Chapter 15
15
Anya
L ater in the evening, Chance finds me reading in the living room, nestled in my usual spot, in the armchair by the window, huddled under a plush blanket.
“My earlier enthusiasm about getting a job and moving on might’ve fizzled out,” I giggle as he swoops down for a gentle kiss. “It’s nice and cozy here.”
“Like I’ve said so many times already, stay with us. Give us a chance. We’ll keep you safe until you remember who you are.”
“I know you’re doing your best. It was my impatience that got me into trouble with Max.”
Chance sighs heavily and settles on the sofa with a glass of scotch. The smoky fragrance reaches my nostrils, but I’m not sure I like the smell of it anymore. I used to love it until not that long ago.
“You were acting on instinct,” Chance says. “And I can’t blame you. Maybe if we’d gone against the doc’s recommendations in the first place, if we’d told you about your family’s feud with the Sokolovs and the circumstances in which we found you in that blizzard—”
“You were trying to protect me,” I reply. “I don’t think anyone’s at fault here.”
“But you will get it all back, Anya. I see you every day. I see how you work with yourself to recover what you’ve lost. Honestly, I wish I could do more, but your mind has its own pace.”
“I think it’s my heart that’s asking me to take it easy,” I say. “I can feel it; the pain I’ve been carrying for a long time. It’s hidden precisely where I keep scratching. That’s why the headaches pop up when I struggle to remember something.”
“Dr. Rollins did say you’d have a hard time with some memories, particularly the ones centered around traumatic events.”
“I’ve had plenty of those, huh?” I laugh bitterly. Chance doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really have to. I can see it written across his handsome, rugged face. The light in the green pools of his eyes darkens as he looks away from me and chooses to focus on his glass. “So, Breonna, eh?”
That shifts the air in the room in a completely different direction.
They’ve been avoiding the subject since her impromptu visit over breakfast. It made everything unnecessarily awkward between us, and I need that to change.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not mad. I mean, I don’t like it, but what you did in the past is yours and yours alone. There was life before me,” I laugh, albeit nervously. “It’s okay, Chance.”
“I’ll be honest. At the time, none of us thought it through,” he says, scratching his scruffy beard. My fingertips tingle with the anticipation of running them through it as well later tonight. “She was willing; we’d been celibate for a while…”
“It was a primal need being fulfilled, right?”
“Right. But we weren’t too clear about where it would lead, not before we got into it. Booker and I, we’re more in sync. If someone strikes us as odd or uncanny, we immediately cut ourselves off from them, emotionally speaking. Nico is kind and appeasing; he tries to stay on everyone’s good side, and I love that about him.”
I allow myself a smile. “She has feelings for him.”
“Yes, I suppose. He definitely doesn’t have any for her. He never did. She is confusing his kindness with something else, and that has led to tension in the past,” Chance admits. “We do our best to be good neighbors, but, like I said, Booker and I… we’re not her biggest fans.”
“Honestly, she’s hurt. But I don’t think she’s fundamentally bad. Breonna has a slew of insecurities left over from her past. I guess we all do, to a certain extent.”
Chance gives me a cool grin. “The keywords being ‘to a certain extent,’ because Breonna is carrying a hell of a lot more than all of us put together.”
“I think she’s trying to be better. I mean, the earlier conversation was eye-opening for me despite the blunder. I think she can’t help but poke and the prod. I think it comes naturally to her.”
Maybe I’m excusing her actions, but I can’t label her “bad.” Breonna is a complex woman, and I have yet to figure out whether her positives outweigh her negatives. It takes time to get to know a person before you can reach such a conclusion.
Chance stills, his gaze softening as he looks at me. “You’ve grown into an incredible woman, you know that?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
I blush, nonetheless. It feels wonderful to hear such words of affirmation, especially coming from the men who saved me, who brought out the best in me. The men who, in a way, returned me to real life. I may not remember the past two years since Dalton, in particular, yet I’m starting to believe that I spent the time in a sort of limbo, in a heavy fog. Broken and scared.
