I plucked one from his hand. “Thanks.”
“For the ice cream or the privacy?”
“Both.”
He sat down on the couch beside me and roughed a hand over his face. “Am I turning into my father?”
“Don’t know. Only met Anatoly once. Yes?—”
“Yes?” His eyes snapped in my direction, square jaw stiffening.Dang. Pop resembled a superhero even during a minor meltdown.
“Well, yes,ifyou considered him the world’s greatest father.” I played with the huge diamond chain Pop always handed to Vadim before the cutman prepped him for a match.
The tension in his shoulders drained, and I smiled, body jittering while another cry overcame me, my hand gripping the diamond cross that was now mine. My dad wrapped me in his arms. Perhaps I didn’t crave Lachlan’s hug? I just needed the love of a man whom I could trust. After a while, my parents surrounded me on both sides.
When cries turned to sniffles, Momma shooed Dad away. “Time for a girl chat.”
“Nyet, Zariah.Moya doch’needs me.”
“Listen, I get it. You’re a Russian man in touch with your feminine side.” She cupped his jaw. “But you gotta go, baby.”
He relented and grumbled every step of the way to the wrought-iron stairs.
Mom cupped my face, her thumbs soothing my tears.
“It hurts, Momma.” The words wobbled out.
“I know, baby, I know.”
“H-how do you f-fall out of love with someone?”
“You don’t fall out of love, girl. You grieve the love. Mourn what it meant. Bury the expectations. The hope that you cannot re-orchestrate. You let yourself cry it out until the ache dulls intoa memory, and you can breathe without feeling like salt water is bursting your lungs.”
The melody of her tone poured into my soul, soothing the aches and pain. Soothing the wounds so the scars wouldn’t run too deep within my heart.
24
LACHLAN
Glendale, AZ
As the sun set,a crisp breeze tugged at the mesh walls of the batting cage, cold enough to make me wish I’d worn sleeves. Quiet enough that the swoosh of the pitching machine cut the stillness.
Woosh.
A white blur rocketed toward me full force.Crack.
My bat connected—clean, solid, with a slight upward angle. The ball jetted toward the back of the cage.
Line drive. Pure contact. One of my better hits tonight. Not that it mattered.
“Where are you, Lach? It’s so loud.” Number Seven’s voice came from my AirPods.
“Jake, I gotta be moving my hands. Increase your cellphone volume. Gimme answers.”
He groaned. “It’s a weeknight. Tomorrow, I’ve got clinicals and my professor’s a sadist on Wednesdays.”
“Count this toward your psych hours. I’ll pay you a crap load more than you get while practicing.”
