3. Mikhail
Chapter three
Mikhail
My phone buzzes against the weight bench, and I almost ignore it.
I’m two reps from done. I’ve loaded the bar heavier than I should have for a Thursday night, but Tatiana was going to her boyfriend’s house, and I needed the burn to distract me. To distract me from images of them kissing, of him touching her, or having her in all the ways I can’t.
But when I glance down, I see it’s not Tatiana’s name; it’s Roman. Which means something must be wrong.
I drop the bar with a clank and swipe the notification.
Roman: Tati walked in on Leo and another woman. She's home now but needs a friend
Then be a friend, you asshole!
I know Roman harbors feelings for her, but won’t act on them.
I’m sure he thinks it’s inappropriate to be with his friend’s daughter, but she’s alone in this world.
Her family has all but forgotten she exists, and she’s so desperate for someone to see her and choose her - it’s why she’s obsessed with love.
She needs to know that she’s worthy of it.
That somehow, someday, someone will look up and see her and stop at nothing to be with her.
I know that won’t be Roman, but fuck. He could choose to see her and be her friend in this moment. I sincerely doubt she’s under any real threat from her father’s enemies here, but whatever. I’m sure he takes his responsibilities seriously.
I don’t bother to text back. I’m in the shower in seconds.
When I get to her place, she’s already in her painting clothes, sitting on the floor, legs crossed, putting on a base coat on a canvas. Her parakeet Sparkles is tucked into the crook of her neck, making coos and whistles at her happily.
I watch her for a second, trying to judge where she’s at mentally, but painting is her happy place. Painting and riding, and I guess it’s a little too late to head to the barn.
I turn to see Roman already watching her.
He’s sitting in his chair next to the door, the first line of defense if anyone were to try to break in.
It also gives him a direct sight-line to our little studio.
I say little, but it takes up the entire top floor.
It’s just an open floor plan. Our bed is nestled in the corner with a TV at the foot of it, her easels and bookshelves on the opposite wall, with the door to the bathroom, while the kitchen is the first thing you walk into.
She could have bought a house or a penthouse apartment in one of the nicer buildings, but she wanted the full college experience.
Only her father refused to let her bunk in the dorms. Roman and Lev backed up her father, and when she realized she wouldn’t be able to cohabitate with a man in the dorms, she caved.
I’d been holding my breath the entire conversation, wondering if she was finally done with me.
Instead, she found us this adorable apartment.
I’m grateful for every day that she keeps me.
Unsure of where she’s at mentally, I simply sit behind her, bracketing her knees with mine and resting my chin on her shoulder.
“You didn’t have to come home right away. I really am fine,” she says, and I believe her. But she’s my person. If even a fraction of her is hurting, I’m going to be here for her.
“He didn’t deserve you,” I say.
“I know.”
She rests a little more of her weight onto my chest, and I take it gladly.
Our relationship isn’t like other best friends’.
We’re overly touchy with each other. When she found me, I’d been on the run, scared, hurting, deaf, in a city I didn’t really know because I was eight.
Ever since that night, we’ve fallen asleep in each other’s arms. We take naps together, spooning.
We hold hands and cuddle, and I’ve never thought to talk to her about it - that maybe it’s inappropriate?
But I’d never want it to stop. So I keep my mouth shut.
“He blamed you, you know?” Her voice is quiet, but I wince all the same.
My stomach sours with guilt. A lot of the boys she’s tried to date have an issue with our relationship.
They either try to befriend me to get into her good graces, or they can’t stand our closeness.
I should leave her be, or put some distance between us so she has a real shot at finding ‘the one’ that she wants so badly.
But I can’t. Because I’m a coward. If I don’t have her, I have nothing.
She’s my family, my home, my only friend.
She’s safety, peace, and comfort. I’m nothing without her.
I never finished school. Never had a job.
Where the hell would I go? What the hell could I do?
Work for her family as a drug runner or enforcer of some kind?
I’m not cut out for that kind of life. Bodyguard?
I’m strong, but I have no idea how to fight or shoot a weapon. She’s my everything.
“Do you want...” I can’t even finish the sentence. Thankfully, she interrupts me before I can finish.
“My future husband will have to be okay with you, because I’m not losing you. Ever. Not even for love. If he can’t accept our friendship, then he’s not ‘the one’.”
She dips her brush into her palette and begins to outline a scene.
I know she truly means that. I think she needed a friend as badly as I did the night she found me. We were both alone and lonely, and we clung to each other. It’s probably not healthy at all, but fuck if I care.
But I imagine living in a house with her and her husband. Maybe in the next room. Listening to them have sex. It makes me nauseous even thinking about it - thinking about someone else having her the way I never can.
Because I may already be in love with my best friend, but she can never know.