And he was hers.
16.
IT WAS only the rhythmic, soft noise of Viktoria’s breaths as she slept that kept Pav comfortable. In this room, he was far more likely to get lost inside his head. Memories that felt like punishments lived there. All too often, he didn’t allow himself to think of his father or this place he’d once lived for the majority of his life.
He’d read a book once—one he’d found in the forgotten rooms of the Compound—that said everyone had moments in their lives that were considered pivotal. So much so, that after that point in time in their lives, people no longer saw life as a simple road that they had traveled. It changed to be something different. They saw their life as before and after.
Before the moment happened.
And after it occurred.
The night his father brought him to the Compound was that moment for him. Or one of those kinds of moments, anyway. His life before the Boykovs, and his life after them. He knew Grisha felt guilty and that was part of the reason why he allowed Pav to come and go when he was allowed off his chain and leash for a time.
Grisha would have been watching him that night for Pav’s father, or another friend. Like he usually did every other night his father had to go out and work. But for whatever reason, on that night, things were different. Something came up last minute, the loft was empty when Dimitri got the call, and Pav had had to tag along with his father.
He was sure Grisha lived with a constant what if in the back of his mind. What if he had been home that night to watch him? What if he’d picked up Dimitri’s call and hadn’t let it go to voice mail? What if he never went to meet up with an old friend?
Pav didn’t blame him—he’d told him that before, although Grisha never really listened. That what if was too strong, and Grisha was unwilling to let it go. He understood that all too well.
Despite the fact that the loft—and this bedroom, specifically—was a constant, aching reminder of his life before, and he knew it would put him in a bad place for a while mentally, he still came back here.
A part of him never left here.
It was made slightly easier tonight by the fact Viktoria was tucked into his side. Although he hadn’t bothered to pull on any of his clothes except for the boxer-briefs, she’d pulled on her cotton panties and his T-shirt. With her arm slung over his middle and her head resting on his chest, she wasn’t moving an inch.
He didn’t mind.
Pav drifted the tips of his fingers with one hand through the soft waves of her hair, the rhythm calming him further, and dragging him out of his head. She was turned just enough that he could rest his chin at the top of her head and use his other hand to glide up and down her spine.
She slept better like this, but he didn’t tell her that. He’d noticed she moved less in her sleep when he was holding her. She didn’t whimper and her eyelids never flickered with nightmares she couldn’t escape from.
He knew when it was a bad night for her in the morning—her eyes would be darker and dimmed. She talked less, and when the words did come out, they were dull and yet still sharp at the same time.
But not like this.
This way, she slept well.
He didn’t mind staying awake for an extra couple of hours after she had fallen asleep to make sure she was in so deep of a good sleep that nothing was waking her up or interrupting those sweet dreams. There was something so primal in knowing that he was the only person who could really do this for her, or rather … the only person she allowed to do it.
She would be weak with him, but he saw it as a strength. She could be delicate with him in ways that no one else ever got to see, and he wanted to let her. She was his, and he found being hers was the easiest thing he’d ever done next to breathing.
It was terrifying, too. It had been a long while since Pav felt something akin to actual fear. It felt like they’d taken that ability from him, in a way. Or maybe they’d simply beaten the instinct out of him. Nonetheless, he felt it with her. A fear so visceral and raw, it felt real. An actual monster living under the bed.
A fear that, at any time, this thing he’d found with her could be taken away. Or she could leave, if she wanted. It wasn’t that he chose to ignore it, but rather, it just wasn’t as important as the rest of what he felt.
It was worth the risk, because it seemed he was the gambling type of man, anyway. Not that he’d been one of those before, but he was more than willing to be one now if it meant he was with her. If he got to keep her for a while, then that would make whatever came after far more than just worth it to him.
That was trust.
Love.
Right?
If this feeling in his chest that constantly felt like it was wrapping around his heart to squeeze it to death wasn’t love, then what was? If the deep, thrumming need to keep this woman close and safe and with him always wasn’t love, then what was it?
He didn’t mind it.
Pav was close to sleep, too, knowing Viktoria was already there and safe in dreams where she didn’t need him to scare the darkness away. He was just beginning to drift into his own slumber when a noise
