6 Rescuing the Injured

“Just so you know, the PlayStation’s disappearing before your parents get back! You’ll come over to my place and play there!” I lay down extra conditions for the little bastards. “They won’t allow it anyway, and I don’t need drama with your folks!”

“Fine,” Egor snorts, giving me a serious look, and we shake hands to seal the deal.

“There’s just one small issue,” Andry says, all business. “What are we doing about Mom?”

“Which mom?” I don’t catch on right away.

“Uncle Nazar,” those green eyes stare at me meaningfully, like don’t play dumb. “What are we telling that lady about our mom?”

I look at them and realize they’re going to crush it in business one day. Iron grip, sharp minds, catching every detail.

“Yeah, Mom…” I chew my lip, trying to cook up something believable. “You’ll say she left us all. Yeah. Moms come in all types. Ours just happened to be irresponsible. Soli, you understand what game we’re playing?” The boys I trust. The little one could accidentally blow the whole thing.

“I get it,” the tiny one smiles, flashing angel eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

What is happening to my life?

“You’re going to send me to an early grave with that vocabulary!” I groan, clutching my head. “Don’t you dare talk like that in front of your parents! Alright, I’ll go first. You come up a bit later like you need something. Make it convincing.”

After handing out instructions and quickly going over the details, I head back to the bench where my gorgeous stranger sits. She’s still pretending I don’t exist, and I’m still staring at her tempting figure for a solid ten minutes.

“Dad!” I hear a worried shout and look up to see Egor running toward me. “Soli fell off the slide!”

For a split second, I actually panic. Then I notice how my brunette is staring wide-eyed at me and my “son.” Got you, little bird. I switch into concerned, caring father mode and bolt toward the scene.

“Soli, you okay?” I ask, examining the scrape on her leg. She’s sitting on the ground, wincing dramatically.

“Dad,” she gives me a pointed look that clearly says don’t mess this up.

I exhale in relief. So it’s part of the act. For a second I nearly lost it. Damn kids could’ve warned me!

I scoop up the groaning, suffering, Oscar-worthy little actress in my arms and carry her straight to… of course, the same bench. The performance needs its audience.

The tiny performer lets crocodile tears roll down her cheeks and clings to me pitifully. And people believe girls’ tears after that?

“Easy, sweetheart,” I settle my little “injured” one onto the bench. “Let me see what you’ve got there,” I say with practiced concern and fatherly worry, comforting Soli.

I see that the arrogant disdain in the brunette’s eyes has completely vanished. She’s looking at the boys and Soli like they just dropped from another planet, then glancing at me with very readable surprise.

“Daaaad!” my niece wails, clutching her leg. “It hurts so much!”

“Easy, sweetheart. I need to look at your knee,” I carefully roll up her leggings and inspect the knee, which, by the way, has absolutely nothing on it.

“Do you need help?” my stranger snaps out of it and holds out a pack of wet wipes, which I gladly take, noting the warming shift in our relations.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, almost shyly. “With kids, something unpredictable is always happening.”

“I understand,” the brunette smiles unexpectedly warmly, and I get stuck on the cute dimples in her cheeks.