SEVENTEEN
Hannah
I change out of my work attire and head for the elevator when I catch sight of Luka standing by the exit. He's leaning against the brick wall, his arms folded across his chest.
"What are you doing here?"
His suit looks disheveled, but I'm not sure why. There's not a scrape on his face, but I could have sworn it seems like he's been in a fight.
I glance him over as I hit the down button for the elevator and catch a glimpse of his knuckles.
Bruised.
He got into it with someone.
My stomach flops. Did he run into Mark? Is that why he doesn't look like the picture-perfect version of Luka that I'm accustomed to seeing. However, it's not like I see him often, until this past week.
"Madisyn told me what happened."
I can't believe her! I made her promise not to say anything to Luka. I should have known that she couldn't be trusted.
"Did you get Bay from preschool?" I ask. My heart quickens its pace. If he forgot to pick Bay up from school, the office should have called and informed me hours ago. No one tried to call the hospital, and my phone needs a new sim card before I can use it.
Had they tried the emergency contact? Mark's name had been placed on the sheet, but they should have known not to hand Bay over to him. I'd made it clear that his name was to be removed from the pick-up list.
The elevator doors open.
"Yes, Bay is at home with Madisyn."
"She should be in bed," I say. It's eleven o'clock at night. I step into the elevator, and Luka follows close behind. I push the button for the lobby.
"I'm sure she is," Luka says.
"You didn't tuck her into bed. How long have you been waiting out here by the elevators?"
How had I not noticed his presence? I'd changed stations, working at the opposite end of the hallway a couple of hours ago when I needed to cover for another nurse.
"I wanted to talk to you when you got off work," Luka says. He's somber.
The elevator is empty except for the two of us. "Did something happen?" I ask.
"Mark is dead."
I inhale a sharp breath, and I gasp, choking on his words. "Dead?" I can't breathe. I'm suffocating. All the air inside the elevator has been swallowed up, and I'm struggling to survive.
"Hannah, breathe," Luka says. His hands are on my arms. They're strong and warm, but he doesn't hurt me like Mark did when he grabbed me.
Luka tries to steady me.
"Breathe in."
I inhale a deep breath.
"Breathe out," Luka says.
I follow his instruction.
The elevator dings, and the doors open. My body is covered in a sheen of icy cold sweat. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I'm gasping for air again.
"What happened?" I ask.
"You're having a panic attack," Luka says. He walks me over toward a nearby bench and guides me to sit. He stands in front of me, his legs trapping me, keeping me from falling forward if I faint.
"I meant with Mark," I say. "You said that he was dead." I can't wrap my head around what happened or how Luka would have even found out if something happened to Mark.
"Mikhail sent a couple of guys to your place to see if Mark needed a hand packing."
"Sure, he did," I say, staring up at Luka. I don't believe him. It hurts me even to ask it, but I have to know. "Did you kill him?"
Luka takes a step back, appalled by my question. "He had a heart attack, Hannah."
I press my lips together and exhale a sigh of relief. My gaze falls to my hands folded together in my lap. "He was under a lot of stress the last couple of days."
"Don't go blaming yourself for what he did to you," Luka's voice rises, and I glance around, worried that someone might overhear our conversation.
Maybe I shouldn't be ashamed of what happened, but I don't want anyone else to know to look at me the way Luka does, like I need coddling.
I'm not a child.
I can take care of myself. I've done it all my life until Luka showed up, and now what? Am I just supposed to let him handle things and help me out?
Exhaling a sigh, I rub my forehead and pull my keys out of my pocket.
It's late, and there aren't many people in the lobby. A guard is near the door, but he's too far away to hear our conversation.
"I'm sorry." I apologize for accusing Luka of doing something to Mark. Luka isn't a monster. He wouldn't hurt anyone. What kind of a person am I to think such terrible thoughts?
Luka pulls me against him. He's warm and strong, and his manly scent wafts over me. It's strangely relaxing and almost hypnotizing.
I finally untangle from his embrace. "I should head out to the garage. I'll meet you back at your place?"
"Our place," Luka says, correcting me, "and I'll drive you home." He opens his hand for me to deposit my keys into his palm.
"How'd you get here?"
"I got a ride," Luka says. "You're not driving after the news about Mark. You're in shock," he says, glancing me over.
Should I be crying? There's a heaviness that weighs on my chest and a rock in the pit of my stomach. My eyes burn, but it's not from tears. I excuse it as a lack of sleep.
There's no sense in arguing with Luka. He's trying to do the right thing, and if that means driving me back to his place, I accept the offer.
I drop my keys into his hands, and he closes his fingers around the metal and slides his arm into mine, linking us together. "Come on, lead me to the car," Luka says. "And for the record, we're not going to my house. It's our house."
I've not had enough sleep or am overly emotionally from the news Luka dropped on me about Mark's death. It was a bombshell, and it took until now to detonate.
One single statement, it's our house, brings me crumbling to my knees, sobbing.