Chapter 22
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Karma.
Crisis
After Viktor and I spent the entirety of yesterday holed up in our stall, both of us writing—although he doesn’t need to know that I was doing anything other than answering emails—we returned to my house for the night.
The entire exchange went almost painlessly, considering it was around midnight when we both finally shut our laptops down, yawned, and stared at the only one bed between us for a solid sixty seconds.
He said, Fish room?
I said, Fish room.
He grabbed his keys, declaring softly, I love your fish room.
I probably muttered something along the lines of good to know you’ve still got functioning brain cells in your old age as I corralled myself to the passenger seat of his car.
After that, I may or may not have fallen asleep on the way home. He may or may not have managed to lift me out of the seat before I woke up, rallying to carry me in like a toddler. I may or may not have startled awake at the sound of my keys leaving my purse. He may or may not have dropped me…when I thrust myself out of his arms with va liant fury and/or panic.
I may or may not hold a grudge forever and ever.
Anyway. It doesn’t matter right now.
Because right now it is lake day . Otherwise known as a day I suspect no one at all will get any work done. Henceforth to be called stupid lake day .
As the forest path across the road from the main ranch buildings opens wide to reveal sunlight winking off the surface of a silver pool, I sigh. The stupid lake is beautiful. I’ll give it that much. Set into the valley between rising mountains, the still water ebbs against a shore that eases down into clear tides.
Without notice, half the guests charge into the shallows or off a long dock leading out into the deep, mysterious, plant-filled water. Their wherewithal and disregard for any fishlife lurking in the water makes my nose scrunch.
Disgrace. Every last one of them.
Could never be me, for many reasons, primarily my respect for fish, but secondarily…my lack of melanin.
I am pale, like the snow, but I don’t melt like snow beneath the rays of the evil sun. No. I turn into a little burnt crisp, then I peel, and pain and suffering are mine for days. Hence my wide-brim sun hat and my industrial-size bottle of sunscreen.
Huffing, I pop the cap on my sunscreen and fill my hands to lather my arms.
Beside me, Viktor stands in a t-shirt and trunks, taking in the view.
Otherwise known as me.
I’m the view.
“Stop looking at me,” I mutter.
He blinks, seemingly coming aware of the fact he’s been staring for five minutes. “Oh. Sorry,” he says, cordially. Then he peels off his shirt .
My heart jerks up into my throat as my eyes bug.
One by one, abs appear until there are a total of eight chiseled sections upon the man’s glowing, warm midsection. I…guess he hits his at-home gym after I leave his house each day. I think Lukas did tell me, once, that Viktor works out with him, because it’s one of the few things they both enjoy doing. Very opposite personalities, those two.
Jeepers…
Viktor must really like spending time with his crazy popstar brother.
Like. Really, really, big like.
I did not know that abs came in sets of eight. This feels similar to the hot dog pack versus hot dog bun question, but I am not ready to ponder it. I will never be ready to ponder it.
Rubbing his neck as he drops his shirt atop the small pile of things I brought from home—snacks, towels, sandwiches—Viktor watches me as though I’ve not just learned he has shoulders , and biceps , and triceps , and probably all the ceps , straight through deca .
His fingers comb through his hair as he glances down at the shirt I’m wearing, which is covering my bathing suit and not even a singular ab.
I hug myself. “Nu-uh. Don’t you raise your brow at me like that. I’m not an exhibitionist. My shirt stays on .”
Even his chuckle sounds jacked as he extends his hand. “May I have some sunscreen?”
“Why do you need it? You’re glowing . One with the sun. At peace with the skin cancer. A peachy bundle of sinew and epidermis. I bet you tan.”
Humor lacing his voice, he murmurs, “What of my ancient flesh , sweet pea? I must protect my paper-thin skin from the death rays of the sky laser. ”
I cannot help myself; I laugh. Then I stuff the laugh down and lift my nose, benevolently extending my sunscreen to administer a gloop. “ Fine . You’re right. Silly of me. Your decrepit body will turn to dust without protection.”
I do not watch him lather up every single muscle. Or maybe I do. Who can say for sure?
Gracious.
You’d think I’ve never seen a man half-naked before, but I most definitely have. I even face such sights often when Lukas isn’t on tour.
That man has some kind of vendetta against shirts. He meanders the halls of his home either completely topless or wearing this long black coat cast wide to display the tattoos across his chest and around his waist. Allegedly, Zakery inked them himself.
