Chapter 35 Yulian
YULIAN
PRESENT
Istare at Vaughn for long, endless moments after he finishes telling me what really happened four years ago.
The fact that he carried me down the mountain—definitely didn’t leave me to die in the cave, and yes, I’d believe him over Yaroslav every time, thank you very much.
The fact that he came all the way to Chicago.
He…kissed me.
Now, I want to have a strong-worded conversation with my sixteen-year-old self and kick him in the ass for not waking up and witnessing the glorious moment when Vaughn kissed me.
It’s just not fair that he was awake when I kissed him, but I wasn’t when he kissed me.
Can I get a redo? Like right now, please.
I cough and it’s like someone’s jammed a knife under my skin. I’m panting for breath as my ribs throb. My hand rests on my messed-up left side, over the bandages covering the gashes—a constant reminder that I’m basically wrapped like a mummy.
“Lie down.” Vaughn helps me onto my back, and he looks devastatingly radiant through my eyes—well, my right one, because the other one is half swollen shut, and the room tilts if I look at anything too fast. I move slowly, not because I want to, but because my body’s in open rebellion and is being an uncooperative little shit.
“Better?” Vaughn’s watching me carefully, as if I’ll drop dead if I so much as sneeze wrong. Okay, fine, maybe he’s right.
“Mmm,” I say to preserve energy. Talking too much leaves me winded, which is deeply insulting—me, out of breath? Please. The audacity.
Also, my split lip makes every word taste faintly of iron, so I better not get too liberal with words.
Vaughn stands by my side, looking mouthwatering in simple black pants and a white shirt, its sleeves rolled, and the first few buttons undone, revealing the lines of his collarbone.
But then again, he’s always looked so prettily put together.
Although his hair is a bit haphazard, finger-raked, and pointing in different directions.
“What do you want to eat? I’ll go get it from the kitchen.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather you keep telling me about the past.”
“You have to eat first.”
I grumble, but Vaughn being Vaughn—completely inflexible about these sorts of things—leaves and comes back with a tray of food, mostly blended soups and oatmeal and a local type of broth.
He helps me eat, actually feeding me at one point. Vaughn has always been…a rock. No, a fortress.
A force of nature that somehow winds down and becomes surprisingly caring. I always knew he was responsible to a fault, but I never knew he was also caring to a fault.
The way he touches me carefully, how focused he is, how he wipes my mouth like I’m a toddler—they all make my chest hurt, and it’s not because of the fucked-up ribs.
I try to eat as much as possible because I’m hungry, but I’m so uncomfortable that every swallow and breath feels like a marathon.
Once I’m finished with the simple task of eating, nearly dying, Vaughn sets the tray to the side, gives me meds, and helps me lie down again. Then he sits beside me on the bed. “Want any dessert?”
“A cigarette?”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re not smoking when your ribs are injured, Yulian. Every inhale will make your lungs suffer.”
“I was just kidding.” Not really. Could really use a smoke right now.
“Good, because you’re not getting one.”
“Yes, Mom.” I try to salute, and that triggers pain in my side and I groan. Fuck this, seriously. I’m like a breathing corpse.
Vaughn takes my hand and slowly pulls it down under the duvet. “Stop moving.”
“If I do that, will you tell me more about your visit four years ago?” I ask, then pant. This shit is ridiculous.
He settles on the mattress after tucking me in, staring at me for a few seconds, then at the wall opposite him. “That was all. I left after the conversation with your mother, and that was it.”
“No wonder Mom was panicking when I woke up.” I stare at the ornate ceiling—seriously, this place looks like a museum. “She made me promise to marry a woman and father kids. Bless her, she was horrified at the thought of the trouble I’d most certainly cause.”
“She just loved you,” he whispers. “She was scared for your safety and wanted to protect you, and her fear was correct, considering your father’s reaction.”
“You…don’t hate her?”
“For what? She was just being a protective mother.” He drags his gaze to me, and it glows in the near darkness. “She was crying, you know. I don’t think she was against us being together per se; she just didn’t want us to be the targets of a homophobic institution.”
