Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (40 page)

“Thank you,” I murmured. For the tea. For the kindness. For whatever it was she felt the need to tell me, because undoubtedly it was something wise. I only wished I could understand more of it.

Then she patted me on the cheek, got up, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

I wasn’t sure what she’d said, but it felt like she was welcoming me into the family or something equally sweet. Now I wanted to know what Dima had told her about me while they were on the West Coast.

He came into his bedroom a few minutes later, smiling when he saw me sipping from my china cup. “Svetka said she made tea. Help you sleep better.”

I returned the cup to the saucer, staring down at the faint hint of tea leaves falling to the bottom. “She said something. Lots of something. Your name and
girlfriend
were all I could make out.”

“She wants to know you. Find out if you can cook well enough to make me fat.”

Eek. I pulled a face. Svetka would be out of luck there. Dima was far and away the better cook out of the two of us.

“She might teach you to make bread,” he warned.

“Do you have a fire extinguisher handy?”

He chuckled as he sat next to me, rubbing a hand over my shoulders and upper arms before tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Come on. Need to get you in bed.”

I set my saucer on the nightstand and let him slip my shirt over my head, too tired to resist. In no time, he’d stripped me down to my bra and panties and found one of his soft T-shirts to slip over my head.

He nudged me to lie down, but I shook my head.

“I should go to the bathroom first.”

“Ah. Need your purse.”

“Yes.”

Without asking for an explanation, he bounded down the stairs to get it and brought it back up before I had finished transferring myself over to my chair.

“Thank you,” I murmured. But I felt like I owed him an explanation, especially after the way I’d almost blown up at him over that very thing a while back. Maybe it was because there wasn’t anything sexy about what we were doing now so I felt less embarrassment. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the aftermath of the adrenaline that had coursed through my body all night finally draining from my system. Maybe it was just the fact that I was coming to accept the fact that I wanted Dima to be in my life long term, and that meant there were things I needed to tell him. Whatever was behind it, I unzipped my purse and reached for my small supply bag.

He watched silently as I took out a catheter and held it up for him to see.

“Since my accident, I haven’t had much control over a lot of things with my body,” I said. “It’s not just my legs. I can’t use the bathroom without help, or if I go too long, I might have accidents.”

“You can’t feel it?” he asked. He didn’t seem disgusted or offended, thank goodness.

I shrugged. “Sometimes I can tell when my bladder is full. Not always. But even then, I can’t always squeeze the right muscles to make it empty. I have to follow a timing program for all of this kind of stuff,” I said, waving my hand in the general direction of my lower abdomen. “I can’t just trust that I’m going to feel a signal when it’s time to go, or else I’m bound to have an accident.”

“Don’t want accidents,” he said, his tone making it sound like he was teasing me.

Teasing was a very good sign. I fought the urge to smile as I wheeled myself to the bathroom.

When I returned, he’d changed out of his clothes, only keeping on a pair of boxer briefs. I parked my chair by the bed and engaged the lock before climbing in. I pulled the blankets over my body and lay on my side, facing the edge of the bed where my chair was.

He turned off the light and lay down behind me. “Can I hold you?” he asked softly.

I nodded, and his strong arm came around my waist, tugging me against him until we were nestled together like spoons.

The heat of his body was like a drug. Before long, I was out, content at least for now to let him soothe my frayed nerves.

I DIDN’T WANT
anything to wake me from my pleasant, soft, dreamy state, but morning sickness had other plans. I bolted out of Dima’s embrace and transferred into my chair as fast as I could, barely getting to the bathroom in time.

He and Svetka were both waiting for me on the other side of the bathroom door when I came out, concerned looks on their faces.

I blushed, because I wasn’t sure if Svetka knew I was pregnant, and this might not be how Dima would have wanted to tell her. At least she didn’t speak much English. I hoped she wouldn’t understand, so he could tell her whatever he wanted her to know.

“Just morning sickness,” I explained.

Dima nodded but still looked worried. “The baby is okay?”

“Fine,” I assured him, but Svetka’s reaction stole all my attention.

“Baby?” she repeated. Then her eyes went wide, and a huge smile lit up all her features. She started rattling off all sorts of things in Russian that I couldn’t possibly follow, pushing past me into the bathroom. She wet a cloth and wrung it out, then used it to pat my face and the back of my neck, still nattering on excitedly. Here and there, I caught
baby
and
girlfriend
as she patted my cheeks. Then she stood right in front of me, staring straight into my eyes, and said, “
Zhena
.”