I’m scared now, too. However, Chance, Nico, and Booker are here with me. And they’ve already proven how far they’re willing to go to protect me.
“I mean it. You are so objective in your reasoning,” Chance says. “Willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, to see the shades in them… it’s refreshing. These days, folks are so quick to judge and chastise, it’s disheartening.”
“You don’t like Breonna.”
“No, but you clearly do, and I respect that. I like the way you look at her from a different perspective. It says so much about you as a human being, Anya,” he replies. “It only makes me admire you more.”
“You, admire me?” I laugh. “Good Lord… I’m basically still starting out in life. I’m actually in the temporarily interrupted process of starting out in life, whereas you and your brothers have been kicking ass and taking names for a long time. You served your country with honor, you put yourselves in the line of fire, and then you came back and helped an entire region flourish. You added jobs to the local economy. The people here look up to you. They depend on you. And even now, you’re trying so hard to keep me safe… I mean,” I pause, choking up. “I mean, you saved me. You killed a man to save me.”
Chance gets up and comes over to me. He helps me out of my seat so he can wrap me in a warm, tight hug. I hide my face in his chest, my nose pressed against his flannel shirt. I breathe him in, welcoming the hints of musk and Mandarin blossoms from his cologne, as his heart beats thunderously along with mine.
“Anya, I would burn the whole world down if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, happy, and in our lives,” he says. “And for the record, despite your age, you have shown a resilience and a determination very few people possess. You have no idea how precious and beautiful it makes you in a world where everybody wants things quick and easy. You beat the odds so many times already. You’re our miracle.”
“Oh, Chance,” I whisper as I look up and lose myself in his eyes.
We kiss, and the world disappears again.
Yet, beneath this layer of peace… I feel it.
Lingering. Waiting.
The darkness and the pain I will, soon enough, have to face.
* * *
A couple of weeks go by, and a few more are gradually added to the puzzle. I’m starting to understand why there was tension between my father and me. Why Aleks was so torn between us. Why he was so conflicted between his duty and his brotherly love. Why more than once, I wanted to run away, to put everything behind me.
“Where’d you go?” Breonna asks me.
“Nowhere in particular.”
That’s a lie. I’m helping her tidy up her kitchen to kill some time and I stopped in the middle of cleaning a counter to dig into a persistent memory of an argument I had with my father. I was so angry, so desperate, I even hinted at rather being dead than being an Asimov.
“I’m sorry, I just keep remembering stuff. Still bits and pieces.” I sigh as I continue wiping the marble countertop with slow, circular motions. “But they’re starting to come together.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you with this,” she says perched on a stool, busy reorganizing one of the cupboards. “You should be back at the lodge, resting, healing.”
“That’s okay,” I reply, shaking my head. “Truth be told, this helps. Doing this. Using my hands. I didn’t have patience to draw or paint anything today and I was getting restless.
But helping you is hitting the right spot.”
“Well, thank you. Again.”
“Don’t mention it. Anything to keep myself busy these days. The lodge is spotless. There’s literally nothing left for me to tidy up over there.”
Breonna gives me a soft smile. “I would’ve hired someone from town, but nobody wants to come up here in this snow. I even offered to drive them, but they’re all afraid we might get stuck along the way, either going up or down the mountain.”
“It’s okay, Breonna. You’ve got me. And you can pay me in some of that snazzy hot chocolate of yours.”
“Oh, hell no. I’m paying cash, sister. You’re worth every penny!” She laughs. “I’ve never seen my countertops sparkle like this before!” She pauses and gives me a worried glance. “Have you heard from that Max guy at all?”
I stop, formulating an appropriate answer as I spray more cleaning solution onto my microfiber cloth. The lemony smell is a tad too strong, and it’s making me queasy. Then again, everything has been making me queasy over the past week or so.
“No, I think he left for good,” I say, “which is more than fine by me.”
Nico convinced Sheriff Mills to move Max’s body to a morgue three districts over. They lost the paperwork somewhere along the way—on purpose, obviously. And Nico made sure to burn off Max’s fingerprints and damage his teeth to make it even harder for the medical examiners to identify him.
