His jaw clenches, and I can see the moment he wants to tell me to go fuck myself and stay away from his sister… but he technically can’t. He still needs me to finish what we started.
“The candy is calledKrasnaya Shapochka,” he mutters in annoyance that he’s giving in. “Little Red Riding Hood chocolates. The Russian market on 5th carries them.”
I let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” he mutters, turning away. “Just… don’t fuck this up.”
Hunter jogs past, slapping my shoulder. “Congratulations, East. You're officially in love.”
I flip him off and then get back to my workout. I have to get the last of everything ready for the movie tomorrow night before we leave town for our away game, and I need this all to go right.
Luckily, the sixty-year-old woman at the shop on 5th knew exactly what candy Luka mentioned, and I bought everything they had in stock.
I check the email confirmation for the date and time of the showing I reserved for the eighth time. This has to be perfect.
My phone buzzes.
Kat:Made it through rehearsal without collapsing. Barely.
Kat:I might be dead. Check the living room when you get home.
I smile, thumbs flying.
Me:You’re not allowed to die. I have plans for you.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, feeling lighter than I have in days.
Dad has a shot at a trial, even if it's a small shot. I have a theater booked and scheduled; she has candy coming that tastes like home, and though Luka is pissed, he didn’t kill me.
It’s something. And right now? That’s the best I can hope for.
Chapter Seventeen
KATERINA
Scottie doesn’t tell me where we’re going.
Only that he’s taking me somewhere special before he leaves for Salt Lake tomorrow — before he misses my opening night.
He parks a few streets off Pike, in a quiet part of downtown. The air smells like espresso and wet pavement and October autumn.
He kills the engine and glances over at me, lips tilting up in that soft, almost-smile that does ridiculous things to my chest.
“It’s only a couple of blocks,” he says.
I nod and get out, hugging my coat close. When he joins me on the passenger side, he falls into step beside me like he’s done it a thousand times.
“Are you nervous?” he asks gently. “About the performance tomorrow?”
I exhale slowly. “A little. Mostly, I wish you and Luka were going to be there. But we’re ready.”
He goes quiet for a second. His breath leaves him in a slow fog of white against the night. “Yeah. I wish I were going to be there, too.”
I look up.
He’s staring ahead, jaw flexing like the words cost him something.
“That’s the problem with having two performers in the family,” he says, nudging my arm. “We both have to feed the fans.”
