Page 92 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I turn and stare right at Leonid's replica. Igor is rising from the couch in the living room—same dark hair, same sharp jaw, same broad shoulders as Leonid, just a few inches shorter. He’s watching me with those familiar blue eyes, expression unreadable.

Of course. Leonid wouldn’t leave me alone after this morning. He asked his brother to keep watch.

“Yes,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “Are you going to stop me?”

Igor shakes his head once. “Not against your will.”

I study him, searching for the lie, waiting for him to block the door. But he just stands there, hands loose at his sides.

“Can I at least drive you wherever you’re going?” he asks. “Leonid will have my head if I let you walk out alone.”

I glance at my phone. The ride I ordered is still ten minutes away. “There's no need, I…”

“Laurel, please, let me drop you off.”

“Fine,” I mutter.

He nods, grabs his keys from the coffee table, and opens the door for me. Outside, the air is crisp. His car is parked closest, a black sports car that growls to life when he unlocks it. I slide into the passenger seat; he gets behind the wheel.

Igor pulls out of the driveway. For a minute we drive in silence. He breaks the quiet first. “You know Leonid’s going to be pissed when he finds out you’re gone.”

I stare out the window. “He’ll be fine.”

Another beat.

“He loves you,” Igor says quietly. “More than I’ve ever seen him love anything. Including himself.”

My throat tightens. I love him too.

Later that night, the doorbell rings, insistent, three times in quick succession. My heart lurches into my throat. I already know who it is.

I pad to the door in socks, peer through the peephole, and there he is: Leonid, hair slightly wind-tousled, jaw set like he’s bracing for war. His eyes are shadowed with worry. I don’t open the door.

“Laurel,” he says through the wood, voice low. “Open the door. Please.”

I press my forehead against the cool surface, palms flat on either side of the peephole. “No. Please go away.”

Silence stretches. Then, quieter: “I just need to see you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter. “Go home, Leonid.”

“I’m not leaving until we talk.”

I close my eyes. “There’s nothing left to say. Please just go.”

The words land like stones between us. Another beat of silence, longer this time. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher, edged with something raw.

“You’re ending us? Just like that?”

The pain in his voice slices straight through me. I can see it even through the peephole, the way his shoulders slump just a fraction, the way his hand flexes at his side like he’s fighting not to break down the door. My chest aches so hard I can barely breathe.

I look away from the peephole, tears burning hot behind my eyelids. My hand trembles on the knob. I want to open the door. I want to fall into him and let him hold me until the world makes sense again. But I can’t.

“I’m not ending us, Leonid. It’s just… too much has happened all at once, and I need time alone to think.”

Silence.

Then: “Alright, but just so you know, I don’t give up on what’s mine.”