Borya trailed behind us as we headed to a cleared section just past the staff lot. Not the gardens—no. Had she redirected admin from that? I’d found a perfect spot near a rose bush while waiting for her to arrive. What memories did she associate with her party?
In no time, the grounds crew handed us gloves and hand trowels. Natasha knelt beside me, her wavy hair caressing her round cheeks—the only soft thing about her, as the tension in her spine remained coiled tight.
Natasha sat on her haunches and glanced at the evening sky. “I hope Rain is watching us.”
Oh, she’s watching. Watching too much. Yesterday, Rain Howard had shown up on leave without asking. Said she missed me. I never asked her to take time off. She was getting clingy. Reckless. That meant she’d likely end up dead—and if Rain made any mistakes by bypassing the Resnovs’ firewalls, she’d stop breathing sooner, rather than later.
Annoyed, I stabbed the soil with my trowel.
Natasha’s head tilted. “Sorry, you don’t believe in heaven?”
Nah. “Sí. I was just thinking …” I made my voice tight, nostalgic. “Rain was ten when I enlisted. Tough kid. Although she showed signs of weakness—chemo, y’know—she challenged me. Said Marines weren’t strong if they couldn’t out-climb a little girl. My cousin dared me to scale this ugly old pine in her backyard.”
Natasha chuckled slightly, wiping her forehead with her wrist. “You let her beat you?”
“Mistake of my life.” I sighed, watching another chink in her armor crumble for this imaginary little girl that I didn’t care for. Chicks dug these stories. After our rom-com, with its funny and sad parts, I learned to spin a story. “Rain pelted me with pine cones. Saidwhenshe got better, she’d plant a bigger tree. Name it after herself. So no one would ever forget she existed.”
Natasha dropped a hand against her chest. The sincerity on her face almost undid me. I’d take her now. Keep her … forever.
Have you lost your mind, Enzo? She’s a mark!
“I miss her …” My breath caught, a hitch. My eyes glassed over—not for Rain. For me. For Mama. Nah, not for Mama. It was hard to cry for her anymore. I was eight when she took her life and left me to foster care.
For Jamie, maybe. For the part of us that had survived the firestorm in Helmand when our four-person assault team almost got annihilated clearing a compound booby-trapped by child soldiers. That memory choked me more than fake griefever could. In the end, our four-person team transitioned into two.
Natasha shifted closer. Her fingers brushed mine in the dirt. She hesitated, glanced at her gloves, removed one, then touched my cheek with her bare hand. Her eyes searched mine, soft. Vulnerable.
I caught her wrist and held it. Not hard. Not yet.
“You’ve got such a good heart,” she whispered.
Actually, you have all the heart between us, Natasha. That’s why it’s gonna hurt me when I tear it out.
Borya cleared his throat behind us. He’d have done more if he could read my thoughts.
Natasha pulled away and sank back onto her knees again. She’d be this way again for me soon since I’d planned this with precision. On her knees. Begging. Other emotions flitting across her face.
I watched her while we worked. The small, telling movements. She wouldn’t realize it, but this—fragile hesitation, the way she retreated inward—was what I’d intended. She’d come undone for me, soon. I’d timed everything down to the hour. But even now, other emotions flickered across her face—grief, confusion, a hint of guilt she couldn’t name.
All useful. All part of the unraveling.
29
LACHLAN
Bottom of the ninth.It might not end the way I hoped, unlike the movies.
Sure, I’d had my moments—clutch hits, big saves. Win or lose, I carried it. Every loss sat on my chest, as if I’d let every man on my team down. And yet here I was.
Bases loaded.
Tied game.
Two outs.
I strolled out of the dugout—adjusting my gloves, jaw tight—my mind nowhere near the strike zone. But onher.
Natasha.
