“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be stupid.” She turns away, shuts the front door, and sits on the porch swing.
I follow, not sure if this is the right thing to do. A piece of me still rebels against the idea of wanting her so badly. A bigger piece wants to drop to my knees and to beg her forgiveness. I should plead and grovel until she comes around.
Instead, I get out of the rain, but I don’t go closer to her.
“How’s Yelena?” I ask, nodding at the house.
“She’s fine. Taking a bath.”
“Fed you?”
“Obviously.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “When she first came to Moscow, she cooked me a massive Russian meal. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted. I was floundering, those early weeks, trying to pull the Bratva together after it splintered apart, and I think I would have failed if not for her.”
Nika turns her face away. She watches the rain drip from the eaves. “She speaks highly of you.”
“I don’t deserve her praise.”
“No, you probably don’t, but she does anyway.”
More thunder. Her face is drawn and stressed. I hate seeing her like this. She’s been pulling into herself ever since her cousin attacked the motel and told her what I did. I can't stand it, hate watching her regress after all the progress she’s made. I want herto keep blooming, keep growing. I want to see what she’s going to become. Instead, I worry I’ve ruined everything.
“I should have told you,” I say after the silence is unbearable. “But I didn’t think you mattered.”
She meets my eyes, chewing on her thumbnail. “Why do you think like that? Like people aren’t important?”
“I don’t.”
“But you do. You act like everyone’s just—“ She waves a hand in the air like she’s grabbing at the words. "A line item on a bill.”
“Relationships are easier when there are clear boundaries.”
“Okay, that’s fair, but still. People aren’t hammers. They’re not weapons. You don’t cut deals with them and stop caring.”
“Before I met you, I would’ve disagreed. I would’ve said that’s exactly what people are for.” She holds my eyes, still chewing on her thumb, those big eyes fixed on mine. My heart patters in my chest. I take a step toward her. “I still want to believe that.”
“But you don’t anymore.”
“I can’t. I hate it.”
“What changed?” she whispers, but she knows and I know. Except maybe it’s time to say it out loud. Give it a name. Admit to what’s happening.
Pure honesty. That’s all I can offer her.
“You did.”
She drops her gaze to her lap. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. I ran out into a storm to save you tonight. I'd throw myself into a hurricane if I had to. I’d take bullets, knives, I’d drown in blood. Nobody else makes me feel that way, except for you.”
“But you still lied to me.”
“I did. I kept the truth from you because I thought telling you would make things too complicated. That was wrong. It was a pragmatic decision, and it’s not one I would make now.”
She dips her chin. “Because I was just a tool. Why tell a tool more than it needs to know?”