“‘This’ extends past where we are, Kade. And now that other people are getting involved, if they get hurt, it’s going to be on me. That’s what I’m struggling with.”
“To a point, sure. You have to have faith in people knowing what they can and can’t cope with or want to be involved in. If you need to off-load and talk it through, you know whatever you tell me won’t go any further. I’ve never shared with another person any of what you told me.”
He pauses, his heartwarming cinnamon scent becoming the only thing I can smell. I sway under his subtle but noticeable influence. “And I know I’ve apologized, but we’ve hardly had a chance to talk about me not being truthful about working for Interpol. Right or wrong, I did it because I wanted to protect you from the shit I’ve seen. I just went about it assuming you were unaware of organized crime. That’s on me, though. I judged wrong, but I never did you wrong, if that makes sense.”
“It does. I get the lengths people will go to protect others, not that it makes what you did right.” I have to break our eye contact. His beautiful eyes have always been my weakness. Now is not the time to get lost in them or the promises they hold.
“I know. And I’ll be on my knees apologizing every day. I’d never play you. I adore you way too much.”
Kade is laying it on the line, and even though this isn’t the place for this to happen, it might just be the time. I once again lean into his support but don’t look up at him again. I don’t want him to see my turmoil. He’s saying everything I want to hear, but is it right, given what I still need to do? Doing shitty things or allowing shitty things to happen to you as opposed to involving those you love isn’t a form of martyrdom; it’s everyday fucking life.
“You can’t get rid of me, Quinn. I’ll remind you as often as you need to hear it,” he insists. “You’re tired, sweetheart. After a good sleep, you’ll be back in the game, and everything will make sense again.”
I nod, soaking in his reassurance.
“I’ve seen you broken after a bad day at the clinic. And we’re not in that place. I know you will bounce back from whatever is making you pull away. In the meantime, you have to remember that sometimes what happens isn’t because of what you did or didn’t do. It’s just how things go.”
What Kade says is true. Another time and place, and I’d be climbing between the seats and onto his lap, for him to remind me of my strength in a very different way.
Before I can thank him for having my back, the door opens, and Roshka rushes in, burying his head in my lap. I don’t know when we became best friends, but we did. He snuffles with his eyes closed and pushes his head into my hand when I scratch him behind the ears.
“I’m okay, mister.” He blinks at me. “Are you ready for more drama?”
His tail thumps, and I push him out of the way to exit the car. Aleksei is standing, holding the door. He looks at me with distance in his eyes.
“I’ll apologize for Santiago’s poor behavior later. I need you focused. Sergey and a few of his men are inside, their women too. We’ll pretend for just a little while longer. I promise, I’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible.”
I nod and trail behind him as he leads the way, taking us from the garage out onto the street and then into the restaurant.
He speaks with the person at the front, and the man rushes ahead to pull a chair out for Aleksei first, and then me. I’m at the opposite end from Sergey; we both sit at the head of the table, but his end is surrounded with people, and mine is empty. Thankfully.
A server fills my glass with water from the table, but before they even finish pouring, Santiago is next to them. He stops them, then hands my glass back and uses his hand to mime that he wants a bottle of fresh water and a clean glass delivered. The girl moves out, and then she slows when she realizes Santiago is following her, but Aleksei speaks in Russian and she agrees.
I wasn’t going to eat or drink anything, not trusting Bambi. It would be her style to get someone to poison me for shits and giggles. Now I’m low-key swooning that Santiago, Kade, and Aleksei are being so active in their protection. Something inside me lets go, and suddenly I’m ravenous, but the food being offered is so rich and heavy, I can’t even tolerate smelling it.
Santiago picks up my plate, again. Apparently, we’re doing a degustation menu, but so far, I haven’t been able to manage a bite of anything that has been put in front of me.
“I can’t eat this,” I say quietly, not being difficult, but my stomach is still out of sorts after my heat and all the medication I took. Back home, I would be taking my fill of comfort food and carbs.
He turns away from all the others around the table, growling softly under his breath. “You’ve hardly tried anything.”
I feel Aleksei watching. He has been all night. But he’s also in the thick of things, drinking, talking, and laughing with his brother.
Sitting back, and taking a small sip of the water again, I watch Roshka as I will my stomach to stop gurgling so I can at least try something on the next plate.
Aleksei stands abruptly, making Sergey yell out and laugh at him. He disappears into the kitchen with a dismissive wave over his shoulder, reappearing moments later, carrying another platter of the traditional Russian food. He grins at Sergey, saying something that is clearly entertaining. The whole table claps and cheers, and Aleksei takes a bow.
From a distance, my chest aches in longing, wishing I was included. It’s the sense of belonging, of having people to call my own that I want, not acceptance by this group sitting around the table.
There’s more movement at the kitchen door. It opens the smallest gap, and I see Aleksei’s setup for what it was—a diversion. And then my chest aches for a different reason.
The same server Santiago first spoke with reappears and waves Santiago closer. He disappears into the kitchen, and a handful of seconds later, the door opens, and he’s walking towards me. He places a plate of food in front of me, walking off to take his spot again before I can even manage a thank you. I nearly fucking cry when I see what he delivered—steak frites. The steak strips are cooked how I’d cook them at home, and they’re off to the side, not even touching the mountain of fries. It’s so close to what I was dreaming of.
I’m nearly swept under by a wave of emotion. And I know the bond I share with Aleksei is as real and tangible as it is dangerous, but I wish I could rush over to him and thank him how I want, with lots of hugs and kisses. Then I’d repeat theprocess another two times, with Kade and Santiago. I think I loathe Sergey the most at this moment.
Since I can’t publicly share who these men are to me and how they are as good as treating me like pack, I do the next best thing and bask in their gifts of food and shelter, safety and care. I take a bite of the food Aleksei must have arranged for me and try to keep to myself how thankful I am, but I can’t stop the sigh of contentment. From my peripheral vision, I notice Aleksei rubbing his chest and smiling to himself.
After I’ve eaten, everything seems less onerous or emotionally taxing. Where I was half upset no one was acknowledging me, now I enjoy the peace and quiet, savoring the taste of freedom. Letting my mind wander on anything but real life, I pretend I own the restaurant, not that I ever would, but it’s easy to get lost in the pretend. The first thing I’d do is get rid of the glass front; I feel like I’m in a goldfish bowl. Next, I’d replace the deep red walls with a soft, sage green that would flow into the table linen and the plates. And I’d definitely put in some small booths, with lots of pillows, strings of fairy lights, and tea candles everywhere.