I raised a brow in Dima’s direction, but he responded to Svetka in Russian instead of translating what she’d said to me. After a bit of back-and-forth, she rolled her eyes and headed downstairs.

“She’s going to bake bread,” he said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“Care to explain all that?”

“She knows you’re pregnant,” he said dryly.

“I caught on to that much, funnily enough.” When he didn’t elaborate, I asked, “What does
zhena
mean? Because something tells me it has nothing to do with baking bread.”

He gave me a long, serious look. “Means wife.”

“Oh.” The weight of the word felt heavy. That was not what I’d been expecting.

“Told her not to worry about us. We’re working it out.”

I nodded, but then I wondered what he meant about us working it out. Was that what he wanted? Marriage? Right now, I just wanted to know that we could function together for a period of time without trying to kill each other. I needed a lot more stability, on both our parts, before I could begin to entertain the idea of something as permanent and life-changing as getting married, even if it was something I wanted with every fiber of my being, now that the thought had entered my mind.

“Need to talk to you,” he said, his expression still serious.

Talking wouldn’t be a bad thing. We could definitely stand to do more of that. “Okay.”

He went back into his bedroom and waited for me to join him, then closed the door behind us. Svetka wouldn’t understand whatever we were talking about anyway, so that seemed like an unnecessary step, unless he was worried that the tone of our conversation would upset her.

And that made me nervous.

Last night had been the first time we’d been together for any significant period of time without poking or prodding at each other. The first time we hadn’t immediately started arguing. The first time there had been any sense of intimacy not directly tied to sex.

It had been everything I needed. Far more than I’d expected. I still wasn’t sure how to process it, but I wasn’t ready for that moment of peace between us to come to an end.

Dima took a seat on the end of the bed, and I stopped my chair a few feet away, facing him.

“You want…” He tucked his hair behind his ear, buying time. “You want me to get help. I don’t want group meetings, though. Too many people. Too much talking. All English. Not for me.”

“You don’t have to do support groups,” I hurried to say. “You don’t have to do—”

He cut me off before I could say
anything
, holding up his hand and shaking his head. “I want to get help. Don’t want to end up like Miller.”

“You’re not like Wade. You could never be like him.”

“I am. Did the same thing. Got drunk. Wrecked car. Spent weeks in the hospital, and Sergei spent longer.” He held my gaze, steady and unwavering. “Might not have been to war. Might not have been blown up, but I’m a lot like him. I don’t want you to worry about me how you worry about him, though. Need you to know I’m going to be here for you. For our baby. So I want to get help. For guilt. Need to let go, like you said.”

I was so deeply in shock all I could do was blink for fear of falling out of my chair, and I already ached in a few places from when I’d done that last night. No need for a repeat performance so soon.

“Okay,” I finally said. “There are a lot of counselors out there. I can set you up with one, or maybe get a recommendation—”

“Want you to come with me,” he cut in.

“Oh.” Again, that was all I could say. He was leaving me speechless. I didn’t know what had happened to bring on these sudden changes, but I couldn’t say I minded in the least.

“You can talk about Miller. Or maybe your accident. I can talk about guilt and grief. We can talk about us. About the baby. How we fight so much.”

“Couples counseling,” I said.

He nodded.

“You’re…sure you want this?”

“I want to be with you. I want a family. With you.”

Once he’d said the words aloud, I knew I wanted the exact same thing. “Okay,” I said. “So we’ll get into couples counseling together.”

“Good.” He got up and took a shirt and a pair of sweatpants out of a drawer, pulling them on. “You made Svetka happy. She’s going to be a Grandmama. No matter what flaws you have, for Svetka, you’re perfect. Can do no wrong. She won’t hear a bad word about you.”

I put on the same clothes I’d been wearing last night and let him carry me downstairs to sit with Svetka. She gave me tea and made me breakfast, letting me sit in the kitchen with her while she made bread. And all the while she kept patting my cheeks and saying countless things I couldn’t understand, dotted by
Dmitri
and
baby
and
girlfriend
.

And
zhena
. She said that one more than the rest combined, leaving no doubt in my mind where she stood on the matter.

I knew where Dima stood, too. Now I just wished I could figure out my own mind. Although, to be fair, I was getting there.