“Yeah, she apologized for not birthing me in a different reality.” I move my feet and wince. “I love my mom, but I don’t like that she got between us. You could’ve been mine all these years, but I had to watch you sucking Danika’s face in that godforsaken parking lot instead.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
I tell him the condensed version of my infamous trip to New York, which happened about a week after his trip to Chicago.
Once I’m done, I let out a breath. “I had to drag my ass back home afterward because Mom died and Alina became paralyzed, all because of my idiotic inability to let go.”
“Hey.” He runs his fingers through my hair like he does when I’m lying on top of him. “Your mom was sick, and Alina had an accident. It’s not your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me for being a coward all along, for making you see that with Danika, even if not intentionally.”
I raise a shoulder, then suck in a sharp breath because my motherfucking body is apparently in a state of pissing me off. “You just went back to your crush.”
He shakes his head once.
“No?” I say hopefully.
“No,” he repeats.
“You said you had a crush on a girl, and you wanted her to be your first. Wasn’t that Danika?”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t get together with her for that reason. I liked her a bit, so that helped, but truly, I only went out with her to repress whatever illogical, ludicrous feelings I had for you. I had to forget about you. There was no other option.”
A wide grin curves my mouth, but it falters because my split lip stings. “You used Danika to get over me?”
“I think I did. We used each other—me to get the structured life I pictured for myself, and she used me for power and status. Though it didn’t work.”
“What didn’t work?”
“I obviously couldn’t get over you.” His rough words are spoken low, so low that I can barely hear them. “I even kept this on me at all times.”
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the bullet key chain I saw him carrying but he didn’t want to elaborate on.
“It’s the bullet I removed from you in the cave.” His voice is still faint. Bashful, even.
“You kept it all these years?” My own voice is choking.
“Yeah. I couldn’t throw it away. I couldn’t forget that time.” He pauses, his tone a bit shaky. “I tried to find out how you were doing over the years by making secret social media accounts to see what you’d post. Honestly, the signs were always there.”
I grin. “The closet is made of glass, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I got with all the boys and girls just to recreate that spark I felt in the cave. I wasn’t really such a manwhore before, but after the summer camp, I slept with anyone interested.”
“Are you saying it’s my fault you’re a fuckboy?”
“Partially? I mean it’s not, but back then, I thought you abandoned me, and I was desperate to recreate the spark I felt, but it never returned… Wait. Hold on. Actually, it did.”
His eyes darken. “With who?”
“Jealous?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Yulian.” His fingers halt in my hair, holding the strands but not pulling. “Who did you feel that spark with? I’m already murderous at the thought of those who had you before me, but feeling the spark with someone else—”
“It was you. Chill, my dude.”
“Me?” His expression softens a little.
“Yeah. I felt the spark when we kissed properly for the first time, and by properly, I mean not the hesitant, stolen teenage kisses thing we did back then.”
His lips twitch in a smile, and I love that he always smiles around me, sometimes not meaning to, sometimes because he can’t help it.
Other times, like now, because he’s softening up to me.
“We were ridiculous,” he says, his fingers stroking my hair again, nearly lulling me to sleep.
“Mmm, most glamorous bi panic, though. Ten out of ten. Actually, six out of ten. Because we lost four years, see what I did there?”
“Maybe we needed those four years to get to where we are now. So there aren’t any what-ifs or veiled regrets.”
“Do you still have those? Regrets, I mean.”
“I don’t think I ever had them.”
“The last time I asked you to give me more, you called this temporary.”
He winces, his fingers pausing for a bit. “You’ll never let that go, will you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I never thought of you as temporary, I promise.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you only saying that because I’m injured?”
“No.”
“How would I know?”
“My parents found out.” He lets out an exhale. “Your dad sent them the picture of us kissing.”
Oh, shit. He’s also on the run?
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“Don’t be. It was the best opening for me to come out. I mean, not as a labeling thing or anything, but I told Mom and Dad the truth.”
“The truth?”
He smiles and it’s the widest I’ve ever seen. “Yes, they know the whole truth about how I’ve cared about you for four years and that no matter how much I tried to deny it, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over you.”
My heart squeezes so tight, the throb in my ribs pales in comparison.
He came out to his parents for me.
I’m almost scared to ask, but I whisper, “How did they take it? At least it doesn’t look like they beat you up, so that’s a good sign, right?”