Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I sent Sava to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Krupin, because for some unfathomable reason that I never understood, he was really good with parents. He promised Vanya in the car that he’d bring his folks to see him in a couple of weeks once the initial withdrawal was over. They shouldn’t see him before then, and Vanya agreed. Not that the clinic would have allowed that anyway. But he knew the drill; he’d been through it before.
“You’re not going to show that video to my father, are you?” Vanya asked me, his voice shaky now as he was coming down, scratching at his face absently and practically vibrating in his chair. “I mean, he’ll be—”
“No, idiot,” I told him, putting myself down as the emergency contact on the form, along with his father. “No one’s ever going to know what went on tonight except for all those men who saw you and me and my guys and, of course, your baby sister,” I finished sarcastically. “But don’t worry, that’s not a lot of people to witness the lowest point of your life.”
He groaned.
“I swear to God, if anything had happened to her…” I trailed off, suddenly too angry to speak, my throat going dry just thinking, again, of all the possibilities.
“I know,” he whined, raking his fingers roughly through short blond hair, pulling hard, unable to help himself. “Don’t you think I know?”
“You look like shit,” I said, clipping my words. “You’ve got sores on your face again and—she could have been raped!” I yelled at him, getting up and pacing, unable to not come back to Nara over and over again. “You could have been raped too, you stupid fucking idiot!”
Vanya started to cry then, and when I saw the tears, it hit me suddenly that we were exactly the same age. It didn’t feel like it because I’d always felt more like his parent than peer, especially in that moment, but nevertheless, we were both thirty years old. It was wild because I always thought of him as sixteen.
I walked back up to the window and tapped gently. The woman there, in pale-blue scrubs and oversize tortoiseshell glasses, slid the glass open and took the clipboard and pen from me.
“Do you have a box of tissues?”
“Of course,” she said kindly, and passed me the one on her desk.
I brought Vanya the box and then returned to the counter, waiting to hear if she had any questions, since she wasn’t the same woman who’d checked us in the last time. This one was younger, with freckles and long, curly blond hair piled up in a loose bun with a decorative hair fork on top of her head.
“And are you the responsible party, Mr. Lenkov?”
“I am.”
She glanced over the information before her head snapped up and she met my gaze. “There’s no insurance on this?”
“No, ma’am,” I said, pulling out my wallet and passing her my black American Express card. “No insurance.”
She looked at the card in her hand and then back up at me.
“You don’t take that?”
“No, we take this. I just…” She seemed to think it over, biting her bottom lip.
“You’re hesitant to let me know that you’re going to charge the cost of a luxury automobile on my card, between my cousin’s treatment and his guest.”
“Yes,” she said, clearly relieved, as evidenced by her sharp exhale and the drop of her shoulders. “That’s it precisely.”
I nodded tiredly. “I know.”
Her gaze softened. “You’ve done this before.” My silent lift of brows prompted her to reach through the window and cover my hand with hers. “I’m so sorry.”
“Third time’s the charm, right? Isn’t that what they say?”
Her mouth fell open in surprise.
“But yes, I know how much it is, and I’m good for it.”
“Of course,” she agreed quickly.
I signed the receipt, and then, just like the two times before, Vanya and I went through a heavy steel door that had to be unlocked before we could proceed. Once on the other side, we were greeted by another woman, older, her dark-tanned skin luminous in the warm, muted glow of the overhead lights. It was like being welcomed into someone’s home, as there were no stark fluorescent fixtures at New Life, nor basic linoleum or vinyl flooring. Their stylish imported fixtures and stunning decor had been featured in interior design magazines, and the sheet tile flooring was made to look like hardwood. In the waiting room that resembled the reception area of a spa or country club, we were directed to take a seat on either the overstuffed couch strewn with throw pillows or on one of the many tufted leather chairs.
“I’ll go and get his intake counselor, and the two of us will be back in just a bit to get him settled in.”
“Take your time. We know it’s late.”