“I do.”
As ugly as my first kip was, accomplishing one is such a pivotal moment for a young gymnast. It marks the start of progressing to new skills on bar. I was ecstatic. My whole team cheered, but the only thing that mattered to me was finding him in the crowd, seeing him clap, seeing that proud smile. I was the happiest little girl in the world when two of the people I loved most stood and cheered me on.
“It was a good day—especially the chocolate fudge sundae celebration after.”
His chest shakes with laughter. I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze, and something heavy passes between us. It feels like we’re both remembering a version of ourselves that doesn’t exist anymore.
“Truth or dare?” I ask, more breath than sound.
His throat bobs, like he’s thinking it over. “Truth,” he says again.
“What are you most afraid of, Maksim?”
It’s as if the question pulls every ounce of oxygen from the room. He recoils slightly, looking away, elbows braced on his thighs, and his hands clasped tight enough for his knuckles to pale. The silence stretches until it hurts. But I say nothing, just wait. Regret burns inside me as the sweet moment between us splinters.
I open my mouth to tell him to forget it?—
“When I was a kid,” he starts, his voice low, “after my parents died…before Mom and Silas. I was bounced around until they stuck me with Pyotr. A distant cousin of my father’s. And a sadistic son of a bitch,” he adds with a hollow laugh. “Said he was going to make a man of me. Raise me the way my father intended. And he did just that, only instead of words and guidance, he used his fists, his boots, and anything else within reach. He was creative.”
“Maksim,” I whisper, my hand finding his arm. But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop.
“His favorite punishment was drowning.” Maksim draws a breath through his teeth. “He’d shove my face under water—almost always ice-cold—until my lungs were on fire. Until I blacked out. Drowning me until I was on the brink of death brought him some twisted satisfaction I’ll never understand.” His jaw tightens, eyes far away. “Or maybe…I do.”
He turns to me, his gaze stripped bare, searching for something in my face—revulsion, pity…anything.
“The need for control. For power. For respect. Maybe I get it now.”
My heart aches for him, for the boy who had to become this version of the man sitting in front of me. Tears sting behind my eyes as I move closer, lifting a hand to brush the strands of hair falling across his forehead. But I hesitate.
“I’m sorry you had to live through that.”
“Water,” he says abruptly. His voice is calm and detached. “That’s what I’m most afraid of. Bodies of water. Of drowning. Suffocating in helplessness.”
A lot of things suddenly make sense. I was too young to understand why he never joined us at the beach, why he always stayed on the edge of pools.
Did I ever tease him for it? I can’t remember, and the thought makes me sick.
“Fuck…Maksim. You were just a kid.” My voice shakes as he blurs behind unshed tears. I surge forward, arms wrapping around him, holding on like I can somehow protect the boy he used to be. “Tell me he’s dead. Tell me he’s the one Aunt Leni killed.”
Rage replaces grief.
“If she hadn’t, I would have—eventually. Well, unless he got me first,” he says with a bitter chuckle.
“Don’t say that.”
“Stop crying, Kolibri.”
I stiffen at the name.
“That weak version of me died a long time ago.”
Twelve
MAKSIM
Tonight took a turn I didn’t see coming.
Valentina shows up at my door unannounced after nearly getting trampled and somehow catches me eating her favorite cereal. I don’t even know why I bought the damn stuff. I was at the store, walked past the aisle, and thought of her. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
