20. Luka
20
LUKA
W e drive all night.
It’s sixteen hours before we pull into a cash motel outside Seattle. Lucia is fast asleep, and I’m half tempted to just shut off the car and close my eyes instead of waking her. The sun is bright above our heads, but I don’t imagine she’d wake-up before it set.
I stare at her sleeping form, her face soft as she dreams. The first night at the mansion, I hardly slept with her tossing and turning, her limbs absently swatting me. She didn’t strike me as a peaceful sleeper then, but watching her now has my chest tightening. I don’t know how she could ever be at peace sleeping next to me.
“Hey,” I whisper, my palm covering her shoulder as I gently nudge. “Wake up, Peach.”
Her eyes flutter open as she stirs and leans up in her seat. There’s no fear in her eyes when she looks at me. No surprise at seeing me next to her. I can’t peg the moment I stopped being her monster, but it feels wrong somehow.
“Where are we?” She tucks her hair behind her ears as she takes in the shoddy motel.
“Home… For the next couple days, at least.”
Her mouth covering a yawn, she nods. “ Charming .”
My lips lift with a slight chuckle, and I climb out of the car to go pay for a room. As soon as we get inside, my muscles unwind. It smells in here, but it’s homier than the mansion could ever be.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” I say, my hand grazing Lucia’s back. The action isn’t conscious until she turns her head toward me with an expression I can’t immediately decipher, but it isn’t disgust. For a moment, our eyes stay locked.
I pull my hand away and clear my throat. “You should get some rest.”
She nods, turning toward the bed, and I take the opportunity to escape. Escape what, I’m not even sure. But I feel my heart beat faster, my skin flush. I spend the entire shower steadying my breath and trying to convince myself her coming with me means nothing.
When I step back in the room, Lucia is peeking out the window. She doesn’t flinch when I come up behind her. Doesn’t even turn around.
“What are you looking at?”
She glances at me and steps to the side, pointing at the glass. “Is that a stadium?”
“I can’t believe you’ve never been to a baseball game,” I say, my hand hovering over Lucia’s lower back as we make our way to our seats. The game is well underway in the second inning, but she doesn’t complain.
This was her idea, though I think she might already be regretting it. Now that we’re exposed in the open, she keeps her ball cap low and looks around like the cartel is there to scoop her up.
We slide past people toward the two empty chairs in the middle of the row. It’s a packed house. Spokane must love their baseball.
She doesn’t respond until she’s sitting down, her roaming gaze finally settling on me. “I know… Crazy.”
My lips lower as regret washes over me. For a moment, I forgot I was talking to a person who only left her family’s estate a couple weeks ago.
No sporting events. No movie theaters. No plays, no parks, no lakes, no parades, no nothing .
I face forward and shut my mouth when discomfort settles over me. I can’t tell if Lucia notices. She keeps looking around.
“They aren’t here, Peach.”
Her swiveling head pauses to look at me before finally facing forward. “I know.”
She crosses her arms over her T-shirt clad chest. She’s wearing a red Indians baseball shirt and cut-off shorts we picked up at a gas station along the way. I think this is the sexiest she’s ever looked to me.
“I’m sorry you missed out on so much,” I quietly say. I can’t help but list things in my mind, a never-ending string of missed opportunities. My voice stays even, but anger ignites inside of me, anger at her father.
I watch Lucia’s expression carefully but spot no regret. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She watches the game like it’s engrossing her. What a terrible lie.
When a bat cracks, sending a ball far into the outfield, Lucia stands with the people around us, clapping and cheering. She glances at me as she takes her seat.
“What?” she asks like I’m annoying her.
I don’t know how to respond to that right away, and Lucia doesn’t wait long. She turns back to the game and pretends to be interested.
She’s sensitive, isn’t she? Sensitive about her father. I try to recall our earlier conversations about him, but I was so focused on learning his identity that I didn’t pay attention to anything else.
But she was angry when I assumed she’d been abused. She defended him.
She loves him, I realize, watching her now. My lips dip with a frown as I consider it, but all I see when I look at her is love. Hope. Goodness. How else could she stand to look at me?
“How can you forgive him?” I ask.
She turns to me with her eyes narrowed, but after a few moments of studying my expression, she relaxes. “Are you asking me so you can understand, or are you asking so you can judge?”
Once again, I’m reminded of the first time we talked. I can’t even remember what I said when we played our first little game of twenty questions, but I know I was heartless. I’m always heartless.
I look away as a sour taste coats my tongue and will away the tension in my shoulders.
I don’t want to be heartless with her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, gripping my chair’s armrests. “You were searching for a better life, and I took it from you. I’ve been cruel to you, and truly, I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I was just wondering how you could forgive him . To understand, not to judge.”
She waits several seconds to respond. I don’t know if she’s trying to gauge my sincerity, but I resist the urge to babble.
Shame. That’s what this sour taste in my mouth is. Shame.
“I can forgive him because I know his intentions have always been pure. He just wanted to keep me safe, and now that I’m here, constantly looking over my shoulder, I can understand why.”
