Chapter 15
Teddy
Two days have passed since I last saw or heard anything from Kirill, and it feels like forever.
I keep checking my phone like a nervous teenager, hoping for a text, a missed call, anything.
Nothing.
Just radio silence.
The man who carried me up my steps, kissed my forehead, and told me goodnight like he owned every part of me has vanished into thin air. No explanation. No “I’ll call you.” Just… gone.
And it’s messing with my head.
This morning at the gym I was a mess. I kept losing count during sets, snapping at a client who didn’t deserve it, and nearly dropped a dumbbell on my foot because my mind kept drifting back to the park—his hand spanking me hard against the tree, his mouth between my legs, the way it made my body and mind feel so out of this world incredible.
But now the worry is winning. What if something happened to Kirill? Or what if he decided I’m too much trouble? Worse… what if he’s hurt?
I’m distracted, anxious, and it’s showing.
Tonight at improv class it’s even worse.
We’re doing a scene about a dysfunctional family dinner, and I keep missing my cues.
It should be funny. It’s exactly the kind of thing that I’m normally so good at.
Btu my lines come out flat. I forget to react when Skeet, playing my dramatic sister, throws an imaginary plate.
Dermott watches from the side with that familiar furrowed brow he gets when one of us is off.
After the scene ends, he waves me over.
Oh no.
This isn’t good.
This isn’t good at all…
“Teddy, a word?”
I follow Dermott to the edge of the stage, my cheeks burning. Skeet gives me a sympathetic little wave from across the room.
Dermott lowers his voice. “Just relax, you’re not in trouble. But is everything okay? You’re not yourself tonight. Your energy is all over the place.”
I force a bright smile, the one I’ve perfected for clients and auditions. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. I’ll do better. Promise.”
Dermott studies me for a long moment, eyes kind but sharp. He can see right through the fake optimism. “Sit with me for a bit. Watch the others. Take a breath. Let your emotions settle before you jump back in.”
I nod, grateful and embarrassed at the same time, and take the seat next to him. The rest of the group continues without me. Skeet throws himself into the next scene with his usual bubbly chaos, making everyone laugh. I watch him, trying to absorb some of that easy joy, but my mind keeps drifting.
Back to high school. Back to Joe…
Joe was handsome in that clean-cut way—straight-A student, captain of the debate team, the kind of boyfriend who brought flowers on anniversaries and planned cute study dates.
Now he works in investment banking somewhere in the financial district.
Successful. Stable. Normal.
If we had stayed together, or if I reached out to him now, my life would probably be a lot simpler. No mysterious older men with dark secrets. No spankings in parks. No waking up aching and rock-hard and wondering if the man I can’t stop thinking about is even still alive.
But deep down I know the truth.
Joe could never do to me what Kirill does.
Joe could never make me feel small and safe and wildly turned on all at once. He could never look at me with that commanding intensity that turns my knees to jelly. He could never make me drop to my knees in an alley or spank me until I’m dripping and desperate.
Joe was safe.
Comfortable. Predictable.
And that’s cool, and I’m sure he’ll make someone a perfect husband. But not me.
Kirill is fire and danger and the most addictive thing I’ve ever tasted. And that’s the trouble. Even thinking about that now is making me feel all hot.
Fortunately, I’m broken out of my thoughts when Dermott gently touches my shoulder…
“Alright, Teddy, break over,” Dermott says, his voice full of warmth. “Rejoin the group. Relax. Let your emotions flow through the scene instead of fighting them. Use them.”
I nod, stand up, and step back onto the stage.
This time when the scene starts, I stop trying to push the worry away.
I let it fuel me. The anxiety, the longing, the confusion, I channel all of it into my character, a young dude who’s secretly in love with someone he knows is bad for him.
My lines come out raw and real. The group responds, the energy shifting.
Skeet gives me a proud little grin mid-scene.
When the exercise ends, Dermott nods approvingly. “Better. Much better.”
After class, Skeet links his arm through mine and drags me to the little café around the corner that does amazing smoothies and protein bowls.
“Spill,” Skeet says the second we sit down with our orders, green smoothie with extra spirulina for me, berry blast with added collagen for him. “You were off tonight. And don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ line. I know that face.”
I poke at the granola on top of my bowl, suddenly not very hungry.
“It’s Kirill,” I admit quietly. “I haven’t heard from him in two days. After everything that happened… nothing. I’m worried. Confused. Anxious. It’s messing with my training, my classes, everything.”
Skeet’s eyes soften. “Hey, come on… do you even know what he does? Like, really? Because the way you talk about him, it sounds intense. Hot as hell, but intense.”
“I don’t,” I say, my voice small. “That’s the problem. He told me his life isn’t safe or normal. That he makes difficult decisions. But he wouldn’t say more. For my safety, apparently. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that he isn’t a realtor or barista.”
Skeet stirs his smoothie slowly. “So… do you want the drama? Is it worth it? Because you’re glowing when you talk about him, but you also look like you haven’t slept properly in days.”
I stare at my bowl, the colorful fruits blurring a little.
“I honestly don’t know,” I whisper. “Part of me wants to run. The sensible part. The part that remembers I have rent to pay and auditions to crush and a normal life to build. But the other part… the part that lights up when he calls me his boy or spanks me or carries me up the stairs… that part doesn’t want to let go. ”
Skeet reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Skeet says, his eyes looking into mine. “But you do have to decide eventually. Just… be careful, okay? I love you, and I want you happy. Whether that’s with the mysterious hot Daddy or with someone simpler.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “I know. Thank you.”
