“Anya has gone radio silent.”
His eyebrows twitch, dipping inward. “You’re working a dent into the floor because your little friend isn’t texting you back?”
Rage like I’ve never felt toward him begins to burn. “You’re a fucking prick. I should have known you wouldn’t be helpful,” I spit, fists clenching. Spinning on my heels, I’m ready to go straight down the stairs and make my way to the fucking airport.
A loud, resigned groan stops me in my tracks.
“I’m listening, Matteo,” Apollo grunts, leaving no room for doubt or argument. “Why are you freaking out that she hasn’t responded? Do you feel like she might be in danger?”
Hesitant, I move toward my brother’s office, approaching him slowly. I swear to God, if he makes me regret this, I’ll hit him. I won’t tell him that Anya just got out of inpatient care; as far as I know, none of my family—besides Nico the stalker—know about that. I have to tell him I’m worried that she might hurt herself, though. In the most delicate way I can muster while I’m in this anxiety-riddled state.
“You know what happened to her, yeah?”
He blinks. “I’m familiar, yes.”
We both know that he was there the night I learned about it, but I don’t know how else to start this conversation.
“I’m only telling you this because I’m going out of my fucking mind right now, Apollo,” I preface, voice genuinely shaking. “What I’m about to say stays between us. Barely anyone else knows.”
He dips his head in a firm nod, and gestures for me to continue.
“She tried to end it all…several times after that night happened. Her dad kept her on lockdown after the first two times, and she hasn’t tried in over a year or two now. But when she has bad days, she still thinks about it sometimes.”
I swallow so thickly that it hurts. I don’t know if that’s still true. I have to believe that she doesn’t consider hurting herself since coming home from her two months of care. She’s been feeling so much better, but I haven’t seen her in person, and plenty can be concealed over the phone.
“She’s having a bad day, and now she’s not answering.”
Apollo blinks, and then without a word grabs his phone off his desk. I watch in astonishment as he scrolls on the device, completely ignoring me.How the fuck do you just ignore information like that?
“What are you?—”
He flings his hand in the air and presses the cellphone to his ear.
“Anton Morozov,” Apollo says and suddenly it all makes sense. He wasn’t ignoring me, he was working as quickly as possible.
Breath whooshing out of me in relief, I drop down into the chair across from Apollo’s desk, giving him my full attention. Of course he would have Anton’s personal phone number. He’s basically the head of the family, even if it hasn’t been made official by Dad’s retirement yet.
I hear a muffled male voice before Apollo speaks again.
“Do you have eyes on your daughter currently?”
More muffled sound.
“Check on her,” Apollo says, his tone full of command rather than suggestion. “Matteo is concerned for her current mental and physical health.”
Seconds pass without a word from Apollo, the intensity of waiting almost becoming suffocating. Eventually, Anton’s deep muffled voice is audible again. My brother hangs up the call without replying and my heartbeat hammers in my ears, pleading with him to say something—anything.
“She’s sleeping,” Apollo says, ending my internal torture. The weight of the world lifts off my chest and I can fucking breathe again. “Apparently, she asked her doctor for her emergency pill?”
“She did?” I ask, even more relieved than before. “She told me that she never really asks for it.” At least she didn’t before the program. “Normally someone would notice that she’s gloomy and offer it. Sometimes she’ll reluctantly take it, but it makes her feel really tired.” I breathe out, smiling with pride for my friend. “Shit, okay, that’s really good.”
“He said as much,” Apollo agrees, nodding. “He credits you for her progress and says that you’re offprobationnow?”
If he credits me for her progress, it’s because he credits me for inspiring her to seek more care. One man alone can’t rebuild someone who’s been as hurt as Anya has, but I won’t pretend that I don’t think our friendship helped her take the next step in her recovery.
If Anton Morozov wants to give me any credit for his daughter’s healing, I won’t deny it. I need as many brownie points as I can get from the man. Especially since his bloodhound brother acts like he’d like to carve out my heart and eat it, no matter how much his wife and his niece vouch for me.
I’m smiling to myself as I explain, “He won’t keep a hand on his gun when he sees me now. He’s starting to love me already.”
