've ever done is try to talk to you! But no, you won't tell me a single thing. You shut yourself away in your silence and leave me alone with my mind. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Being at the mercy of your worst thoughts, doubting every little thing? Wondering what you did to make it happen?"

"You didn't do anything," Matvey cuts in. "Marrying Petra was my choice. It had nothing to do with you."

"Then why didn't you just tell me that?" I cry out. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

I barely manage to tie off the suture. I'm crying so hard, I can't see straight. It's like the floodgates have finally reopened, every ugly thing ready to rush back out.

"I'm going crazy here, Matvey," I whisper with the last of my voice. "I don't know what's real anymore, and it's driving me crazy. You're driving me crazy."

I don't expect him to answer. I've given up on it—figuring out what goes on in Matvey's head.

Then, when I've finally lost all hope, Matvey speaks. "I meant it."

"What?"

"I meant what I said earlier: I'm sorry. I didn't tell you the truth."

It takes me a moment to realize I haven't imagined it. "About which part?" I sniffle. "The part where you said you didn't want anyone else? That there was nothing between you and Petra? Or that you loved me?"

I could go on, but this time, it's me who falls silent.

Because, all of a sudden, I catch a small tremor in Matvey's frame. No, not a tremor: a dizzy spell. He's lost too much blood , I realize. He's going to pass out.

I jump back in front of him, holding him still. "Matvey!"

"The… the… b-baby…"

I frown. "She's right here. She's okay."

"No, the baby. Petra's baby." With the last shred of focus, he looks straight at me. "I lied to you."

"Now isn't the time?—"

"It isn't mine."

I blink. "What?"

"Petra's baby. It was… never mine."

That's the last thing he says to me.

Then he blacks out.