Tattoo lore aside, I have never once counted how many abs Lukas has. And I do not know why I’ve taken such an interest in such things today.
Dragging my attention up and firmly off the bare skin, I find myself the subject of Viktor’s boring eyes.
Jolting, I stammer, “Y-yes, what?”
He turns a new realm of muscles on me as he presents his back. Broad. Wing bones. Skin.
Too much epidermis for a lass like me to handle.
My brain turns off.
“Can you help me?” he asks.
Help…him…what?
My attention lowers to my sunscreen bottle. My breath catches. I look between my greased hands and Viktor’s back. He wants me to… No. No, no, no. That’s a health and safety violation. Meaning that: I will combust.
Nothing makes sense. Nothing at all. This sculpted, beautiful man is attracted to me ? Frumpy, pear-shaped, baggy-t-shirted me ?
Can’t be possible. This is the cruelest prank I’ve ever been subjected to, which is indeed saying something. I cannot believe he found it in himself to overcome the sheer disgust of touching his mouth to mine. I cannot believe how much energy he’s put into the aftermath…into making it seem like he’s thought of little else since.
When I’ve not moved for several hours—or several years—Viktor glances over his broad, broad shoulder at me. “If you aren’t comfortable with helping, I can ask Odessa.”
Squirt.
Slap.
My hand rests, printed against his body, leeching his warmth into my fingers, and I…I do not know why I did that.
Not at all.
What triggering magic witchcraft words did he just say that compelled my limbs to action?
His lips curl; my pounding heart stops.
“You have to spread it, sweet pea,” he murmurs, sultry, voice rough. “Over every centimeter.”
My lashes flutter as I take in the many, many centimeters . There sure are a lot of them. Voice breaking, I say, “I’m not strong enough.”
“Of course you are. Think of the alternatives. Do you want me to burn?”
I meet his eyes. “Yes. In the fiery blaze of—”
He tuts, silencing me. Then the monster says, “Be good,” like he genuinely believes being good is something I’m capable of.
It isn’t, but I manage one whole centimeter of sunscreen coverage. All by myself. Someone get me an award.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, and boy am I glad that everyone else is happy to burn as they plunge themselves deeper into the lake, splashing, laughing, probably chattering about how they have got to add something like this to their books. “Good girl.”
I shudder. “Quit that.”
“Quit what? Words of affirmation is another way to prove I love you.”
Words of affirmation is my top love language, for sure. But I don’t appreciate him scrolling through the five— outdated —love languages. This is what happens when you’re wooed by a relic. He uses disproven science. Like a moron.
Sucking in a breath, I state, “You knock it off, or I’ll shut down your physical touch .”
Blessedly, that makes the man face forward, so I can finish dousing his back in sunscreen. Once I’m done, he rolls his shoulders back. “Thank you, sweet pea. Ready to stretch your fins?”
For the record, once I do enter the water I will be doing exactly what Potato does—bobbing aimlessly, with very little fin stretching. “No, I’m not. We have to wait fifteen minutes before going into the water.” Skeptical, I narrow my eyes. “You’d know that, if you normally used sunscreen and weren’t just using it to bully me. Well-played. Revenge isn’t a bad color on you, sir.”
“Trust me, Crisis…this scheme had nothing to do with revenge.” He scans the scene before us, then starts walking. “Let’s sit on the dock while we wait.”
Used and abused, I don’t know why I gather up our stuff and follow him.
A breeze teases our hair as I plop my bum down, dangling my legs off the edge and just above the water. Setting my bag safely behind us, I check that the quiet water cannot possibly develop into a tsunami. Then, I squint up at the sky, scanning for birds. Even with my sun hat, I know that, generally speaking, the outdoors are not safe for me, for the wildlife itself conspires to my doom.
Mindlessly, I scoot closer to Viktor, as though he’s likely to protect me. At least while he’s trying to prove he loves me, he should, right? That would be common sense.
“Have you had the crisis thing happen your whole life?” he asks, voice soothingly low.
I tense. “Yeah. I guess. Bad stuff just likes me. It’s probably karma.”
“Whenever I can, I’ll protect you. And if I can’t stop whatever happens, I’ll take care of you in the aftermath. I promise.”
What a lovely promise.