I consider that only for a few moments before I nod. Intentions. That’s what makes the difference for her. If only my intentions hadn’t been so horrid.
“For what it’s worth, I think your mother has your best interest at heart also.”
Laughter bubbles up and pushes past my shame. “Oh yeah?”
“She wants you to be happy.”
“No,” I say, my laughter dying. “She’s a hypocrite. She wants to be happy. She wants me to make her look good.”
“She’s your mother.”
“She’s a cunt.” I look over when I catch my voice being too sharp, but Lucia doesn’t seem affected by it. She studies me with knitted eyebrows, and we both stay seated when the fans around us rise in an uproar of cheers.
“Maybe I would believe you…” Lucia starts, her voice too soft for the energy around us. I have to lean toward her to hear. “If you didn’t say that about everyone.”
“I don’t,” I say automatically. But when I try to list the people I care about, the list stops at two. Arseni… and now Lucia.
I’m falling for her, aren’t I? It feels obvious now, but it’s still difficult to admit. It hurts to admit.
Because I can’t have her. What I’ve done can’t be erased, but even if it could, her father is a fucking cartel drug lord. He wouldn’t hesitate to behead me just for looking at his daughter.
It’s impossible. It isn’t worth even considering.
I dismiss the idea and pull out my phone to check my messages. But of course, there’s only six missed calls from Mila. Nothing from Arseni.
I’m supposed to meet him in Vancouver two days from now, but I’m surprised he hasn’t reached out. Part of me is glad for it. The less communication he has with me, the better. At least until I’m convinced it’s safe.
The other part is worried. Because this is Arseni. He should be going out of his mind right now wondering if I found the girl. It’s odd that he hasn’t broken down and called me.
I pull up his contact and hit “call” before bringing the phone to my ear. It rings. Which means he didn’t heed my warning and ditch the cell, which isn’t horribly surprising. It also means he isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.
When the call goes to voicemail, I hang up and go to try again, but Lucia speaks before my finger hits the call button.
“I know you don’t want me to bring this up, but I just have to say it… I think you’re too hard on your family.”
I shoot a text to Arseni without giving Lucia a glance. “You’re right, I don’t want you to bring it up.”
Text so I know you’re okay .
“Look, I believe that your mother has issues. She’s cold, and she’s hurtful, and maybe she just altogether sucks… But I’m certain Vitaly invited us to dinner so he could get to know you. And I can tell Mila cares for you deeply. They had us in their home. They didn’t have to do that.”
I shake my head. “Just stop.”
“I watched you hug Leo while he cried. There wasn’t any disgust in your expression. Only pity. I know you care about him, and I definitely know you care about Arseni… You imitate your mother, but you aren’t her, Luka. Stop trying to be. You aren’t nearly as cold as you try to make yourself… You have to let people love you.”
“ Enough , Lucia.” My voice is loud enough that I get at least one curious look from a fan.
Lucia falls quiet and concentrates on the game. The field changes twice before either of us speak again.
When my phone buzzes, I check it and am immediately relieved to see it’s a text from Arseni.
Why wouldn’t I be?
I squint at the screen.
“I’m sorry,” Lucia quietly says. Her voice is so soft, it drags my eyes to her. I sigh as I tuck my phone away.
“It’s okay if you’re not ready yet,” she adds.
Not ready yet. Like she’s just waiting around, waiting on me to realize something she can see with a twenty-minute preview of my family.
I’m surprised when I don’t feel anger or even annoyance. Instead, my chest feels heavy with something, and my eyes move to Lucia’s full lips.
When she turns my way, I kiss her, taking her cheek in my hand to bring her closer to me. She startles for a moment like she’s surprised, but then leans into me, her hands moving to my chest, her scent wafting into my nose.
When I pull back, I touch my nose to hers. “Thank you for caring about me.”
She smiles softly as she wipes her lips.
I care about you too . I want to say it but can’t figure out how. It’s five words, but they feel so empty. So meaningless after everything I’ve done.
I want to fix it. I do. I just don’t know how.
“Do you like baseball yet?” I ask with a humored smile.
She shrugs as she stares out at the field. “To be honest, I think I’d like just about anything outside my father’s estate. It’s…” She waves a hand at the game, unsure how to phrase whatever she’s thinking. “Life.” She shakes her head as she blushes. “That sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid.”
She tucks hair behind her ear shyly and goes back to the game. I was wrong before, when I thought she was pretending to be engrossed by this. She really is into it.
There’s a whole world she hasn’t seen, and the best I could do was take her to a baseball game.
I’m consumed with the sudden urge to give her the world, or as much of it as I’m capable. I don’t know how long our time together will last, but it feels vital that we spend it on her. Spend it slashing as many firsts as possible.
I wait until the last inning before taking Lucia’s hand. “Come on.” I stand and help her out of her seat.
Wrinkles form on her forehead as I start to shuffle us past people. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” I say, but the truth is, I don’t know yet. Anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere .