Page 17 of Toxic Salvation
My face is flushed, my skin prickling with unease. “What do you care? Do you not remember five minutes ago, when you told me you didn’t need my help? Well, I don’t need yours, either. So let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s—HEY!”
He yanks my keys from my hand.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere.” He wraps one strong arm around my waist, hauling me away from the car like I weigh nothing. “You can ride with us.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Why not, Vesper?”
The small voice takes all the air out of our argument. Luka stands twenty feet away, backpack slung over his thin shoulders, hurt written all over his face.
“Please come home with us,” he adds. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Yeah, Vesper.” Kovan’s snarl is mocking, dangerous. “It’s been forever.”
“And whose fault is that?” I mutter under my breath.
“Don’t worry,malysh.” Kovan tosses Luka his car keys without taking his eyes off me. “She’s coming with us. Put your stuff in the back. We’ll be right there.”
Grinning ear to ear, Luka goes skipping off. I wait until he is out of earshot before I explode. “You are unbelievable. Two minutes ago, you wanted nothing to do with me!”
“That was before I knew you were carrying my child.”
“And that changes everything, does it? Now, all of a sudden, you care?”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “I have responsibilities now. This changes things, whether either of us wants it to or not.”
I blink back tears, waiting for him to look me in the eye. Waiting for some sign that I’m more than just another loose end.
It doesn’t come. He turns his back on me and starts walking toward his car.
The message is crystal clear: I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not the woman he loves. I’m just the vessel carrying his heir, and that makes me his responsibility.
Nothing more.
Not now.
Not ever.
7
VESPER
I can’t be angry when I’m with Luka. Every time I look at those sunken cheeks or the spark that’s slowly, cautiously brimming to life in his eyes, I feel a pang of guilt that threatens to overwhelm me.
I can’t be mad and love this boy who needs loving at the same time.
So I shove my fury into a box. Lock it tight. Tuck it away in the corner of my mind where it can’t hurt him.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I tell him, pulling him against my side as we sprawl on the carpet beneath his planetarium ceiling.
He giggles—that happy, carefree sound I’ve been starving for—and scoots closer until he’s practically glued to my hip. Above us, stars and planets drift in lazy circles, casting shifting shadows across his bedroom walls.
Everything feels manageable from down here. The world seems smaller, quieter. Less likely to fall apart and crush us beneath the rubble.
“Were you serious about the science museum?” he asks, his voice careful in the way children get when they’re afraid of disappointment. “Because I haven’t been since the last time we went.”
I turn my head to look at him. “Really? How come?”