It’s a gruesome thing.
And Breonna doesn’t need to know about any of it.
“What else have you been remembering?” she asks, resuming her cupboard cleanup operation.
I marvel at the number of tea boxes she had stashed away up there. “Wow, you could open a tea shop with all of that.”
“What can I say? I love tea,” Breonna replies.
“I remember a fight I had with my dad,” I say, deciding to tell her whatever I can without revealing too much about my family and my violent history. “He wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do. It would’ve ruined my chances at a future career, at making art for a living. It would’ve stripped me of my freedom.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure. That part isn’t as clear to me. But this other guy kept coming around the house. And every time he walked through the door, I could see the tension in my brother’s shoulders, his jaw muscle twitching.”
I’m talking about Leo Sokolov, of course, but I’m keeping that name to myself for Breonna’s safety.
“My brother Aleks couldn’t stand the guy. Yet, he and Dad had to be nice and amenable to him. I do remember this one time we were all in the tearoom.”
Breonna gives me a curious look. “And?”
“And this guy… he said something, I can’t make out the words, but it pushed my brother’s buttons. Aleks got up, but Dad pulled him back into his seat. I was worried it might lead to a fight. I just don’t… Ugh, I can’t remember what he said.”
“You know, they say the olfactory sense can trigger memories better than anything else,” Breonna offers. “Do you remember what kind of tea was being served? I assume that’s what the tearoom was for.”
“That was my mom’s little passion. Tea. The British style. Five o’clock teatime, with cookies and fancy French pastries or cake or whatever.”
Annoyingly enough, I’d partake in those tea sessions, only for my mother to subtly berate me for having one too many cookies. No wonder I’m so insecure about my figure. The guys were so right about that. Sighing deeply, I put that bitter thought away and focus on the tea, instead.
“Here, smell this,” Breonna says and gives me one of the tea boxes. “Was it like this?”
I inhale deeply. To my surprise, it triggers a different memory: I’m standing in front of a mirror, wearing a pretty blue dress. I’m fifteen, and my brother lovingly ties a corsage around my wrist.
“No, but I think it had a hint of Mandarin in it,” I tell Breonna.
She gives me another box, curiously watching my reaction. She’s right about one thing, though, smell is definitely a good memory trigger.
Finally, we find the tea flavor that hits the right spot. Mandarin and jasmine. The scent hits so hard and deep, I’m practically transported back in time.
I’m sitting in my chair in our tearoom. Aleks is seated next to me. Across the round table from us, our father keeps to Leo’s side.
There is tension. The air feels so heavy and thick. I look down and see that I’ve opted to dress conservatively. I’m wearing a long, dark green dress with a white lace collar and sleeves. My scalp hurts a little, probably because I’m wearing my hair in a tight bun. Too tight. I just want this over with.
“Leo, here’s the thing,” my father tells the man with cold eyes and dark hair. “The original agreement is not something I can honor anymore.”
“Oh?” the man calmly replies, but I can feel his rage simmering beneath the surface.
I look at my brother. He keeps his back straight and his chin up. “We’re willing to offer something else in return, something far more appealing to your objectives regarding the expansion of your operation,” Aleks says.
Leo doesn’t budge. Instead, he lets his gaze do his talking for him. Anger, contempt.
“Thirty percent of my territory,” my father says. “All yours. Entire neighborhoods for you to further develop. I’ll even hand over the property deeds and the related business paperwork. Every transaction will be made in a legal manner, aboveboard. I’ve got my accountants already working on it.”
Leo raises an eyebrow. “What’s the figure? Based on previous years.”
“About $42.5 million,” my father says. “Please. It’s the best I can do under these circumstances, and I’m sure the Bratva council will agree, if we take it to them. I’m hoping it won’t get that far. I trust you’re a reasonable man who understands the love a father has for his children.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Or I could just kill you right here, right now, and take what is rightfully mine,” Leo says.
