Chapter 18 #2
I knew I had to call Micah, but I needed to do something else too, and Katya was next on my list.
“Is he dead?” she asked in English when she picked up.
I sighed and answered in Russian. “If you mean Hunter…”
“The stalker bastard?” she spat back in our native tongue. “Yes, I mean him.”
“No. He’s alive. He got to Micah’s apartment too. Same thing he did to mine.”
She released a long string of swears. “You know I hate the police, but—”
“I called Tyoma,” I told her. “He’s asking for forty-eight hours.”
She was silent for a beat, and then she said, “He ruined my Manolos, Vanya. And my Birkin bag.”
She had worked hard for those. No, she’d worked more than hard for those. She’d sacrificed sleep, and peace, and had little joy for years to get to where she was so she could afford the things she liked.
Also, that bag was a gift I’d given her when she graduated with her MBA after I’d gotten my first real NHL paycheck. That alone left me freshly pissed off.
“We will make him pay,” I told her. “We just need time, and I need somewhere to stay. Don’t you have a friend who does rentals?”
She groaned. “Yes, but finding something short-term is a giant pain in the ass. Let me see what I can do. I’ll go down to the desk here and book you a room.”
“Double beds,” I told her. Micah was probably going to put up a fight about coming with me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to feel okay until he was by my side. I could give him his own bed, his own space, but I would not sleep if I couldn’t reach out and touch him.
He would have to accept my compromise.
“Whatever you say,” she said, then hung up.
I fell back against the seat, let out a small breath, then picked up my phone one more time and dialed the one person whose voice I wanted to hear. And the one person I was going to have to hurt with everything I now knew.
The drive to Caleb’s felt surreal. Micah seemed upset, but he didn’t sound furious to hear from me, though that might change when he realized I was definitely not five minutes away from Caleb’s.
But I needed to reassure him I was on my way, and I needed to give myself some time to gather my thoughts as I headed over.
First, I had to convince Micah that staying with me was the safest course of action. Second, I had to convince him that he needed to tell his friends and his brothers what was going on. He was a stubborn, gorgeous, perfect little shit, and I had faith I could do it.
Just like I had faith he was going to put up a fight.
I got to Caleb’s house a little sooner than I would have liked, and there were several cars I recognized parked along the street. Micah’s friends were here, and I was hoping Jonah was too.
When I pulled into the driveway and got out, the front door opened, and Micah was there. He looked rumpled and exhausted, his hair all over the place, his clothes wrinkled, cheeks mottled pink like maybe he’d been crying.
He was tense as I approached, and I stopped a few feet away, not giving in to the urge to dive at him and wrap him up in my arms.
“Vanya,” he said. His voice was soft. Tender. Shattered.
“Sorry I come with bad news.”
“Are you serious?”
“I—”
“You’re not fucking blaming yourself for any of this shit. I wouldn’t have known about it for weeks if you hadn’t called. I wasn’t ever going to go back there except to get Fish, and I—oh god, Fish!”
“He’s okay. I have him in my car,” I told him softly. “He’s safe.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and I could see his hand was shaking. “Shit. Shit. Thank you. God, I don’t know what to say.” His face tipped up toward the sky, and he let out a slow breath.
“Micah—”
“Can you stop saying my name like that, please?”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you…like you’re happy to see me? Like you want to fucking hug me or something.”
“I can’t. I do.” I was helpless, and the feeling only got worse when he took two steps toward me with his hand out.
He was stiff again, but the look on his face was sure this time, and I realized what he wanted. “Vanya? Where are you? I need—”
I didn’t let him finish his sentence. I reached for him, my fingers tangling with his, yanking him against my chest, where he collapsed. He pressed his nose to my sternum and breathed in deeply as his arms came around me, fingers clawing up my back.
This was all I wanted.
All I needed.
“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured. “After I was such a fucking shit to you…”
“You deserve,” I told him. I felt frantic, and it took everything I had to keep that out of my tone. “You were angry. Maybe scared. I was too much.”
“No, you were perfect, and I was freaking out because I’m a goddamn mess. And—” He stopped abruptly and pulled back. “Are they watching?”
I looked up at the door, which was closed, and immediately saw the curtain in the front window moving. “Yes, I think so.”
“Fantastic. I, uh…” He took a step back away from me, but not so far as to break my hold on him. “I told them about stuff. About Hunter. About how I’m not, you know, the way they think I am.”
“And me?” I asked.
He shook his head, tipping his face down. “No. Not without asking you first.”
I cupped his chin, stroking a thumb along his jaw, and he leaned into the touch. “I am not ashamed of you. Of what we do. You can tell. Is okay.”
His lips twitched. “They’re going to be fucking insufferable.”
“They always are,” I reminded him.
In spite of himself—in spite of everything—he laughed at my little joke, and my heart twisted in my chest. But then his face sobered. “How bad is your place?”
“Bad. Very bad. Hunter—I think he want to hurt you. He put broken glass all over my floor, flood the place, ruin everything. Is same at yours.”
He started shaking again. “I don’t know what to do.” The words came out a ragged whisper full of defeat and pain I couldn’t make better with kissing or fucking or spanking.
But I did have something.
“I will ask you to forgive me,” I started, “but I called someone.”
Micah stiffened. “Who?”
“My brother. In Vegas. He know people who can maybe help. He was going to find the video Hunter say he have…but now I think we need something else.”
“We can’t kill him,” Micah said, his tone now pleading. “I know it’s fucked-up, but we can’t—”
I tugged him close, cutting him off. “Pretty goalie, we’re not some film here, okay? Is not Russian Mafia taking hits, doing murders. No one getting poisoned. But he maybe know someone who can make this stop. Make Hunter afraid. Or maybe make him go to jail.”
“Okay. Okay.” Micah laid his ear against my heart. It was going a little too fast, but I hoped it was soothing all the same. “Thanks.”
“Yes. I will make it better. I promise.”
“Why?” He turned his face up, and I stared down at his long lashes. “After everything I’ve done—every bit the asshole I’ve been—why do all this for me?”
“Because I like you.”
He swallowed heavily. “Oh. Well.” Silence fell, and for a moment, I thought maybe that was all I was going to get. Then he said very quietly, “I like you too.”
For the moment, that was enough.