He’s sitting on the bench, tying the laces of his workout shoes with the kind of methodical precision that means his brain is somewhere else. Shoulders tense. Jaw locked. Exactly the way he gets when something is brewing behind that cold Russian exterior.
He looks up the moment he hears me.
There’s a half second—just long enough for me to see him catalog me head-to-toe—before his forehead creases.
“What happened?” he asks.
No hello. No good morning.
Because Luka knows me. He knows when something’s off.
I drop onto the bench across from him, elbows on my knees, fists loosely clasped like I’m bracing myself.
“She got a message last night,” I say quietly.
His entire body goes still.
It’s subtle—just a shift in the surrounding air—but I feel it. Like the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
“From him?” Luka asks, voice flat.
I nod.
His anger is instant, his teeth clenching, his eyes focused like they are right before he rams an opponent into the sidewalls. I’ve witnessed it plenty of times.
“Kat didn’t tell me. What did it say? What time did he send this?” he asks, in rapid repetition.
“She didn’t tell me until she got home from auditions yesterday. He basically said that he knows about the wedding and what she’s trying to do but that it won’t last. She was shaking.”
Luka’s nostrils flare. “Of course she was shaking.”
I nod.
“He’s testing boundaries,” Luka says. “Seeing if she’ll crack. Seeing if you’ll crack. That’s the only way he wins.”
“What do we do?” I ask.
Luka’s eyes snap up to mine, sharp and quickly assessing the situation.
“We stick to the plan,” he says quietly. “She trusts you. I could see it at the wedding… and my sister doesn’t trust people easily.”
“Must be genetic,” I say, glancing over at him.
“It’s a survival mechanism. We both had to learn it. This plan only works because it’s you. You’re the only one I could have trusted with this. And I was right to pick you.”
My chest twists
“Trick me, you mean.” I remind him.
“I’d apologize… but I’m not sorry that she’s safe with you, so I won’t insult us both by lying,” he says, pulling on one skate. “I’d do anything for my sister, and I’d do it all over again if given the chance. I’d do whatever it takes for her.”
This might be the first time that Luka and I have something we both can agree on.
“I get it. I have sisters too. I would have done the same thing.”
He reaches down and ties on his first skate.
“So what do we do now?” I ask.
