Chapter 14
14
Anya
I wake up alone.
I hear them in the kitchen downstairs. Talking. Laughing.
The sun is out, making the snow glimmer like an ocean of pure white diamonds, out of which the forest pokes with its dark green crowns. It’s so beautiful. So peaceful.
Ten minutes later, I join the guys in the kitchen over coffee and waffles, which Chance eagerly serves with dollops of honey-sweetened yogurt and greenhouse berries.
“It’s a shame life just can’t be about this,” I say, making myself comfortable in the chair closest to the window, nursing my coffee mug as I gaze out at the mountain ridge with its thick woods and clear blue sky. “Just chilling, enjoying a good cup of coffee, and eating and screwing our brains out.”
“In all fairness, that does sound amazing,” Chance chuckles as he leans in and nuzzles my neck. I giggle in response, welcoming his tender, sweet affection.
“What would you like to do today, Anya?” Nico asks me. “We don’t have to rush back into the real world just yet.”
“I wish I could agree,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “But the truth is, if Max was so eager to come after me, then surely his brother will follow.”
Booker gives Nico a knowing glance. “We took care of that.”
“We left a trail for the Bratva to follow, away from Seeley Lake and all the way up to the Canadian border,” Nico tells me. “The sheriff was kind enough to oblige, though I’ve yet to convince him to do something about the body.”
I frown in dissent. “The body?”
“Mills won’t be able to keep Max on ice forever,” Nico says. “There are other options, but none are ethical nor humane.”
“The mountain has hidden its fair share of bodies over the centuries,” Chance offers with a cold shrug. “Max’s wouldn’t make a dent.”
“Good luck getting Mills to agree,” Booker scoffs.
“What other options are there?” I ask, shuddering at the thought.
I have yet to erase the lifeless look in Max’s eyes after he tried to kill me. ironically, it’s one of the few things I wish I could actually forget.
“Private cremation,” Nico says.
“Again, good luck with Mills. He’s not going to surrender the body to us,” Booker insists.
“It would be all kinds of illegal,” Chance reluctantly agrees. “It’s not fair on our part to coax him into doing something like this. It goes against everything he believes in.”
“There is one other option,” Nico muses. I shudder at seeing how cold and calculated the Hayes brothers can be when it comes to protecting the people they care about. Perhaps I should be put off or alarmed, but frankly, it only makes them more appealing for the sense of security they’re so keen to offer.
“He could report the body as a John Doe and issue it only statewide. It would take a long time for anybody from New York to find him, especially after the blizzard. There are plenty of deceased John Does currently crowding the morgues across this region.”
“Then there’s the credit card trail leading up north,” Booker says with a slow nod. “For all Leo knows, his brother is still on the move and headed into Canada.”
“He can’t reach Max on the phone, though,” Chance reminds him. “There’s a possibility he’ll at least pass through Seeley Lake before he goes up north.”
“Anya will stay here in the meantime,” Nico decides. “One other thing I can think to do is speak to Mills again and see if he can at least transfer Max’s body to another mortuary, as far away from this district as possible.”
“Anything to muddle the tracks, right?” I reply.
He gives me a slight nod. “We have to work with Mills on this. It would suit him, as well as the sheriff, because the last thing he wants is the Bratva coming into our neck of the woods, itching for revenge.”
“And in the meantime, we’ll put some more feelers out to see if we can locate what’s left of your family,” Chance tells me. “Mills is already making calls of his own, but we’ve got former service buddies stationed in New York City as well. One of them works at the VA hospital in the Bronx. He’s pretty well connected, and he has access to the Health Department’s databases. He might be able to help.”
Nico gives him a nod of approval. “Not a bad idea at all.”
“I could look for a job,” I blurt out.
That brings silence to the breakfast table. Awkwardly smiling, I toss a few waffles on my plate, adding yogurt and a generous handful of berries on top.
“Why would you want to do that?” Booker asks, sounding confused.
I laugh lightly. “Well, for a multitude of reasons. The first and most basic would be that I would like to do something with my life. I’ve always wanted to create art, to work in the art field, to be free, in that sense. Maybe I could pick up a job at an art museum and work my way up from there.”
“The nearest art museum is in Missoula,” Nico muses.
“Plus, I’d like to pay my fair share. How much longer can I mooch off the three of you?”
