“I know.” I let out a breath. “Anyway, as I watched Yulian back then, doing and saying what he wanted, laughing obnoxiously, and sleeping in class, I envied him a little. Maybe I hated him a bit for being so carefree. But then I saw his dad hit him, and I wanted to protect him. He laughed at it, you know, as his dad hit him. He covers everything with a laugh, not wanting to show the world any weakness. After that, the attack happened, and he took a bullet for me, even though he didn’t have to. He didn’t even think twice before saving me, Dad. I couldn’t comprehend it at the time, but now, I realize it’s because he’s just like that. If he cares, even a little, he’ll give his life in return, and I truly respect that about him. Even if he’s nothing like me and drives me crazy with all his impulsive actions.”
Mom strokes my cheek. “Looks like you found yourself a keeper.”
My shoulders fall. “He’s mad at me because of how coldly I treated him at the gallery in front of you guys.”
“Mm. That was cold, actually,” Mom says.
“He was just fine,” Dad counters.
“No, he wasn’t.” She gives him a look. “Listen, Vonnie, not everyone is as coolheaded and rational as you and your papa. Some people need emotional reactions and affirmation. And if that person is Yulian, who I believe wears his heart on his sleeve, he’d be hurt by your lack of emotionalresponse. Don’t be like your father was a long time ago, where you plot everything in your head, discarding feelings in the process. It’ll only hurt the people who love you.”
Dad caresses her face over my head. “I’m sorry, Solnyshko.”
She smiles and kisses him on the cheek.
And now I miss Yulian, because he had this completely awestruck expression whenever I dropped a soft kiss to his cheek or forehead or hand, as if he was mesmerized by those simple gestures.
I want to erase his burden but also make sure his dad doesn’t hurt him again.
Yaroslav sent that picture to Dad, so he knows about us now. Does that mean he went after Yulian or something?
My pulse slams as a vibration rattles through my pocket. I snatch out my phone, my breath catching—only for my hope to crash when I don’t find Yulian’s name, just an unknown number.
“I need to take this,” I tell Mom and Dad, then stand up. “Hello.”
“It’s Cyrus.”
My jaw grinds, but I remain still. “Can I help you?”
“Yaroslav knows about you. There was a picture of you two kissing in public like suicidal idiots.”
“Is there a point you’ll be reaching soon, Cyrus?”
“I want you to listen to me carefully, Vaughn. Yaroslav found out about Yulian’s sexual preferences a long time ago. When he was sixteen, to be precise. Caught him kissing a guy in his room. Do you know what happened then?”
I swallow, and my parents watch me with frowns. “What?”
“He killed that guy right in front of Yulian, then proceeded to break both of Yulian’s legs. He told him it was better for him to become a cripple rather than sullying his name. He clearly warned that if Yulian didn’t stay away from—and I quote—‘that sick, disgusting, depraved, abnormal shit,’ he’d not only marry Alina off to the highest bidder, but he’d also castrate and kill Yulian because no son of his would be less than a man.”
My grip on the phone is so tight, I’m shocked it doesn’t snap in half. My mouth is parched, every swallow as rough as sandpaper. I always knew Yaroslav was a monster, but not this kind. Now I understand what Yulian meant when he told me,“You’re privileged to have your mom and dad, Mishka.”He was right. The difference between how my parents reacted to my sexuality and how his did is stark and terrifying.
“You know, I’ve always known you’d be trouble since that summer camp,” Cyrus continues. “Yaroslav has him now, to torture or kill him, and it’s all because of you. You abandoned him in that cave and went on to live your merry life with Danika while he suffered the consequences, and it’s happening again now.” He takes a sharp breath. “Fix it, Vaughn. Prove me wrong for once in your life, and go the extra mile for him.”
32
YULIAN
Cold hits me with a sharp, merciless impact.
I gasp, sputtering as icy water drenches my face, soaking through my clothes, trickling down my spine and into my bones.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am.
Whoam I?
Then the fragments of memories slide in. First, the pain of Vaughn’s rejection, then the kidnapping, and finally, the physical ache sets in.
My neck is stiff, my jaw throbs, and my wrists burn from the way they’re bound behind me. The pressure around my ankles tells me they’re tied down, too, forced against the legs of the chair I’m strapped to. It creaks beneath me whenever I breathe too hard. Or maybe that’s me creaking. Difficult to tell with the overload of bullshit.
