“Maybe. I don’t know.” He steps toward me, desperation in his face as more thunder roars. He reaches out a hand. “Please, Nika, we have to get off the beach now. You can hate me. You can hit me, rip out my eyes. Tell me I’m all the fucked up things I know I am. But please, do it somewhere safe. I’m begging you, Nika, get off the beach.”
I want to run. I want to sprint into the water. I want to throw sand in his face, scream at him, punch him, make him hurt like I’m hurting.
But I think he already is.
And his face is filled with fear. I’ve never seen him so afraid before. His eyes keep going to the storm and back to me, and every inch of him is burning with urgency. He’s barely keepinghimself back. If I didn’t hate him so much right now, he’d have already dragged me kicking and screaming.
God, I hate this. I hate it so much.
Lightning strikes close this time. I shout in surprise and jump to him, the light so blinding and bright it hurts my eyes. He grabs me, pulls me against him, and starts to run back toward the dunes. I stagger and move with him, huddled close to him against the rain. He leaves his jacket behind, probably worth thousands, meaningless in the face of this storm. He pulls me on grimly determined, until we reach a BMW parked haphazardly in some stranger’s driveway.
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” I say, getting into the back seat. Gabe doesn’t argue. He gets behind the wheel and pulls down the driveway, turning back toward the house.
I stare out the window as the storm rages. What the hell was I thinking back there? Staying on the beach was crazy.
But so was coming for me the way he did.
I lean my forehead against the cold glass and feel like I’m coming apart.
We reach the house. He parks out front, kills the engine, but doesn’t get out. The rain pelts the roof. Gabe’s quiet, eyes fixed on the front door.
“When I told her what happened, she insisted on coming. Just so you know. I didn’t bring her here for any other reason. She said she had to see you.”
I look up, puzzled. “Who are you talking about?” I ask but I already know. My stomach lurches with confused excitement.
I shove open my door and get out. Gabe doesn’t follow as I run to the door and throw it open. Inside is dark and quiet. Hulk stands near the stairs, glaring at me, soaked to the bone. I feel bad for him, but I press on, deeper into the house, toward the brightly lit kitchen.
This is how she is, seared into my mind. Always standing at the stove, making comments about the day. Funny, wry, a little bit mean, but deeply caring. Food was her love language. That and Russian. She’d make sure I always had enough to eat, and then she’d give me more.Skin and bones, Nika, I swear, they must think I don’t feed you.She’d smile and kiss my cheek and hug me tight.
Through everything, she was there.
I stop breathless in the kitchen doorway and she turns.
Her smile is exactly how I remember. It’s bright and self-deprecating, like she can’t believe she still knows how to feel happy.
“There you are, Nikusha, Gabriel was worried sick. You should have seen him, losing his mind?—“
I sprint to Aunt Yelena and hug her so hard I’m afraid I might break her. She hugs me back with a sigh as I sob against her chest, all the pent-up feelings of the last five days spilling out, like the rain against the roof.
CHAPTER 19
NIKA
“Igo back to Moscow for a few months and it’s like you’ve lost your mind.” Aunt Yelena waves a big spoon at me, shaking her head. “Honestly Veronika, running out into a storm like that?”
“I know, it was stupid.”
“A childish temper tantrum. You haven’t acted like that since you were little.” She rolls her eyes and flips the kotlety. Her cooking smells amazing. Nostalgia threatens to drown me as I sit at the table, now changed into dry clothes and drinking black tea. She used to cook these for me when I was little, these flat Russian meatball things, and I’d scarf them down by the dozen, eating them on top of fluffy beds of mashed potatoes.
“It’s been a really tough couple of weeks.”
“Yes, well, I heard.” She gets more serious as she begins to serve the food, moving briskly. “You look skinny. Don’t tell me Gabriel isn’t feeding you.”
“He’s fine, Tyotya.”
“Don’t youtyotyame.” She drops a plate in front of me and scowls. “I know that man is difficult sometimes, but he better have been taking care of you.”
I soften under her hard glare. “He’s been good to me, I promise.”
