I don’t sleep anyway.
I wonder what keeps Maksim up at night? I know only the vaguest details of his life before Aunt Leni, but looking at him now, I realize I’ve barely scratched the surface. Whatever lives beneath that inked skin and behind those haunted eyes…it’s probably so much worse than I can imagine.
“Maksim.” I wait until his gaze meets mine. “Truth or dare?”
His expression flickers between confusion and amusement. “Really?”
I shift closer, tucking my good leg beneath me to get level with him.
“Why not? Seems like a fun way to make up for lost time.”
“As opposed to an actual conversation?”
“Absolutely. Now pick one.”
He exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but the faint smile tugging at his mouth betrays him.
“Fuck. Fine.”
We hold each other’s stare a moment too long.
“Well?”
“Truth.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
His brows pull together. “I don’t have one.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone has a favorite color.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches between us until he leans forward just slightly, his voice lower now.
“Brown, the kind with tiny flecks of gold in it when the light catches it just right.”
I don’t need to guess what he means. My stomach knots, and the room suddenly feels smaller, warmer…charged.
I open my mouth, but the words stall in my throat when he slides closer, closing the space inch by inch.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I say, my tongue skimming my lips to hide the way my pulse pounds.
He studies me for a hard moment, like he’s debating whether or not to ask his question.
“What’s the one thing you’re most proud of? Your greatest accomplishment.”
A memory surfaces instantly, and I wonder if he remembers too. Maybe that’s why it’s lingered through the years, because he was there. Because of the way he smiled at me that day.
“I was seven,” I start softly. “Exhausted after a two-hour gymnastics practice. Nothing was going right. I kept falling and messing up. I remember wanting to go home, and looking to the bleachers, hoping my mom or dad was there so I could signal an SOS.” I laugh quietly. “They weren’t. But then I saw you and Uncle Silas walk in.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me, every muscle in his body still.
“You always had this way of pushing me—even when you didn’t realize it. I just wanted to be cool like you. To make you proud. So I said a little prayer and went for it.”
“Your kip.”
My gaze lifts to his, a slow smile spreading. “You remember that?”
