Page 118 of Toxic Temptation
The question hangs in the air between us. For a second, I think I’ve gone too far.
“That’s some question,” he says finally.
“Am I wrong about what you do? About who you are?”
“No. You’re not wrong.”
“So killing her was an option?”
“I thought about it sometimes.” His voice is matter-of-fact, like we’re discussing the weather. “But Luka would never forgive me if he found out. And even if he never did, Ihor would use it against me. He’d point the FBI in my direction, and that would put Luka at risk.”
I nod sadly. “I get that.”
“It took me a long time to get Luka out of his shell, Vesper,” Kovan continues. His face goes dark. “He didn’t speak for weeks. He stopped eating. I took him to half a dozen therapists, but none of them could get through to him. There was a point where I thought…” He stops, swallows hard. “I was afraid he might hurt himself.”
Horrified ice flows through my veins. The image of Luka—bright, funny, sweet Luka—wanting to do damage to his own precious body makes me feel sick. The thought of Kovan bearing that weight alone is almost as agonizing.
“Where was Yana during all this?”
“Gone.” The single word is laced with disgust. “Right after we buried my brother, she disappeared for a month. When she came back, she was married to Ihor.”
“Jesus.”
“He’s my father’s age. He was loyal to him in a way he’ll never be to me, and ruthless in ways I’ll never be myself. And completely without honor. He resents having to follow my orders. Always has, always will.”
“But you can’t touch him,” I guess.
“Not without consequences I’m not willing to pay.”
We stand there in silence. This isn’t just about custody battles or fake relationships or hospital corruption. Maybe it was once about those things, those huge-scale wars, but now, it’s condensed into something smaller and all the more tragic.
This is about a little boy who’s already lost everything and the man who’s trying to save him.
And me, wondering where the hell I fit in.
“Luka’s lucky to have you,” I say quietly.
It takes a moment for Kovan to react. When he does, he blinks, clearing away a distant haze from his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you, too.”
The moment stretches too long, becomes too charged. I clear my throat. “Well, I’m glad we talked, I guess. We should probably get some sleep.”
He nods, but neither of us moves. A clock ticks. The sink drips. Outside, cars groan as they whisk away down the street.
Finally, I force myself to step past him toward the bedroom. We brush, skin-to-skin, heat-to-heat, breath-to-breath. I’ll wonder if he’ll stop me again and what will happen if he does.
He doesn’t.
But I feel his eyes on me as I walk away.
When I come out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth, he’s there. I slip under the covers and turn to look at him. His back is to me, shoulders broad and bare in the dim light.
It’s so easy—all too easy—to look at that bulk and wonder things. What would it be like to belong to him? Really belong, not just pretend? To be someone he’d fight for, someone he’d choose?
The longing hits me so hard I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
But wanting something doesn’t make it possible. Kovan’s world is violence and danger and a circle made of two. I’m just a temporary solution to a temporary problem.
I need to remember that. I need to focus on my own goals—saving my job, helping my patients, getting my life back on track.
