82. Chapter 82

82

Dimitri

I don't know how long I've been out, but I know my body's betraying me. Every muscle aches like I've been run over by a tank— twice .

Yob tvoyu mat , this better not be me getting old.

My head feels heavy, pain radiating from everywhere.

There's a heat on my skin, a firm, steady weight anchoring me back to reality. Takes me a beat to figure it out—it's a goddamn hand resting on my forehead.

My first instinct?

Reach for my gun. But I can't move a damn thing. My body's useless, limp, like some govno that's been hit with a thousand volts.

I force my eyes open, but it's all a blur of motion.

" Blyat ," I grunt.

"Shhh…"

The world slowly comes into focus: her face above mine, her eyes—chocolate pools of mystery—searching mine, her brows knitted.

Wren.

Fuck.

I move my gaze lower, and there they are— her lips. Plump and so fucking sexy, like a red flag to a raging bull. Lips I remember too well, lips that haunted me for three goddamn years.

Suka , she's so damn close, she's murmuring something under her breath. I can't make it out, but her voice is soft—too soft for someone like her. What the fuck is happening here?

Her eyes snap to meet mine.

The warmth from her hand remains on my forehead, and it's messing with my head more than the damn anesthesia.

" What …?" I rasp. "Why the hell are you here?" My voice is barely a growl. My throat's dry, and it comes out rougher than I intended, but I don't care.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes narrowing, and that worry vanishes, replaced by irritation. "Nice to see you, too, D." Her hand snaps away from my forehead like I'm fucking radioactive. "I came to see if you really did cheat death or if you're just too stubborn to die," she growls from her spot. "Guess two bullets ain't enough to stop you. You must be one tough bastard."

My mouth opens, but no words come up, my gaze locking onto hers. She's too close, her scent filling my senses, making it hard to think.

I grunt, "Takes more than two bullets to put this dog down. Disappointed?"

"Well, you look like shit," she says.

I try to snort, but it comes out as a strangled grunt. "Yeah? You don't look so hot yourself."

Her lips twitch. "Well. You used to think that I'm hot…" She stops abruptly, eyes widening. She coughs, looking away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The words slip out, and I can't stop the edge in my voice. My son. My flesh and blood and she kept him from me.

Her eyes snap to mine. "Fuck you, D." She stands up, and I can tell she's ready to bolt, to walk away, like always.

But not this time.

I push myself up, ignoring the way my ribs scream, my hand shooting out to catch her wrist before she can turn. My grip's tighter than I meant, but I don't let go.

She twists her arm, her eyes flashing with anger. "You didn't come back for me," she snaps, her voice cracking with something raw. "Not once. Not until now."

I see the vulnerability in her face—the way her jaw tightens like she regrets admitting it, like she doesn't want me to know how much it hurt her.

"You thought I just… left?" My voice comes out rough, my throat burning. "I didn't fucking leave you, Wren."

She goes stiff as a fucking corpse. Her eyes snap back to mine, and blyat , it's like looking into a storm. Anger, hurt, all that shit swirling in those dark pools. Her mouth opens, then shuts. I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head of hers, words piling up behind her teeth.

Suka , I know that look. She's about to unleash hell, and part of me wants to see it. Wants her to spit fire and brimstone. At least then I'd know where we fucking stand.

But she hesitates, and that's almost fucking worse.

I tighten my grip just enough to pull her closer. She stumbles, her knee bumping the edge of the bed. "You thought I just ran off?" I growl, the words dripping with disbelief. "I got shot, Wren. Twice. I was in a goddamn coma."

Her mouth opens, then closes, her expression shifting between anger and confusion. "You didn't show up for weeks, D," she snaps, her voice cracking. "I didn't know if you were dead, if you even cared!" She yanks at her wrist, but I don't let her go. "What was I supposed to do, just sit and wait while you played gangster?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "Yeah, maybe! Maybe you should've fucking waited."

She jerks her wrist out of my grasp, finally pulling away, her face flushed with anger. "I had no idea, okay? I thought you didn't want us. I thought…" She trails off, her chest heaving. "And then, what, D? You want our kid in this shitshow?" She throws her hands in the air.

I sit up straighter, ignoring the sharp pull of pain in my side. "You think that's what I wanted?" I snap. "You think I wanted him to grow up in this life?" My voice lowers, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but something else, something deeper, is there, too. "I wanted to know him. I wanted to know you were safe."

She clenches her jaw, her eyes glassy. "And I wanted to keep him safe. Away from all this. Away from the blood and bullets."

My heart feels like it's caught in a vise, a weight pressing down on my chest. "You think I wouldn't protect him?" I say hoarsely.

She doesn't answer; just looks at me, her eyes softening for a split second before she blinks it away. "I… I didn't know. I didn't know if I could trust you."

The words hit me like a blow.

She narrows her eyes, her chin jutting up. "You weren't there, D. You weren't fucking there."

Silence.

It's like a goddamn elephant in the room, crushing us under its weight. Her words hit like a sledgehammer, no sugarcoating or bullshit, and there's fucking truth in them. And I fucking hate that.

I let go of her wrist, my hand dropping to the bed like a dead weight.

"You should've fucking told me."

She takes a shaky breath; her eyes bore into mine, a challenge I can't ignore, and it hits me harder than any bullet ever could. "And I was trying to protect our son."

We stare at each other, my heart feeling like it's trying to twist itself inside out. Blyat , a son. My son. The words echo in my head, and I can't decide if I want to laugh or put my fist through a wall.

My throat's so fucking tight I can barely breathe. The words that come out are raw as if they're being ripped from my chest.

"I'm sorry, Wren."

Her body stiffens like she's been hit by a stun gun, and her eyes grow wide as saucers as she stares at me in disbelief.

"I'm fucking… sorry," I say again, but the words aren't for her. They're for me , for the broken man I am inside, trying to put the pieces back together.

I clench my jaw and look up at her, and it's like the dam breaks. My chest tightens, the words sticking in my throat, but I can't hold it back anymore.

"I never wanted this, Wren," I say, my voice cracking in a way that makes me want to swallow the sound back down. "I never wanted to lose you. I didn't want to miss out on… on him ."

She blinks, and I see her throat bob as she swallows, her eyes widening just slightly, like she's trying to understand. Like she's seeing something she never thought she'd see.

And then I feel it—a warmth sliding down my cheek.