Page 53 of Your Sharpest Edge
It had been two weeks since Anastasia was admitted to the hospital. Two weeks without hearing her soft voice, and two weeks of sleeping on the lumpy hospital couch.
“You’re starting to smell,” a thick Russian accent called from the doorframe, jolting me out of my makeshift bed.
The nurses must have felt sorry for me; they kept me well stocked with pillows and warm blankets.
“I took a shower.” I pointed toward the small bathroom in the corner.
“If you’re just a friend, you should not be here.”
“I’ve told you, I’m a friend, and until he’s in jail, I’ll be here.”
“You’re risking your career being here.” She let me take the carrier that the sweet cooing was in and put it on the couch.
I looked over at Anastasia, who was hooked up to a million beeping machines. She looked so helpless as the machines moved up and down, allowing her to breathe.
“My agent gave me a pass for the next month. I’m not getting punished for being here. He worked out a deal.”
Mrs. Illyiana clicked her tongue in disagreement. “Look at her. She’s going to take months to wake up, months to learn to walk again. She will never be able to hold her son, skate, or even do basic tasks.”
She then looked at the baby. “He will need twenty-four-hour care. You cannot give that to her when you are away at your hockey game... as her friend.” She emphasized the last part, and the inner-child part of me wanted to stick my tongue out and scream “Nah, nah, na, boo, boo.”
But I was an adult, speaking to another adult, so I’d be reasonable. “I understand that.”
She shut me up, talking right over me. “I will be here. I extended my visa. I will take care of my daughter and grandson for however long they need to get on their feet. I will do it all.”
“What about finances?” I asked.
For a moment, her face fell, and the cool composure she had maintained was replaced by anguish. But just as quickly, her mask was back up. “The lawyer has told us that we will be compensated.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing that if I quit hockey, Anastasia would never forgive me. Plus, I needed to be able to help her if she needed it, and this was the only way I knew how. “But I’m staying here until I’m forced to go back.”
Mrs. Illyiana, with two chopsticks holding her wiry hair together, scrunched her nose. “Fine, but you must shower. Truly shower.” She looked at Anastasia in the hospital bed. “Has anyone been by to see her?”
I blew out a breath. “Her lawyer came by a couple days ago along with the detective for her case. My friend, Dirks, came by to bring me some food yesterday...”
“Her coach? Her friend Layla?”
I shook my head. How could I explain to her mother, who clearly didn’t realize just how isolated and completely alone she was here?
“Just you.”
“Ah,” she replied and looked down. She sat in the chair and pulled out her yarn.
This was our routine. Every few days, when she could make it with the baby, she’d come here. Occasionally, she’d be here all day. I suspected it was when Damien was especially fussy because, from the moment she arrived, I’d hold him the entire time and make a sterile hospital room with his mother, who was unresponsive, as warm as I possibly could.
“Any word about Dimitri?” Mrs. Illyiana asked cautiously.
“He went to a bond hearing a week ago, and they agreed to deny him bond, saying he was a flight risk to go back home.”
“Good,” the older woman said resolutely.
“I’ll kill him if I see him,” I said softly, regretting the words as they came out.
She looked over at her daughter and then down at the yarn and needles in her hand. “I will join you.”
A heavy pause filled the room.
“It’s not your fault, you know.” It was the same sentence I had tried to tell myself, too.
