Page 56 of Unbroken

“This message may not be deleted by all parties.”

Perfect. Fucking useless.

He answers, all calm and casual.

“Hey, what’s up? We haven’t left yet. Are you okay?”

God, of course that’s his first thought.

Are you okay?

Yeah. I’m fine.

No. I’m not.

“Why don’t I just come to your house? You don’t have to pick me up for dinner. We can do something else.”

There.

“Well,” he says slowly. “I already promised Luka I’d take him to the place with the french fries and the animal-shaped milk cups.”

“…There’s a place that has animal-shaped milk cups?”

I want one.

Shit. Focus.

“That’s cool. But we can head back to the house after, if you want. Hang out for a bit, maybe watch a movie. Put him to bed, you know? Let it feel like dinner time, not just some rushed afternoon.”

So I send Zoya a quick SOS message and tell her as much as I can.

Zoya

Oh god. I’m on it. I know he still has her phone and I might be able to locate it because Rafail tracks all of them and she was on our family plan. Stay calm.

Okay, this might work out. I can do this.

I’m staring out my window, nerves coiled tight, when I finally see them. Vadka’s just pulling up, and before I can even get to the door, I see him already out of the car, unbuckling Luka from his seat. And—wait. Is Luka holding flowers?

Oh my god. He is. That little boy is actually holding flowers.

I open the door, and there he is, standing with a proud little grin, a colorful bouquet in his tiny hands, and Vadka just behind him, looking… a littlesheepish. Which, honestly, might be the most shocking part. I’ve never seen him with such boyish charm.

“Vadka,” I say, smiling even as my heart does this slow, weightless somersault. “I would've come out to the car. You didn’t have to unbuckle him and all that.”

Vadka shrugs, serious. His brow creases as he ruffles Luka’s hair, that quiet, protective energy radiating off him naturally. My throat tightens. Somehow, seeing the way he is with this little boy makes my own need to be protected, cared for, and cherished heighten.

“I need to teach him how to be a man,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A real man doesn’t wait curbside for his woman. He goes to the door. Luka—open the door for your auntie. Let her have a seat.”

My heart does a full-on collapse.

“That’s right,” Luka says, nodding solemnly, like he’s practiced the line a dozen times. “And brings her flowers. You look so pretty, Auntie. So, so pretty.”

He hands me the bouquet, beaming, that one dimple of his popping like a secret weapon he absolutely knows how to use. I crouch down, kiss his sweet cheek, and wrap him in a hug that I never want to let go.

“You picked these out for me?”

“No,” he says honestly, like kids do. “Papa did. But he told me to bring them to you.”

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