Baylee and Kat are still working on the handcuff. When Timo and I separate, John reaches his boyfriend and cups his cheeks, wiping his tears with his thumb. They whisper, John consoling Timo more, and I walk beyond them.
I pass Sergei, his nose flaring like he’s trying to suppress emotion, and his gaze lands on mine, full of apologies.
I nod at him, accepting.
He takes a breath and glances at Timo whose head is buried in John’s shoulder. As soon as I near Bay and Kat, they unlock her handcuff—and some random person immediately bumps into Baylee.
She stumbles backwards, her feet sliding out from beneath her, and my reflexes are quick, I reach out and clasp her hips. Holding her body like we were dancing and I just dipped her.
Baylee clutches my biceps, her collarbone jutting out as she catches her breath. “What…?”
I smile. “You’re in my arms. That’s what.”
Her lips rise, and all the emotion we’d been suppressing starts overpowering me. It takes…everything in my body not to kiss Bay. Slowly, tensely, I lift her upright, and I can’t stop. My lungs and heart thrash in my ribcage, screaming at me to do something more.
On instinct, my arms slide around her shoulders, drawing her so close.
She hugs my waist and presses her cheek to my chest.
Warmth bathes me, and I kiss the top of her head. I kiss her temple. I look down. She looks up, and I’m so fucking close to kissing her lips.
“You two.”
We freeze.
That voice…I have to be dreaming, but I turn my head and a foot from my face is Geoffrey Lesage. In the red light, he appears more menacing, his judgmental, harsh glare set on me and Bay.
I’m about to ask what he’s doing here, but Sergei must read my wide-eyed expression.
He quickly explains, “I invited Geoffrey. I thought it’d be a good idea to make amends outside of work since it’s been tense inside.” Sergei is rigid, actually noticing that this was a horrible idea.
Baylee and I haven’t separated. Her fingers dig into my back, afraid that we were just caught breaking the contracts. But what are the chances that he’s one of only two Corporate spies?
“I need to talk to you two,” Geoffrey says sternly, “about this.” He motions at the way we hold one another.
And before I can even comprehend the enormity of what’s happened, Nikolai starts screaming, “Thora! THORA!”
We look behind us, and Nikolai has Thora in his arms, tapping her cheek repeatedly. His distress shrouded by his grim, take-charge demeanor.
She’s passed out. Dimitri is on the phone, and I hear him say ambulance.
Act Thirty-Six
Baylee Wright
Here’s something funny: Brenden calls me the pessimist, but I’m the one who sees the good in hospitals. Sure, sadness exists here, but people help other people here too. Brenden is the one who grows quiet and somber every time he steps into a waiting room.
I guess that’s not really funny, but I’ve never been great at jokes anyway.
I try to think about this as I sit at the foot of Thora’s hospital bed with Katya and Camila. She asked if the three of us could take a seat. We slipped in after Nikolai left, and there aren’t any chairs in this enclave of the ER, mint-green curtains drawn shut for privacy.
So we chose the end of the stiff bed.
Thora looks less sickly than earlier, but tear tracks stain her splotchy cheeks. I notice that she keeps glancing at the hospital bracelet and her flimsy paper gown. Like she has trouble believing she’s here.
We know what happened. Someone overheard an ER doctor. I think Robby, and he spread the news to every Kotova in the waiting room, which eventually reached us.
Camila stretches forward and holds her hand.
Thora’s chin trembles, but she nods and says tearfully, “Thank you all…for being here.” Her voice breaks.
We all scoot forward and hug Thora at the same time. There’s not a dry eye right now. Everyone is dealt weird hands of life, and in another timeline, we could’ve been Thora. Maybe we still could be, and if I were in her place, I’d want Thora at the foot of my bed. And I’d want to know she cares about me.
That’s all.
Just a little compassion.
When we retract a little, Katya curses under her breath. Our eyes veer to her. Mascara runs down her chin and drips onto the white hospital sheets.
I don’t know why, but I laugh. Thora starts laughing, and not long after, so do Katya and Camila. I rub my face, makeup everywhere.
Camila’s bold shadow is smeared across her eyes.
Thora laughs harder at Camila. “You need to take a picture. For once your makeup looks worse than mine.” Then her face contorts and she shakes her head—we all go quiet again.
I have to ask. It’s been plaguing me since we first heard the news. “Do you think you can sue Aerial Ethereal?”
Thora takes such a deep breath, it’s not only audible but it inflates her whole chest. She sits up straighter like the weight lifted a fraction. “No…I know I can’t.”
“But…” I try to figure out how to mention that I knew she was pregnant. God, was pregnant. As in past tense. If it sits strangely with me, I can’t imagine how odd it is for her.
She had eight weeks to become used to the idea of carrying a baby. Maybe she even started envisioning names or what he or she would look like.
Thora stares at me intently, and she nods like she understands what I mean to say. “The doctors said that the miscarriage didn’t happen because I was doing aerial silk eight-weeks in. I was careful at my job, and I didn’t ever sustain an injury.”
I nod in reply.
“They said it was most likely mismatched chromosomes.” She nods to herself more, fiddling with her fingers. “They said it’s the cause of sixty-percent of miscarriages, and that I’ll probably have no problem getting pregnant…next time.”
Thora sighs out the tension in her bones, and she stares off at the wall. “I told Nik that…no matter how much the doctors tell me it’s not my fault, I keep thinking I did something wrong to cause this. Like…I could’ve done something differently and I’d still be…” Her face twists in hurt.
“No,” I say strongly. “Bad things—they happen for no reason, all the time.” I think of my parents.
“It’s not your fault,” Katya chimes in.
“They’re right,” Camila says, squeezing Thora’s hand.
Thora blows out a measured breath and then wipes her watery eyes. “I thought I’d be relieved. I thought Nik would too.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I mean, AE is probably jumping for joy. I can now stay in Amour for the rest of the year and longer, if they renew my contract. I don’t know, maybe they won’t want to after all this…and I’m rambling. Nonsense. It’s all nonsense, right?”
I nudge her lightly. “It’s not nonsense. It’s your life.”
Thora blows out another breath. “I can do this,” she mutters. “I can do this.” I once asked Thora how she’s able to be so positive.
She said that if she gave up on herself, then her biggest cheerleader would be gone, and she needs Thora James rooting her on in the stands.
It was inspiring.
And I slowly start to smile watching Thora motivate herself forward.
I wish I could find that inner-cheerleader.
I’m going to need Baylee Wright to buckle up soon. Geoffrey Lesage is waiting somewhere in the hospital, and when he confronts me and Luka, my whole world may change.
But right now, I think about Thora.
I listen as she tries to gather more words, more strength and courage in the face of heartbreak and pain. We’re here. Girls bonded not by last name but random happenstance and choice.
And we’re here for as long as she needs us.
Act Thirty-Seven
Luka Kotova
No one’s seen Nikolai since he left Thora so the girls could talk and comfort her, but after a three-minute search in the hospital, I find my brother. I just don’t tell anyone else.
I enter a two-stall bathroom, empty except for Nikolai. He grips the sink basin, slightly hunched over. A rare sight for a guy who stands so erect you’d truly think someone shoved a stick up his ass from birth.
He barely acknowledges me. Barely moves.