Page 84 of Toxic Salvation
“Wow,” I laugh awkwardly, “did I just render you speechless? I didn’t think that was possible.”
He doesn’t return the laugh. “You… love me?”
I smile, wondering why I was so damn scared of admitting that before now. “Yes, I do. I may regret a lot of things in my life, Kovan, but I’m damn sure I’ll never regret that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” I ask, half-teasing and half-despairing. “Because I’d rather you just tell me the truth straight. If you don’t want me, just tell me. But don’t try to make me change my mind, because that’s not going to happen.”
He runs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m not a good man, Vesper.”
“I’m not sure I’m a good woman, either,” I admit.
Kovan snorts as though the very suggestion is ridiculous. I grab his arm and force his eyes to mine.
“You don’t get it. I grew up a child living a sheltered life. Of course I thought all choices were simple, were easy, were black and white—because I didn’t have any difficult choices to make. My biggest decision was whether to go to Harvard Medical School or Stanford. That’s not a choice—it’s a privilege.”
“It’s not the same thing, Vesper?—”
“But it is!” I insist. “You live your whole life thinking you’re this ethical, moral, conscientious human being, only to find out that when it comes down to the hard choices, you’d choose yourfamily over your morals, your ethics… even your conscience. I was so superior. I just didn’t know any better.”
He stares at me. “I guess we have that in common then.” His arms are tense. It’s as though he’s still holding his breath.
I summon up the last of my courage. “So, I guess the only question left to ask is, do you still want me? Because if not?—”
But before I can get the rest of my sentence out, his lips are on mine. Firm and passionate, he kisses me breathless.
The towel falls.
His hands roam south.
And just like that, everything in my world is right again.
30
KOVAN
“How many days has it been?”
Grigory holds up a small red chip between his thumb and forefinger. The plastic catches the afternoon light sneaking through the window blinds of his room at Maitland Care Facility. “Thirty days, boss. I’m thirty days sober.”
I sit down in the metal chair beside his bed. The man has gained some weight since I last saw him—thirty-one days ago when I’d personally dropped him off at this place. Back then, he looked like a walking corpse. Sunken cheeks, eyes so bloodshot I couldn’t see the whites, patchy hair falling out in clumps.
Now, he’s got cheekbones again. Color in his face. His hair has grown back thick and dark.
“You look good, Grigory.”
“I feel good, sir. Well, most days.” He sets the chip on his nightstand, treating it like it’s made of gold instead of cheap plastic. “There are still days when it’s a struggle, but I have a great support system here.”
As soon as those words pass his lips, his face changes. The corners of his mouth turn down, and his shoulders slump forward.
“You’re worried about the support system you’ll have when you leave Maitland, aren’t you?”
Grigory scrubs his hands over his face. The motion is rough and agitated. “M-my daughter… I only got to see her once a month, before all this. She’s the whole r-reason I got into… the drug trade. So that I could provide for her. So that she would be okay.”
“Dealing drugs is one thing, Grigory. Why start using them?”
He can’t look at me directly. His gaze bounces around the room—the window, the floor, his hands. His knuckles are raw and bruised from how much he’s been working them, picking at the skin until it bleeds.