We finish our food in lighter conversation—Skeet gossiping about a new singer at his club, me telling him about the producer’s email that came through yesterday. But my mind is only half there.
Because right now, I have somewhere else I need to be.
I glance at the time. “I’ve got to run. Bobby’s session starts in forty minutes and I need to get my butt moving.”
Skeet grins. “Go get ‘em, trainer boy. And text me later if you hear from Mr. Mysterious.”
I hug him quickly and head out, the cool evening air hitting my face as I power-walk toward the private gym where I train Bobby. My legs feel heavy, my thoughts still tangled, but at least moving helps a little.
And deep down, two questions keeps circling:
Where are you, Kirill?
And why does your silence hurt so much more than I expected?
* * *
The private gym space feels almost peaceful tonight, the mirrors reflecting the soft overhead lights and the steady rhythm of Bobby’s breathing as he pushes through another set of Romanian deadlifts.
He’s really committing tonight — back straight, core tight, form cleaner than it was even a week ago.
I spot him carefully, offering quiet encouragement between reps.
“You’ve got this, Bobby. Two more… nice and controlled. Yes! Perfect.”
Bobby racks the bar with a satisfied grunt and straightens up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. His cheeks are flushed, but there’s a determined spark in his eyes that makes me proud.
For a nineteen-year-old who was thrown into training because his uncle basically ordered it, he’s taken to it surprisingly well. He’s got potential, that’s for sure.
We move to the next station for shoulder presses. Between sets, while Bobby catches his breath and sips water, he glances at me sideways.
“Hey… is everything okay, Teddy? You seem a little... distracted.”
I pause, adjusting the pin on the machine even though it’s already set correctly. The question catches me off guard. I thought I was hiding it better.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, forcing my usual bright smile. “Just a long day. You know how it is… clients, classes, the usual chaos.”
Bobby doesn’t buy it.
He tilts his head, studying me with those sharp eyes that are so unnervingly like his uncle’s. “It’s about Uncle Kirill, isn’t it?”
My stomach drops. I hesitate just a second too long, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
Bobby’s expression softens. He sets his water bottle down and leans against the machine.
“Look… I know his life is complicated. The family business… it’s not normal.
It’s dangerous sometimes. People get hurt.
Secrets. Lies. All that bullshit. But he’s a good man, Teddy.
Deep down, he really is. He would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.
Not if he cares about you. And I can tell he does. ”
Bobby’s voice is sincere, spoken straight from the heart.
There’s no hesitation, no rehearsed lines. Bobby genuinely believes what he’s saying. I can see the affection and loyalty he has for his uncle shining through.
For a moment, it helps. His words wrap around the anxious knot in my chest like a warm blanket.
Kirill is intense, commanding, sometimes terrifying…
but the way he looks at me, the way he held me, the way he called me malysh—it never felt cruel.
It felt protective. Possessive in a way that made me feel safe even when it scared me.
But then reality creeps back in.
Is that enough?
Can “he’s a good man deep down” really justify walking into what is clearly a very dangerous world?
Bullets, betrayals, secrets that could get people killed…
including me? I’m twenty-one. I have dreams of acting, a career I’m fighting for, a normal life with Brando and smoothies and silly improv nights with Skeet.
Do I really want to risk all of that for a man who disappears for days and won’t tell me what he actually does?
I swallow hard and force another smile. “Thanks, Bobby. That… means a lot. Really.”
He nods, looking like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he straightens up and gestures to the machine. “Ready for the next set?”
We refocus. The rest of the workout flows better after that.
Bobby throws himself into the movements with even more determination, and I lose myself in spotting him, correcting form, and counting reps.
The familiar rhythm of training helps quiet the whirlwind in my head, at least for a little while.
When we finish a core set of planks, Russian twists, and hanging leg raises that leave both of us breathing hard, Bobby wipes his face with a towel and turns to me.
“I’ll reach out to Uncle Kirill tonight,” he says quietly. “I haven’t heard from him either, but that’s pretty normal for him. He goes dark sometimes when things get… busy. But since you’re worried, I’ll check if he’s at least safe and well.”
Relief washes over me so strongly I have to blink back sudden tears. “Thank you, Bobby. That would mean a lot.”
Bobby grins, a little shy but genuine. “No problem. And hey… this doesn’t mean you’re going easy on me, right?”
I laugh, the sound lighter than I’ve felt all day. “Oh, absolutely not. We’re finishing with core work, remember? You’re not getting out of those planks that easily.”
Bobby groans dramatically but smiles as he gathers his things. “Worth a shot.”
When we’re all wrapped up, we say our goodbyes at the door, and I watch him climb into the waiting black SUV. As it pulls away, the temporary calm from the workout starts to fade. The worry creeps back in, quieter now but still there.
I lock up the gym space and head out into the evening air, the cool breeze brushing against my flushed skin. My legs ache pleasantly from the session, but my mind is already spinning again.
Two days of silence.
A man who makes difficult decisions.
A life that will never be safe or normal.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
But right now, all I can do is wait.
And hope that Bobby’s message reaches Kirill—and that when it does, he’s still the man who makes my heart race instead of the one who might break it.