“Are you serious?” Chance asks, sounding downright offended. “Put that out of your mind, Anya. Money is of no importance in this instance. It’s almost insulting that you would suggest that.”
“While I understand your desire for independence,” Nico adds with a soft smile, “Don’t worry about money just yet. You’re under our care, and we’re not letting you out into the world on your own until we make sure you safe and in perfect health. As far as the former is concerned, you are anything but safe. Working in a public place would only increase the risks. As for the latter, you’re still healing. Don’t forget that.
“You may have gotten over the biggest hurdles since the accident, but Max’s assault added a few new bruises,” he continues. “Don’t rush it, and certainly not on our account. You’re good here. You’re safe.”
“That being said, we could drive down to the craft store in town,” Chance offers, “and get you some art supplies. Do you remember the last time you painted?”
I shake my head slowly. “I’m not sure. The last painting I remember is a scene I finished shortly before Dalton. I gave it to Aleks to celebrate his new position in the family. He loved it.”
“Good. Then we’ll get you whatever art supplies you need, and you’ve got plenty of room here to paint as much as you want,” Chance decrees, “while we figure out what to do next.”
“Any news on that USB drive?” I ask, still hoping for the best.
But the brothers look glum.
“Not yet. Mills didn’t sound too hopeful either,” Nico says. “He’s got a buddy working as a tech analyst at Quantico, though. He said he’s going to reach out discreetly and get him to come up here for a visit and a second opinion. The department tech couldn’t do much in terms of data retrieval. The cold damaged the drive’s interface.”
“That’s a bummer. I wish I knew what was on that thing.”
“Do you remember anything about the drive, about it coming into your possession?” Chance asks, and as soon as I register the question, an image comes to mind.
I’m in a room. A bedroom, but it’s not mine. It’s warm and dark, dark because I’m not supposed to have the lights on. Somebody might see me.
“Even a glimpse of you in the window could kill us both.”
The old woman’s voice thunders through my head. I know that voice. It’s warm but stern. And full of grief.
I see it. The USB drive. Her bony fingers hand it over. I take it and stuff it in my jacket pocket.
“Aleks sent it to me via a courier, before it happened,” she says. “I’ve been waiting for the right time.”
I can’t make out her face. There are glimmers of white hair. Silver reflects in the flame of the candle on the nightstand.
“What do I do with it?” I ask her.
“You need to get it to Nico Hayes.”
“Anya?” Nico’s voice brings me back to the breakfast table.
“Someone gave it to me,” I whisper, “to bring to you. It was imperative that I get it to you.”
Chance puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He plants a kiss on my temple for good measure. “And you faced a blizzard in Montana to get it to us. If that doesn’t make you fearless, baby—”
There’s a knock on the front door.
I freeze in his embrace, my fork halfway through a piece of waffle. I look up at him, then Nico and Booker. Fear works its way into my nervous system, but Chance holds me close, while Nico gets up, briefly checking his phone.
“We’ve got cameras on all points of entry, remember?” He smiles as he shows me the screen. It’s Breonna at the door.
She’s holding something. A tray, I think.
“What’s she doing here?” I mutter.
“We’re about to find out,” Nico says and walks out of the kitchen.
I listen to the sound of his receding footsteps, followed by the door opening and Breonna’s voice filling the entire lodge. I pick up bits and pieces as they both come into the kitchen.
“Nico, I just want to talk to her,” Breonna says, then stills in the doorway when she sees me. “Hey, Anya.”
“Hey,” I reply.
We did not part on the best of terms, and the knot in my stomach is only getting tighter in her presence. But Breonna perseveres, putting on a soft smile, while Booker and Chance glare at her.
Nico maintains a polite neutrality. I think it has more to do with his principles than anything else. The brothers were raised by the same good people, but they react differently to outside influences. And Breonna is clearly a bit of a mixed bag.
“I brought some pecan pie,” she says, holding up the tray, which is covered with cling wrap, “as a token of peace.”
“A token of peace,” I repeat.
Breonna sighs deeply as Nico takes the pie and stores it in the fridge. She takes a couple of steps forward, straightening her pale blue jacket. “I owe you a huge apology, Anya, for the way I spoke to you, for rushing to judgment… That was not my best day. I am deeply sorry.”
