"I love you Klas"

Part 20

Mickey's pov:

"I, Mickailo Ruslanov, a guy not known for sappiness, find myself standing here, ready to lay it out. Klas, you've seen the fucking chaos that is my life, and somehow, you've stuck around. So, let's give this official thing a shot. I pledge not to pester you about the peculiarities that make me, well, me, and I'll do my best not to be overly irritating – though, let's be real, it's in my fucking nature. Together, let's face whatever bullshit life throws at us, even if it's messier than my attempt at cooking. Buckle up, motherfucker, because we're in for one wild ride."

"In the presence of our closest witnesses, I, Klasenbrook Miller, willingly take on this unconventional union with you, Mickailo Ruslanov. In the midst of your rough edges and chaotic tendencies, I've found a kind of harmony that intrigues me. Mickey, even as your past actions linger, I choose to see the person you are now. I vow to accept your quirks, embrace your imperfect journey, and stand by you in both the calm and stormy moments. No matter what bizarre challenges arise, I promise to navigate them with understanding and respect. Mickey, I pledge to build a future where the echoes of the past don't define us, and where our partnership thrives in the face of whatever chaos life throws our way."

I observed as Klas accepted the ring from the officiant, taking my hand to slide the ring onto my pinky finger. As I reciprocated, I could sense a tremor in my hands. "I now pronounce you husband and husband," declared the officiant. "You may now kiss your husband," he added, directing his gaze toward me. "fucking easy," I quipped, provoking laughter from all present. Pulling Klas closer, I secured my grip on his waist as he wrapped his arms around my neck. Our lips met in a soft, tender kiss. Cheers erupted as we held hands.

"Mickey, Mickey, wake up!" I opened my eyes, realizing it was just a dream. Glancing around, I saw Lyubov staring at me. "Hey, morning," I greeted, and she smiled. "I didn't want to wake you, but your phone has been ringing since the morning," she mentioned, and I nodded in gratitude as she walked away. Sitting up, I observed Willow still sleeping soundly.

Reaching for my phone on the bedside table, I noticed it was Natalie calling. I sighed, reluctant to answer, but knowing it was likely about Willow, I took the call. "Fucking what?" I grumbled. "Mickey, I need you home now," she said, sounding panicked. "Why?" I frowned. "Mickey, Willow is my daughter too," she asserted sternly. I sighed. "Alright?!" I yelled and hung up.

"Papusha," Willow whispered; she must have woken up by my yelling. "Hey, sorry, princess. Go shower; we're going to mommy's house," I said, and she giggled happily, running outside.

I drove to Natalie's house, parked, and gently placed Willow on the ground. She sprinted to the door, and upon opening it, I exclaimed, "Fuckers!" Willow darted into the living room, where I unexpectedly found Klas.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I spat, swiftly gathering Willow into my arms. "Mickey..." Klas began, but I scoffed, retorting, "The fuck you want? This is my child, not yours."

Attempting to leave, I was thwarted by Max standing resolutely by the door, shaking his head. "Fuck off, motherfucker" I frowned, but he remained unmoved. Frustrated, I looked back at Klas and made a dash for the back door. Before I could open it, Max seized and pulled me back into the living room.

In the struggle, Willow slipped from my arms and ran to Klas. Max pinned me down, and as I punched him. Amidst the chaos, I headbutted Max, who recoiled in pain. Desperate to free Willow from Klas's grip, I yelled, "Give me my damn daughter back!"

"She's our daughter, Mickey," Klas retorted defiantly. Anger surged through me, and I raised my fist to strike. However, seeing Willow flinch, I halted, grappling with conflicting emotions. "Dada, I'm scared," Willow cried, her plea piercing through the tension.

Staring at them, breathing heavily, I struggled to find words. Millie intervened, grabbing my arm and leading me upstairs. Surprised by my own reaction, I didn't resist.

Seated on the bed, I gazed downward, engulfed in confusion. Millie, adopting a stern tone, questioned, "Mickey, what's going on with you?" I merely shrugged, responding, "Fuck if I know," my expression etched with a perplexed frown.

"You almost punched your daughter," Millie pointed out, and I rose from the bed. "No, Klas," I asserted, to which Millie scoffed, adding, "Your husband." I sighed, grappling with the realization that I might not love Klas anymore. Millie's pointed question echoed in my mind—did I still love him?

Her inquiry unsettled me, prompting a profound introspection. Was I still capable of love? The overwhelming realization dawned that my aggression and possessiveness, traits that had surfaced in previous relationships, had resurfaced in my marriage with Klas. I questioned my capacity for love, contemplating why I hadn't dated anyone before him.

I became the person I didn't want to be. I acknowledged the thug-like, dangerous aspects of myself. Despite my reservations, I found myself with a family—a husband and daughter.

Interrupting my thoughts, Millie raised her voice, "Mickey!" Startled, I snapped back, "Fucking what?!" She pressed on, asking if I still loved Klas. I offered only a shrug, uncertain of my feelings. "Is that a no?" she inquired, and my frown deepened. "I would know if I was," I snapped defensively.

Millie left the room with a sigh, and I, annoyed, retorted, "Yeah, fuckin' leave." Alone on the bed, I grappled with a sense of emptiness, reminiscent of the time before I met Klas, unsure of what love meant now.

Klas's pov:

After Mickey had retreated upstairs, Willow's cries filled the room, a manifestation of her fear. I cradled my daughter, comforting her until she drifted into a peaceful slumber in my arms. Handing Willow to Natalie, I felt a resolute need to address the turmoil Mickey and I were entangled in. I ascended the stairs, knocking on the door, but there was no response.

"Mickey," I began softly, pushing the door open to find him on the bed engrossed in his phone, indifferent to my presence. "Hey, can we talk?" I asked, and he nodded with a sigh. Seating myself beside him, I embarked on an apology, acknowledging my role in the unfolding events.

"I missed you, and I need you," I confessed, seeking reconciliation. Mickey set his phone aside, meeting my gaze with a mixture of frustration and skepticism. "Of course it is," he retorted sharply. "Mickey, we love each other," I asserted, prompting him to rise from the bed with a frown.

"Is that what love is? Contemplating divorce with your loved one?" he spat out bitterly. I sighed, shaking my head. "I was stressed out, Mickey. I didn't mean to say that, and I would never want us to separate," I explained earnestly, but Mickey scoffed in response.

As tears streamed down my cheeks, I pleaded with him to listen, feeling the strain on our marriage. "I'm not going to be with someone who's thinking of dumping me!" Mickey yelled, storming out of the room. Desperate, I pursued him, gripping his arm before he could open the door.

Max's voice interjected, questioning the situation, and I shook my head, wiping away tears. "Mickey, please, I'm sorry. I want us back together; I promise I'll do better," I pleaded, hoping to salvage what remained. Mickey gazed at me, and as I looked into his eyes, I searched for the husband I cherished.

"Do you love me?" I asked, and after a sigh, he nodded. "Alright, we'll work things out," he conceded, and relief flooded over me. We embraced tightly, a tentative step towards rebuilding what had been strained.

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