Lifting my gaze to his face I find him staring out across the water, toward the mountain peaks in the distance. Upon realizing I’m watching him, he glances my way, skims my eyes, my lips, the bare skin of my legs, and gets stuck there.
Flushing, I tug my shirt down as far as it will go over my thighs.
“Sorry.” He closes his eyes, firmly turning his head away. “You’re just…” He sounds hoarse. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Can actors control when their voice sounds like that ? Probably, right? But can they command blush to crawl up their necks?
I don’t know.
I also don’t know why I say, “I was bullied as a kid.” My stomach tightens. “A lot.”
“Because of the bad luck?” he asks, gently, still turned away from me.
I wish it were just because of the unfortunate circumstances that seem to follow me. “Because of…everything. For years, I heard that there was absolutely nothing good about me. I was ugly, and stupid, and a di saster.”
“And your parents?” he asks gently. “They didn’t do anything to combat the words you heard outside your home?”
Broken, a laugh escapes the hollow cavity of my chest. “I’m an orphan, Viktor.” That little detail is the only main character vibe I bring to the function. “I grew up in the system. Foster home to foster home. Ever since I was a baby…” My eyes close. I will myself to shut up, but the words keep coming. “Anyone who knew told me that whatever it is that happens around me probably killed my parents. Kids would make up elaborate stories about how exactly my birth caused their demise in the delivery room. The doctor with the scissors to cut my umbilical cord tripped, stabbing my father, who then fell on my mother, and suffocated her to death… A meteor hit their room while the nurses were cleaning me up… Aliens came, didn’t want me. They got creative with it. I think one boy said my birth opened a portal to the past, and a dinosaur came through to eat everyone, sparing me only because I wasn’t worth the indigestion.” Another broken laugh—this time laced with ire. “The kids loved that one. Dinosaurs and a big word like indigestion ? Rounds of applause.”
“That’s…terrible.”
“Yup. Kids really can be.” Dragging my legs up against my chest, I hug them and hide beneath the brim of my hat. “I remember wanting a family. I remember the new homes, and the new parents, and thinking maybe this time I’d be good enough for someone to want to keep me. Maybe…I’d be better than all the trouble I came with. But…I never was. I’d overhear meetings with the social workers where my temporary parents, in hushed tones, would say, I’m so sorry. We just…we just can’t handle her. ” I bury my nose against my knees. “You know something, Viktor? ”
The sensation of his eyes on me burns. “What?”
I tell myself not to say it. I tell myself it’s cruel to give him any hope, if there’s even a slim chance he’s serious. But, then, I tell myself there’s no way he possibly can be, and maybe if he feels bad enough, he’ll forgive me for everything I’ve done and leave me alone . “Two years is the longest anyone has ever put up with me. You and your family have got the record.”
His arm—carefully—wraps around my back and pulls me to his side, hugging me, chin atop my head against the straw of my hat. “Being with you doesn’t feel anything like putting up with you , Crisis.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’ve put up with green smoothies for months.”
He squeezes me, tight, curled up in a little ball against him. “Yes, I have. I put up with the smoothies, so I could bask in your smile. You are important to me, and no matter what disasters you think you cause, nothing could be worse than being without you.”
“That’s nonsense,” I mutter. “I add very little to your life, Viktor. You don’t need the extra money I’ve helped bring in, and now that I’ve set up the systems, any assistant could do my job. You’d be better off without me. I…I’ve hated you. For years .”
“I know,” he says, soft, tender, warm as the sun on my skin. “If I’m honest…I think that’s made me like you more.”
“Maybe we both need to talk to someone about our issues.”
“You know how they say that hatred isn’t the opposite of love?”
That is the crux of the enemies-to-lovers trope, yup. “Sure. ”
“I don’t think anyone could possibly love me with the depth and dedication that you have used to hate me. I am obsessed with the idea that you might come to adore me with similar vitality. You are the object of my deepest fantasies, Crisis. I want to love you violently, because I know you can take it.”
Shivering, I rest myself against his heat, watching the people in the water before us chase any hope of fish far, far away. “I don’t trust you.”
“I know. I’m working on that.”
Yeah. He is. I’m not a fan. “What if I’m more terrible than you can even imagine?”
A low sound rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me as he inhales. Guttural, he murmurs, “Could I even hope to be so lucky?”
That turns my flesh to fire, so I do the only thing I can to escape, slipping gracelessly from his arms and into the lake.