“You believed a complete stranger over me,” I reply.
“I did, yes. Probably because… okay, I’ll admit it. I was jealous of you.”
“Of me? Why would you—”
“Because you and the guys are clearly involved!” Breonna snaps. “And it pissed me off. I could tell it is serious between the four of you, and I couldn’t get over it. I only ever got a one-night stand —”
“Whoa!” Chance gasps.
The whole room goes quiet. I think I stop breathing altogether.
Slowly, Nico turns away from the fridge. His eyes search my face. I wish I could say I was shocked to learn about this, but I suspected as much. There were nonverbal cues that gave Breonna’s feelings away more than once.
“Oh, shit!” She covers her mouth with both hands, realizing precisely what she has just said. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I thought you knew, Anya!” She looks at Nico, then at Chance and Booker. “I thought you told her!”
“Our intimate past isn’t exactly something we’re keen to share.” Nico sighs and rolls his eyes, then takes the seat next to me. “Anya, are you okay?”
I nod once. “Yes. I… You said it yourself; what’s past is past.”
“It didn’t mean anything,” Chance tells me. “No offense to Breonna, but I’ve made my feelings clear to her more than once. She was at a difficult point in her life; we were in a certain mood. It just happened.”
“Once, then never again,” Booker adds.
“Way to make a girl feel desirable,” Breonna says dryly, then leans against the kitchen counter, while I glare at the twins.
Nico exhales sharply. “The way we ended things was not great either,” he concedes. “We could’ve handled it better.”
“I thought there would be more,” Breonna adds, “and I was wrong. I wasn’t very good at taking no for an answer either. Let’s just say I played a part in my own suffering. Maybe it’s time I apologize to you guys for any discomfort I might’ve caused.”
“That’s very nice of you, Breonna,” Nico is quick to reply. “And my brothers and I should also apologize for the way we handled the aftermath. We should’ve done better.”
I’m watching the exchange as my stomach churns. The awkwardness between the brothers would be downright hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that I’m in the room with one of their former lovers.
I don’t like that Breonna got so close to them, but the past changes nothing about the present. It’s been a hard lesson for me to learn. Therefore, I can only raise my chin and be as graceful and as civil about it as I can be.
“What happened, happened. Can’t take any of it back,” I decide. “But I can certainly appreciate your effort to make amends, Breonna, so I accept your apology.”
“Thank you. That means a lot. I hate the way we left things, and I figured it was as good a time as any to bury the hatchet and clear the air,” she says.
Nico gets up and offers her his seat. “Make yourself comfortable. We should enjoy the pie, since you were so kind to bake it and bring it over.”
“You don’t hate me?” she asks him.
“Nobody’s perfect,” he replies.
Chance and Booker sit with sullen looks on their faces, and Chance refuses to let go of me as Breonna settles on my right side at the breakfast table, smiling as she admires the culinary feast before us.
“Oh, look at that. Waffles,” she muses. “Waffles are your specialty, right, Chance?”
He nods once. He’s not happy about this setup. At all.
Frankly, I’m not sure I’m fine with it either. She keeps dropping these stinging, underhanded remarks meant to prove she knows them better than I do. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it. I already knew Breonna had a slightly difficult and sometimes abrasive personality. Learning that she’d been intimate—however briefly—with the Hayes brother doesn’t do much to improve my already decaying impression of her.
Once Booker clears the breakfast plates, adding clean ones for each of us along with the appropriate cutlery, Nico sets the pie on the table.
But Breonna continues. “I don’t like taking no for an answer. And when the guys said no, I didn’t stomach it well.”
I thought we’d have less awkwardness after the respective apologies, but Breonna isn’t done picking at this old wound of hers.
“It’s okay,” I tell her as I cut myself a small slice of the pie. The idea is to taste it before I decide I want more. It looks and smells wonderful, though.
“Rest assured your secret is safe with me,” she says and nervously laughs. “The people in town wouldn’t understand.”
“We appreciate that,” Nico replies.
I think that’s why Nico’s nice to her, even though Booker and Chance choose not to engage. Their personal lives may be theirs, but people still talk. Rumors spread. And given how much the Hayes brothers have invested in the region, a scandal could impact their businesses.
