Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Sage
My eyes snap open when I hear the open window gently tapping against the wall. I sit up, startled as I survey the empty space in the bed next to me. How much of last night was a dream? How long was I asleep? How long did he stay?
His clothes are gone, but he's left his socks behind like a weirdo. The only evidence of him ever being here is his inability to close the window that he clearly jumped out of. I suppose that's better than him leaving through my bedroom door.
Heading to the window, I kick the socks out of my path because ew, I'm not touching them, and hang my head out to look out across the estate.
Oddly enough, Alexei is still right there.
Just in the distance by the front gates, walking up the path with Freddie and holding an assault rifle in his hand.
Odd. The whole thing is just… strange. The fact that he was here and the fact that he hadn't left. I probably didn't miss him by much. Did he spend the whole night wrapped around me? Perhaps. I feel more well rested than I usually do.
With those peculiar thoughts circling my mind I shut the windows and get dressed for the day.
The house is quiet and mostly empty when I head downstairs much later in the day than I would usually be awake.
I'm surprised to see Dad sitting out on the porch alone, a full table of breakfast spread in front of him that he hasn't touched.
I can just see him through the kitchen windows, sitting there doing nothing in particular but staring off into space.
"Sage?" Dad's voice comes to me from outside.
I cringe, having been spotted. I suppose I should've showered. Is it possible to smell like a Rushkoff? Is Dad's bloodhound nose strong enough to sniff him on me?
I should wash my sheets.
"Sage, come out here."
I place a smile on my face and head out there, greeting him warmly with a kiss on the cheek and a loyal, "Morning, Dad!"
Dad huffs. His recovery is going well, and he's regaining more and more strength every day.
The wheelchair is gone and he's onto using a cane to help himself around.
It's both heartwarming and terrifying to see.
The stronger he gets the more likely he is to come in and stop everything before it can be finished.
But I want to be grateful. I don't want to be focused on hiding from him long enough to see this through. I don't want to lie and manipulate him. I want to take the chance to make things right.
I can't bring myself to do either. My heart breaks at the distance between us. Distance that wasn't there before I did everything I did.
Dad looks at me with a strange expression, not even watching what he does as he butters his toast. I resist the urge to sniff my shirt to make sure it doesn't actually smell like Alexei.
"Anima mia," he says on a sigh. "Sit closer."
He pats the chair next to him and pulls it out for me to join. I rush to take the load away and pull my own chair out before he can strain himself doing so.
"I'm afraid..." he starts, searching for the words. "Something is different. With you."
"You were gone for over a year, Dad. Lots happened," I say, giving my best sweetheart daughter expression.
He frowns. "I know that. Yet somehow, I feel like I don't know you."
"Dad..." I feel a pang in my heart. He doesn't know me. Not who I am now. And probably not who I was back then, either.
"I woke up, and I see Anton. I see Freddie. Versions of them at least. But I don't see you. Not anymore. There is a wedge between us, and I don't like it."
"I don't know what to say," I admit. But my heart beat accelerates and my forehead beads with sweat.
Now is a perfect time to tell him exactly who I've become and what I've been doing.
To do what Alexei said and convince him that this truce is necessary.
In fact, he's giving me the perfect opening to come clean. But I freeze up.
If Dad did know me and what I've done, would he even like me anymore?
Dad's face softens and I know he sees right through me. "It's more than that." He smiles gently, almost to himself. "You'll always be my little girl. But there is something harsher about you now. I can see it. I can sense it." He raises his brow on the last part.
I open my mouth as I search the sky for answers that I don't have.
"Don't answer," Dad says, tone trying to be gentle, but going harsher anyway. "It's him, isn't it?" My heart skips as stormy gray eyes flash into my mind. "Nicholas."
My whole body feels like it drops with that name.
I... I thought he was talking about-
My eyes water of their own volition.
"You loved him." Dad states this as matter of fact, even as he smacks his lips in distaste. "And he loved you?"
I nod my head, biting my lip to stop errant tears from falling.
"Nicholas," he laughs, almost at the wind while he pushes his tongue into his cheek. He turns to me. "He should've known I'd chop his co-," he stops himself, "well - he just, he should've known I'd have done unspeakable things to him if he ever laid a hand on you."
I laugh, even as tears start to spill from my eyes.
"I miss him," I admit, on a whisper.
Dad nods. "Yes," he says. "We all do. The change I see in you. It's grief?"
I nod furiously. Yep. It's grief.
"It's something else, too?" he presses, raising his brow at me.
"Grief can change a person." God, I'm such a fucking wimp. Pathetic, scaredy-cat. Fuck's sake. I could just tell him. I could just own it.
So why don't I?
"Definitely," he agrees. "But that's not what I see."
