Page 4 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

Molly

Ibend over and wrap the towel around my hair. The towel is still damp from drying my son off after his shower, but it should help dry my hair a little bit before we have to head out into the cold. Walking around with frozen, crunchy hair all morning is not my idea of a good start to the day. Though, neither is showering in a gym locker room, when I really think about it.

My jeans feel sticky against my skin, and I make a mental note to set aside some of my tip money to make a laundromat run. My shirt also sticks to my skin, but that’s because the towel was too wet to do much good drying me off. I pinch the thin material and try to pull it away from my breasts, but when I let go, it resumes clinging to my every curve.

I look up and scan the shower area again. There are no partitions or even curtains. Just one long row of showerheads protruding from a white tile wall. Even though we’ve been coming to this same gym for months, I can’t seem to grow comfortable with the arrangement. I always feel like I’m being watched. It’s why Theo and I shower so early in the mornings. The first arrivals of the day are still in the middle of their workouts when we show up. It gives us fifteen or so uninterrupted minutes to shower before any of the other members can complain to the front desk about a child being in the showers.

If they’re so worried about children seeing a bunch of naked adults, perhaps they should spring for stalls, I think to myself. That would probably require a higher membership fee, however, which we don’t have the money for. And showering in full view of other women beats smelling like body odor and diner grease, so I’ll take what I can get. Though, I’ll have to find another solution before Theo gets much older. At this age, he’s too busy playing to pay any mind, but that won’t last much longer.

Theo makes a loud roaring sound, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn around just in time to see his little face squished in fury as he squeezes a bottle with all his might, squirting shampoo up into the air in a tall arc.

“No, no, no!” I blurt out, rushing forward to yank the bottle out of his hands. I squeeze the sides of the bottle lightly, trying to assess how much shampoo we lost. I’d be annoyed even if it was the cheap dollar store shampoo, but I found this bottle in one of the showers last week. It’s a salon-grade shampoo, way out of our price range and probably left behind by one of the stay-at-home moms after a private Pilates class. Probably one of the same moms who glower whenever they see me waiting in the lobby with Theo for the bus. I didn’t mind taking the bottle because whoever left it probably wouldn’t even notice. Things like shampoo are easy enough for them to come by that they don’t worry much about it.

“It’s a volcano,” Theo says playfully, rounding his lips around the final “O,” emphasizing it in a way that makes it hard to be angry. The little sucker is cute when he wants to be.

“This volcano is dormant from now on,” I say, tucking the bottle into my stained duffel bag. “We can’t afford to waste shampoo right now, buddy.”

He frowns, both because he got in trouble and because he doesn’t understand why. Theo makes that face whenever I talk about our finances.

I kneel in front of him and pat his clean hair. Even in the terrible fluorescent bathroom lighting, I can see the gold streaks in it, the lightness that didn’t come from my mostly Dominican roots. The shape of his face isn’t like mine either. His is sharp—always has been, even when he had a layer of baby fat covering his cheeks—whereas mine is oval. I run my hand from his hair, down his cheek, and lift his chin until we’re looking into each other’s matching brown eyes.

“That was a cool volcano, though.”

His eyebrows rise, and he smiles. “Really?”

“Really. I loved it, but next time, you need to ask Mama if it’s okay, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats, still smiling at my compliment.

I Velcro his shoes on, pressing my thumb down over his toes to see how much longer this pair will last before I need to buy new ones. They fit for now, but he grew out of the last pair almost overnight, so I know I’ll need to allocate the money sooner or later.

Then, I slip into my white sneakers, stained with oil splatters, and pull on my coat. Theo is proud of himself for putting his on without my assistance, but he still needs help with the zipper. I zip it up to his neck and then kiss his cheek. He pretends to be grossed out, but when I hold my arms out, he wraps his skinny legs around my waist and hugs me, forcing me to carry him out of the bathroom and into the hall. It doesn’t take much convincing. I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately, and we don’t get as much time together as I’d like. I’m happy to make the most of every minute I can.

I see a figure in a gym employee’s uniform dart around the corner ahead of us towards the front desk and thank my lucky stars they weren’t standing just outside the door as I came out. Kids aren’t allowed in the locker rooms. If you do bring a child, you either need to skip your post-workout shower or check them into the in-house gym day care. It costs five dollars per hour, which I can’t afford. Plus, Theo needs to bathe. Early-morning showers mean everyone who might care is usually still waking up for the day and too tired to pay attention to me or whatever rules I might be breaking. I pray our luck in that department continues.

When we get into the lobby, Theo wriggles out of my hold and runs across the lobby to press his face against the steamy gym windows. He likes drawing pictures in the condensation, and I spend so much time telling him “no” for other things that I can’t bear to take this little pleasure away from him.

Our bus still hasn’t arrived, but Shonda drives on Monday mornings, and she usually runs ten minutes later than the other drivers, so I figure we have another five minutes before she shows up.

I’m walking towards the tables and chairs closest to the doors to wait when my path is suddenly blocked. I pull up short, surprised. “I’m sorry,” I say out of instinct.

“Apology not necessary,” the front desk employee says. “I cut you off.”

I smile and glance at his name tag—Ted. When I look back up at his face, his eyes are scanning my chest as though also looking for a name tag. Except, I don’t have one. What I do have, however, is a thin T-shirt clinging to a slightly damp chest, and I have a gross feeling Ted is admiring the view. I cross my arms. “Why?”

He looks up like he’s just remembered boobs are usually attached to a human being and pulls one side of his mouth up into a confident smirk. “I’ve seen you coming in here pretty regularly the last few months.”

“I have a membership,” I say, reaching into my pocket to pull out the membership card. If he reads it closely, he’ll see it’s a solo membership, not a family membership. The solo membership is cheaper, and the woman who usually mans the desk and scans my card as we enter either hasn’t noticed Theo isn’t on my plan or she’s guessed at our situation and takes pity on us. Whichever one it is, I don’t want to ruin a good thing, but I also don’t want to be kicked out by an employee who is okay with openly ogling women’s bodies while on duty.

Ted waves his hand. “I know. I’m just saying … I’ve seen you.”

I slide my hand deeper into my pocket, clutching the membership card even though he doesn’t want to see it. Something in the way he says the words sends a chill down my back like some innate instinct from long ago, warning me of a predator. I look over towards Theo. He’s drawing the outline of a Christmas tree in the glass, oblivious to our conversation.

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I’ve seen you too. Working at the desk.”

“Is that your son?” he asks, nodding towards Theo.

“Yes.” I don’t know why, but I feel like my answers are very important. Like I’m in a job interview.

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