Page 34 of Wyatt
Coco had gone numb, down to her toes.
As the lift opened, Natalya turned to her. Laughed. “It’s not like he loves you.” Then she pushed her into the lift. They took it to the garage, shoved her into a car, and took her back to her father’s dacha outside the city, until the tournament was over.
Not long after, her father moved Mikka to Siberia. And with that move, any chance of Coco leaving.
Except, leaving was the only way to keep him safe now. Because her father wouldn’t let anything happen to his grandson.
Please.
She drew in a trembling breath as she spotted Mikka.
If possible, he’d grown an inch, his brown eyes brighter, his smile more infectious, and his hair darker, with sweet Wyatt-like curl at the ends.
He looked like a miniature version of his father and could wreck her on the spot. She tightened her grip around the fencing as he ran for the slide and climbed up the ladder. He wore the blue jeans she’d sent him and a lightweight canvas jacket and a pair of boots. The entire orphanage had received clothing in a package she’d sent from Moscow—one more way to hide him among the masses. He got to the top of the slide.
“Smotree!” Look at me!
One of the women—yes, his private nanny, a middle-aged woman named Lana—waved to him. She had no children and had been an elementary school teacher. “Ya smatroo!”
He raised his arms and slid down.
His feet caught under him, however, and he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees.
Oh—Coco wanted to run to him, pick him up, especially when he cried out. He got up, lifting his scraped hands, running over to Lana.
She blew on his hands, then picked him up and hugged him.
Coco’s heart nearly shattered into pieces.
Mikka pushed away from her and scampered over to the swings, clearly recovered.
Coco gripped the stupid lion she’d purchased at a kiosk in the train station. He was probably too old for stuffed animals, but really, what did she know? She wasn’t really his mother—just the woman who’d birthed him. A visitor in his life.
Lana, who drank a cup of tea and chatted with the other two teachers, was more of a mother to him. She wore her brown hair short, a thin coat over her pants and shirt.
Did she read stories to him? Sing to him at night? Coco’s throat tightened.
At least her own mother hadn’t left her in Russia when she’d fled the country. No, she’d dragged Katya, albeit kicking and screaming, out of the only world she’d ever known and settled her into the back country wilderness of Montana.
Coco had never felt so abandoned, so alone in a world where the language felt unwieldy, despite the rules of English she’d been taught. She didn’t understand the customs or how to live in this new world.
It had terrified her.
Then her mother had died of leukemia and abandoned her completely. If it hadn’t been for the Marshalls, for Wyatt…
No, she couldn’t do that to Mikka.
And, maybe she shouldn’t even be here. Because he wouldn’t understand.
He was getting old enough to remember her. To ask questions.
Maybe it would be better for him if she were simply a dream. A hazy recollection. She could still send him money. In a few years, her father would send him to an elite boarding school somewhere in Europe, and he’d have a brand new life. One that could build a future for him. What could she give him, really?
Coco turned, and a dog in a nearby yard barked at her movement. It alerted the woman sitting on the porch, and Coco froze.
Lifted a hand.
Lana got up, glanced at Mikka, and then headed over to the fencing. “Katya?”