It was getting light. Morning had finally arrived. I knew that bogeymen didn’t vanish at dawn—but something about sunlight made me happier.
The nurses had tried to make me leave, but after Laney’s dad spoke to them, they left me alone. One of them returned later with a blanket, so I stayed in the chair next to Laney’s bed, watching.
The door opened slowly and I saw Gary standing there, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
“Can I come in?” I nodded and he stepped inside. “Is this her?”
“My wife, yes.”
He crept into the room and peered down.
“Man, I can’t believe you’re married.”
My lips twitched with amusement.
“I fly 7,000 miles to get hijacked by Bratva, get whipped by a psycho who wants to fuck me up the ass, I drive across half of the USA to escape him, and then he follows me and tries to kill me . . . and the part you can’t believe is that I’m married?”
He pushed my shoulder, making me wince.
“Sorry,” he said. “But it is kind of crazy. She’s cute though.”
“No, she’s the most beautiful, amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
He looked at me sideways.
“I wish some guy would look at me like that.”
“I think you’re amazing, too,” I said sincerely.
Gary grinned.
“Aw, honey! You say the sweetest things. But I’m not going to sleep with you—not even if you beg. Well, maybe if you beg.”
Then his face fell and he looked serious.
“Um, just to warn you—Yveta hasn’t taken it well.”
I frowned, confused.
“Hasn’t taken what well?”
Gary sighed. “You being married.”
“But . . .”
I didn’t know what I was going to say. I’d had sex with Yveta a few times. I’d never thought that it meant anything to either of us. Just something that we both needed at the time, temporary.
Gary waved a hand.
“I know, I know. But when we were in that place, she kept saying that if you had gotten out, we could, too. And when we did, she was going to look for you. You were a sort of good luck charm—the hope of better times.” He sighed again. “She was really cut up when she found out about the wife thing—they had to sedate her.”
Gary shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Ash.”
He laid his hand on my shoulder for a moment, then bent down to kiss me on the cheek.
“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly as he left.
Hope. Such a small word, in my language, too: upanje. A small word, but a big emotion—the biggest. But having too much will crush you when you’re weighed down with the impossibility of your dreams.
Laney was the sun, my sun. She warmed me, she dazzled me. She lit the way like a beacon of hope.
But Yveta didn’t have a Laney. And I didn’t know what I could do that might help.
“Ash? Am I dreaming?”
Laney’s eyes fluttered open and the stone I’d been carrying in my heart dissolved.
“No, my love. You’re awake now.”
Her forehead wrinkled.
“He killed you. I saw Sergei shoot you!”
I leaned down to kiss her cheek, nuzzling her neck.
“Sergei can’t hurt us anymore. He’s gone.”
Her eyes drifted closed.
“Is he coming back?”
“Never.”
She smiled and I held her small hand in mine as she drifted toward sleep.
“Merry Christmas, my love.”
Gary’s parents arrived to take him home—solemn and sincere, grateful to have him back in their lives, bemused to find him hand in hand with Yveta. They invited her to spend Christmas and New Year, and she gratefully accepted.
Gary said they were still holding out for a straight son, but I think he was joking.
Yveta made it clear that she didn’t want to see me, which meant I had to explain it to Laney.
The stress of the last 24 hours had left us exhausted and we were both on pain meds. I could see the weary resignation on her face, but she tried to joke about it.
“I was hoping for hot sex under the Christmas tree but having you to myself is nice, too.”
“I’ll give you a raincheck,” I promised.
Her parents wanted us to spend Christmas with them. I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being surrounded by people, so I was relieved when Laney insisted on going home instead. She compromised by saying that we’d visit soon.
A cab dropped us at the apartment and we climbed the six steps wearily, Laney leaning against me for support.
I picked up the mail, shocked to see a letter from the U.S. Immigration Service addressed to both of us.
Almost numb, I opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It still took me a while to read English, but three words stood out: No further action.
I took a deep breath. They couldn’t send me away from Laney—and I had the paper to prove it.
Laney
I was so relieved to be home. Although I couldn’t remember everything clearly, flashes of the horror inside the theater plagued my thoughts. Getting whacked on the head by a .32 bullet does that to a person, or so the doctors told me.