“I’m just sorry,” Breonna sighs, “about Max, too. Whatever happened to the guy, anyway? He vanished. He hasn’t returned my calls either.”
Chance gives her a cold look. “You have his number?”
“He got mine, then he texted. We were going to meet for drinks, but, like I said… poof!”
“He left,” Chance replies. “After he attacked Anya, he left.”
Breonna gives me a worried frown. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m much better, thank you,” I say, already done with my little slice of pie. “This is delicious, Breonna,” I say, reaching for another small slice.
“Are you sure you want another slice already?”
I stare at her for a hot second, not blinking. Booker’s fork clinks as it hits the plate, almost startling me. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his tone clipped.
“I’m just saying; there’s a lot of sugar in it. If Anya’s watching her figure, she should go easy on the sweets,” Breonna replies.
Once more, I’m rendered incredibly self-conscious when in the company of the three men who have made me feel like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, and the contradiction brewing in my soul is painfully confusing.
Nico picks up on my mood and gets up. “Anya’s figure is precisely what makes her so beautiful and desirable,” he calmly says as he comes around the breakfast table and embraces me from behind. “If she wants another slice, she’s free to enjoy it. That’s why you brought the pie over, isn’t it, Breonna? For Anya to enjoy?”
The way he accentuates every word puts Breonna in the worst possible light.
“I love your curves; don’t you forget it,” Nico tells me, then kisses me softly on the lips.
Booker gets up as well and joins his older brother, planting a kiss of his own. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise, Anya.”
“Your womanhood isn’t about how slim you are,” Chance whispers in my ear, loudly enough for Breonna to hear him before he kisses my cheek.
“Thank you,” I mumble, overwhelmed by the show of support and by the genuine sincerity of their reassurances. I can feel them, deep within my core. They’re honest. Refreshingly honest.
And Breonna is ashamed and quiet.
“It’s a really good pie,” I laugh, eager to change the mood.
Suddenly, I once again feel like the most beautiful woman who ever lived—and free of society’s most stifling standards—as I help myself to another slice of pie. Breonna gives me a weak smile but barely finishes her morsel. Good. I’m done trying to shrink myself to make anyone feel better about themselves, and that is a feeling I seem to have carried over from my murky past.
“You should be thankful I settled for you.” A voice haunts me again.
Those cold blue eyes.
“I need to do better,” Breonna admits. “But my stupid mouth keeps getting the better of me. I’m sorry, Anya. Again.”
“As women, I think we’re taught to compete with one another,” I reply softly. “Maybe we should stop playing into these predetermined roles.”
“You’re right. Ever since the divorce, I’ve been up and down the emotional spectrum,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I’m reactive. Bitter, sometimes.”
“And you shouldn’t be. You’re a stunning woman,” I say, meaning every word. “A powerhouse in your profession. Hell, I aspire to be as strong and as determined as you are someday.”
She softens in her seat. “You’re too sweet.”
“No, I’m honest. I remember something my dad used to say, though I’m not sure why he said it. I think I had failed at something, or… no, wait, there was a rejection letter from a prestigious college,” I gasp, suddenly latching on to another memory. “I had applied to several schools. All Ivy League, of course. And I didn’t get into Princeton. It was my top choice. I was brokenhearted. I think I cried myself to sleep…
“And when Dad heard about it, he pulled me aside and said, ‘Every rejection is a redirection,’” I add, his words sounding crystal clear in my head. “Every rejection is a redirection, an opportunity to get closer to what you really need and deserve. Because what I wanted was not aligned with what I needed, otherwise I would’ve gotten into Princeton.”
Nico nods in agreement. “Sage advice from the old man. He had a point.”
“Do you remember what school you did get into?” Chance asks me.
“NYU. They have a fantastic art department,” I reply.
“You could go there once we…” he pauses, trying to find the right way to express my situation without divulging anything more to Breonna. “Once we sort everything out.”
“You’re an artist then,” Breonna quips. “I’d love to see some of your work!”
“Maybe someday you will,” I chuckle softly.
Perhaps, if I survive this storm, I’ll see my paintings hanging on the walls of prestigious art galleries around the world. It sounds like a crazy dream, under my current circumstances, but it gives me something to aspire to.
My past may be bloody and riddled in mysteries.
But my future can be anything I want it to be.