Page 100 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"You're surviving," Ekaterina says simply. "Just like you always have."

The words hit something deep inside me. I look up at her, surprised.

"You think I don't recognize someone who's learned to survive on their own?" She reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. "I see it in the way you hold yourself. The way you watch everyone carefully, always assessing threats. You've been taking care of yourself for a long time, haven't you?"

My throat tightens. "Pretty much my entire life."

"Foster care?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"That explains a lot." Ekaterina squeezes my hand gently. "You're not used to being protected. You're not used to people caring about your safety or your feelings. So when three dangerous men suddenly decide you're worth protecting, it terrifies you."

"Yes," I whisper. "It terrifies me."

"Because you think if you let yourself feel safe, something will happen to take it away."

The accuracy of her observation brings tears to my eyes. This woman sees way too much! "Everything always gets taken away."

"Not always," Ekaterina says quietly. "Sometimes, if you're very lucky, you find people who stay. People who fight for you instead of abandoning you."

"But what if I'm not lucky?" The question comes out broken and raw. "What if this all falls apart? What if Sharon doesn't come back? What if Zach finds me? What if the guys realize I'm not worth all this trouble?"

"Then you survive that too." Ekaterina's voice is firm now. "But you don't run away before it happens. You don't sabotage the first good thing you've found in years just because you're scared."

I stare at her, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to let people in."

"You're already doing it." She gestures around the kitchen. "You're here, aren't you? Living in this house, letting three men protect you, worrying about your friend. And opening up with me. That's letting people in, Marla. It's messy and terrifying, but you're doing it."

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, embarrassed. "I feel so weak."

"Being loved by difficult men does not make you weak," Ekaterina says, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "It makes you brave. Because loving them back, trusting them with your safety and your heart, that takes more courage than running away ever could."

The words settle over me like a blanket, warm and heavy. I realize I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as something inside me finally breaks open. Ekaterina doesn't tell me to stop or look away. She just sits there, holding my hand, letting me fall apart in her kitchen.

"I'm scared," I admit through the tears. "I'm so fucking scared."

"I know." Her thumb rubs gentle circles on the back of my hand. "But you're not alone anymore. That's what you need to remember. You're not alone."

We sit there for a long time, drinking tea and talking about nothing and everything. Ekaterina tells me stories about Russ as a child, about his father and the life she's lived. I find myself opening up in ways I never have before, sharing pieces of my past I usually keep locked away.

By the time we finally head to bed, the sky outside is starting to lighten with the first hints of dawn. I'm exhausted but somehow lighter, like something heavy has been lifted from my chest. I fall asleep almost immediately, Ekaterina's words echoing in my mind. You're not alone anymore.

The sound of vehicles pulling up outside wakes me. I sit up quickly, my heart racing. Sunlight streams through the window, telling me it's late morning. I must have slept for hours.

I throw on clothes and rush to the living room. Through the window, I see three black SUVs parked in the driveway. Nick, Alex, and Russ are climbing out, all three looking exhausted and dangerous. Their clothes are rumpled, their expressions hard. There's dried blood on Russ's knuckles.

The front door opens and all three men enter. The atmosphere is thick with tension and barely controlled violence. Nick's green eyes are cold and flat. Alex's jaw is tight. Russ looks like he's been through hell.

They see me standing there, and something in their expressions shifts slightly. Not softening, exactly. Or maybe it is. Russ's mom said their expressions change around me, and she's known them for years.

Russ walks slowly toward me. His light eyes are bloodshot, his blond hair disheveled. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.

"We found Sharon."

41

NICK