I shrug. And chicken out completely. The distance between us grows with every lie I add.
"Fine," Dad says. "I understand." He picks up the paper and continues to read. All while I sit there like a little girl who has been relegated to the time-out corner.
"You're dismissed now, Sage."
I stand up slowly, my heart getting left behind at that table. As I walk away, watching Dad while he doesn't pay any further attention to me, I realize I've broken something else fundamental now.
Every step I take away from that table, is another gap I bridge further with my father.
"Ahem."
I look over my shoulder and see Angie standing in the doorway. I sigh. Knowing she's here for me. She always is.
"I hope this isn't a bad time," Angie says, incredibly insincerely, as I walk her through the house to the library.
"It's always a bad time," I say earnestly, as I shut the double doors behind us and lead her over to a table by the window. She sits and relaxes in the chair. I will always envy her ability to make a space look like it is made just for her.
I know I can't emulate that and so I don't try.
"What is it this time?" I ask, far too distant and emotionally drained to entertain any banter with her.
"It's time that we have a conversation," Angie says. "I'm going to be honest with you. Probably honest for the first time in years."
I harrumph. "And what could you possibly have to gain by being honest with me?" I sit back in my chair and fold my arms.
She rolls her eyes like she's very exasperated with me already. "Nothing to gain. Just a favor to repay."
I keep my expression blank as I wait for her to spill whatever it is she came here to spill.
"You'll want to hear this," she says, her bright red lips forming a thin line. She mutters something about ungrateful brats as she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a black case, sliding it across the table towards me.
I recognize it instantly.
My features drop as I sit upright and snatch the black ID case off the table. Flipping it open, I see Angie's picture inside. "Is this fake?" I ask, because that can surely be the only explanation for why I'm looking at an FBI ID with Angie's name and picture on it.
"Sadly, it's not," she says, looking like she's annoyed that she has to explain all this to me.
"You're FBI?" My mouth drops open.
"Ex-FBI," she rushes to correct me, snatching the ID back up from me and returning it to her bag.
"Well you guys are everywhere aren't you," I smirk.
She clicks her fingers in my face. "There's a reason I'm telling you this. Pay attention." She gives me a harsh look. "It's for-"
My mind makes the connection just as she finishes her sentence. The familiar sting of grief builds up my throat and goosebumps rise on my skin at the memory.
"Nicholas," I say, sitting further forward to rest my arms on the table. "You knew Nicholas."
"Yes," Angie says with a smile. That's enough to throw me. She speaks fondly, something I've never seen her do before. "He was a good agent before he came here. We worked together a few times, partnered for a few years. Obviously the straight and narrow life suited neither of us."
She chuckles, but I don't dare chuckle with her. This is a side of her I don't know, and I'm unsure how to take it. Her eyes gloss over with memories and all I can feel is irrational jealousy. I hate that there are parts of him that she knew and I didn't.
"Anyway, he went undercover, fell for you, and decided life was better here," she says, shrugging.
"And you?" I ask, treating her with suspicious caution.
She smirks like she has a secret.
"Something similar," she says, brushing it off with a shrug of the shoulder. "Point is. I'm not FBI. But I have just enough contacts there to be the one who has to give you this."
Before I can ask what she's talking about, she picks up a generic cardboard box and slides it across the table to me.
"What is it?" I ask, refusing to touch it.
"It's his personal effects. Everything he left behind at the agency."
The box sits ominously on the table between us. I can't bring myself to reach out and take it. How could his whole life fit into this shoebox? How has he been reduced to a gravestone, a shoebox and a name that I refused to speak out loud for over a year?
"It's not representative of his life," Angie says and I purse my lips at her trying to guess what's going on in my head.
I want to reach out and touch it. To open it and consume what's inside. But a dark cloud settles over me and I wonder if I should even be allowed to. If it's even my place to accept something like this.
We loved each other. But I got him killed. Would he even want me to have this? Can he forgive me if I haven't sought out his revenge? Can I forgive myself if I don't? I can't deserve to be the one to see this.
I'm distracted when I look out the window and see the front gates open. Freddie's car comes up the driveway at speed, kicking up dust from the gravel.
I can't see if anyone is with him, but I have the urge to go find out.
"I'll leave that with you," Angie says, standing and taking her purse with her. "Don't worry, Miss DeMarco, I can find my way out."
I don't even really hear her leave. But I'm sure Dad would be thrilled at yet another outside party having such free rein of our property.
I take the box with me when I stand up and leave. But I know it's not something I can open right now. Opening up is being vulnerable, opening up is letting go. I'm not ready to do any of that right now.
I slide the box under my bed just as shouting sounds in the downstairs hall. I guess Freddie didn't come home alone after all.