Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Disgustingly, I arrive at Gigi’s apartment at the same time as the paramedics. They give Grampies a shot of adrenaline that spikes his heart rate high enough for the monitors at his bedside to alarm. It also helps him breathe.
His color improves drastically as well.
The opposite can be said for Gigi.
“It’s okay,” I promise her after wrapping her up in a tight hug. “We will fix this. We will make it right. Grampies will get better. Look.” I wave my hand at him resting far more peacefully now that his breathing tube isn’t kinked.
I love Gigi with all my heart, but she is a klutz. She meant well wheeling in close to Grampies’s bedside to feed him his supper, but she forgot the tubes of the ECOM machine keeping his lungs primed with oxygen are too fragile to be clamped to his bedrails. They’re draped across the floor—right where she placed the feet of the dining room chair.
“He’s already improving.”
“It’s not just Grampies.” She breathes in and out three times before aligning her drenched eyes with mine. “It’s Nikita. She won’t go with you when she finds out about tonight. She’ll stay and continue working to the bone.” I can barely hear her over her sobs when she murmurs, “She can’t keep working the hours she’s doing. It will kill her even faster than Grampies’s condition is taking him from us.”
Since I agree with her, I remain quiet.
If I can’t scatter some truths throughout my lies, you won’t get a word out of me.
“She needs to live, Zoya. She needs to live for her.” Tears spring down her rheumy cheeks. “She needs to live the life her mama never got to have.”
“She does,” I wholeheartedly agree before striving to find a solution and coming up empty.
Gigi doesn’t face the same battle. “That’s why we’re not going to tell her about what happened tonight.” She sucks in a big breath, clears her tears with her sleeves, and then peers up at me in silent begging. “Grampies’s condition is stable… despite my stupidity.” She swallows down the painful sob that arrived with her last three words. “So there is no need to worry Nikita with this.”
“She’ll—”
“She needs this time away, Zoya. She needs to recover before she burns out.”
Once again, I remain quiet, having no defense to argue with. Nikita is a fighter. She will fight to the death for her grandfather, but she is also one shift of overtime from burnout.
She either takes a break or breaks.
If I am forced to pick which break she endures, I’d rather it be the former.
“Okay.” I breathe out slowly, nodding. “It will remain between us.”
I hate betraying my friend, but I truly believe a little white lie to save someone from a heap of heartache is okay on a rare occasion. Nikita will forgive me. It just won’t be until after I have forgiven myself.
Gigi sighs in relief. “Now that you’re on board, all we need to do is work out a way to pay for this”—she thrusts her hand at the paramedics still assessing Grampies before twisting her lips—“without Nikita finding out.” Her eyes glisten with an equal amount of excitement and tears. “I have some antique ornaments I could sell. We just need to find the right owner. They’re an acquired taste.”
Her voluptuous waddle to a collection of non-dusty knickknacks on a glass shelf next to Nikita’s sofa bed pops the perfect solution into my head.
“I know a way to get funds quickly.” When she peers at me with crinkled brows, I recall my earlier pledge that lying is only bad when it’s done to cause pain. “I was offered a gig earlier. It is a one-time opportunity, so it pays really well.” By sprinkling snippets of honesty in a lie, it is far more viable. “It could cover tonight’s incident and perhaps a couple of months of medication.”
“Really?” Gigi looks exalted, and it has my chin dipping with only the slightest bit of unease.
I doubt my nerves will be as contained when it comes to executing my plan, though.
It’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.
39
ANDRIK
“How did you find out?”
After placing a bottle of whiskey on the bar, Mikhail strays his eyes to the hallway of the west wing. I know what door he’s imagining without needing to follow the direction of his gaze. My eyes have taken the same route numerous times in the past month, though they never had this level of angst attached to them.
“He looks a fuck ton like you, but he also doesn’t. He kinda…”
When his words trail off, I fill in the gaps. “Looks like you?”
He jerks up his chin. “That’s why I thought he was one of us.” By one of us, he means one of our father’s many sons. “So to say I was shocked when you introduced him as your son.” He blows out a hot breath. “I’ve never been more surprised, and I’ve seen some shit in my time.” Guilt flares through his eyes. I understand why when he murmurs, “Have you checked that the claim is legitimate?”