That’s what sets Aleks off and has my father reaching across the table to stop him. Even I intervene, pulling Aleks back into his seat before he gets up.
“I’d love to see you try,” my brother snarls. “In my own home! The audacity alone is grounds for an instant execution, and none of the other families would bat an eye.”
“Aleks,” I plead with him. “No.”
“Forgive my son,” our father interjects. “Leo, listen to me. I’m trying to do right by you here. What we originally agreed upon is no longer an option. Whether any of us likes it or not. I’m offering something even better for you at great cost to me. Surely, you see the value here.”
“Anya,” Breonna’s voice snaps me back. “Honey, you’re getting pale.”
I give her a confused look. I feel way off. Breaking into a cold sweat, I find myself clinging to the countertop for dear life, my legs suddenly weak.
“Oh, crap,” I manage, then bolt toward the bathroom.
Five minutes later, I’ve washed my face and rinsed my mouth with some of Breonna’s mouthwash. Slowly but surely, I pull myself together and step out of the bathroom, only to find Breonna worriedly waiting for me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I puked my guts out,” I nervously chuckle. “But I cleaned up after myself. So sorry about that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. But what’s going on? Was it the memory? Did it… I don’t know, trigger this reaction?”
I shake my head slowly. “No, I’ve been having these bouts of nausea for about a week. It has to be the stress of this entire situation. It was bound to get to me sooner or later.”
“Anya, when’s the last time you got your period?” Breonna asks.
Frozen in the bathroom doorway, I give her a confused glare. “What?”
“When is the last time you got your period?”
Heat courses through me as the realization slowly sets in. “I don’t remember. Not since the accident.”
“Over a month ago.”
“Almost two months. A month and a half, a month and three weeks…”
Breonna shrugs lightly, motioning for me to follow her back to the kitchen. “I ask because you mentioned your heightened sensitivity to smells and tastes, too. That you can’t stand the smell of scotch anymore. Then there was my tuna steak casserole that made you iffy, but I know for a fact all the ingredients I used were good.”
“Oh, God.”
“Here,” she says, fishing a pregnancy test box out of a catchall kind of drawer in her kitchen, where she keeps a few over-the-counter medications. “You might want to take this and see what it says.”
I stare at the box. I can’t even move. Yet, this shouldn’t come as a shock either. Lord knows we were never careful in any of our lovemaking. The chemistry between the Hayes brothers and me has been so intense, so all-consuming, that I didn’t even consider the risks.
“If I’m pregnant,” I mumble mostly to myself, “what do I do?”
“Anya, if it makes you feel better, if you are pregnant, your secret’s safe with me. There are options, just so you know. You won’t be alone in any of this,” Breonna replies, her tone softer, more compassionate than ever.
She been growing on me since the awkward pecan pie breakfast debacle. I think she finally understands that I’m not her enemy, and that what happened between her and my men belongs in the past. It doesn’t stop her from the occasional prickly statement, but I’ve learned not to take anything she says personally.
“I can’t tell them,” I whisper. “Not right now, anyway.”
“It’s okay. I certainly won’t say a word, but you need to know for sure.”
I look at her with genuine fright. “Right now?”
“Why postpone it?”
“Fair enough…”
Five more minutes pass, and I come out of the bathroom even paler. Not from a returning bout of nausea, but from having watched the pregnancy test deliver a resounding plus sign. Breonna doesn’t need to see it for herself to realize what’s going on.
She hugs me tightly, and all I can do is soften in her embrace, finding a smidgen of comfort as she tries to soothe my bubbling anxiety.
“It’s still early,” Breonna says. “You’ve got time, Anya.”
“Yeah.”
“Whatever you need, just say the word. I’m here for you.”
“Thank you.”
What will the Hayes brothers think about this? It’s the worst possible time for starting a family. I can barely remember my past, let alone focus on the future. I’m not even safe, not with Leo Sokolov potentially coming after me. Nico and the sheriff did their best to throw him off my scent, but that’s not a guarantee.
My life is still on the line, except it’s not just my life anymore.
It’s my baby’s, too.