4. Lucas
FOUR
Lucas
I’m already sitting on the porch steps when the headlights cut through the trees.
I don’t know exactly what happened, but I do know that Isaac, the Constantines’ off-the-books doctor, is waiting inside.
That’s half the reason my knee is bouncing.
The other half is that Roman hasn’t responded to my text.
I know he’s basically okay because I got a message from Vitali before Isaac even arrived, but I don’t like that Roman hasn’t replied to me.
As the headlights approach, my phone chimes on the brick step beside me. I check the message. It’s from Vitali telling me they’ll come through the garage.
Something tightens inside me. Normally, on a bad night, Roman would get out here to be with me while the others park. But they drive past Isaac’s car and around to the back.
I put my phone in my pocket and go inside to the kitchen. Sasha is at the island, flicking through camera views on her tablet. Isaac is sitting at the table with a glass of water and his medical bag.
I haven’t seen Isaac since the night I arrived at this house with Roman several months ago, after Roman collapsed from the epinephrine he’d been injected with before a fight, the night he got us away from our captors.
Isaac looks mid-forties, with gray at his temples and a weary look in his eyes.
He glances at me but doesn’t engage. Part of me is inclined to distrust an off-the-books doctor.
I sometimes think back on the doctor who initially tended Roman in his holding cell.
I remember how dismissive he was, like he didn’t care or even see how Roman was being abused.
But Vitali wouldn’t let just anyone in here.
When I hear the men moving through the house, I go out into the formal sitting room, which has turned halfway into a movie room.
It’s kind of awkwardly incongruous in its transition, with beanbags and wingback chairs, a movie projector and old paintings.
It strikes me as weirdly symbolic, that incongruity, when I see Roman enter it.
He looks so handsome in his black pants and shirt, like he belongs in this elegant, rich, dangerous world of illegal drugs and guns and god knows what else.
But then there are his eyes. They’re not part of that image.
They’re not here at all, not even when he looks at me. I know the difference.
My eyes drop to the blood on his left hand. It’s dripping from his fingers onto the hardwood floor.
Vitali walks around him, giving him a wide berth, and says, “Come on.”
Roman gets moving, walking my way. Quinn is behind him but keeping some distance. When Roman reaches me, I put out my hand for his, but he doesn’t take it. He walks past me. I swallow hard and cross my arms and follow him into the kitchen.
Vitali is brusque with Roman. He tells him to take off his shirt and sit. I guess he’s right to be brusque because Roman does what he says in an almost robotic fashion.
Removing his shirt exposes all the scars on his upper body and a new wound on his left forearm. My heart skips at the blood, but Issac just lays out a towel on the table as Roman sits.
Isaac glances warily at Roman before he starts cleaning the wound, but Roman is nonreactive. I’ve never seen him shut down like this, and it has me shaking slightly. I don’t know what to do.
Nothing, I guess.
Vitali goes to look at the tablet with Sasha, though he glances at his brother from time to time.
Vitali’s expression is tight, kind of grim.
Quinn goes to the refrigerator and gets a beer.
Sasha doesn’t really react to the tense atmosphere, so she probably already knows what happened.
I wish someone would tell me. I wish someone would speak.
But everything is silent, except for the sounds of Isaac opening a suture kit and scooting closer to work on Roman’s arm.
I edge forward to see the wound. It’s too wide to be a knife, but it’s straight and clean. A bullet, I assume. It must hurt, but Roman never reacts much to pain. Right now, he looks like he’s not feeling anything at all. He looks like he’s barely here.
My eyes sting, but I widen them. I don’t want to cry, especially with everyone else so quiet.
I suppose I should be glad that Roman is letting Isaac work on him. Usually, Roman refuses any touch but mine. But for some reason, the fact that he’s allowing it, and so calmly, is scaring me as much as anything.
Isaac finishes stitching then covers the wound. As he’s gathering up the used supplies, Vitali says, “Roman, he’s done, go with Lucas.”
Roman gets up from his chair, still weirdly compliant. He doesn’t look at me as I approach, but we walk out of the kitchen together. We move through the house and upstairs to our room.
Only when we’re closed in do I ask, “What happened?”
But it’s wrong to ask it. I know it as soon as the words are out of my mouth. It’s not what matters.
Roman’s eyes flick to me and away. He doesn’t reply. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I hear the water running and all the normal sounds of him getting ready for bed. Normally though, the door would be open and I’d be with him, not standing out here like I’m on pause.
He emerges wearing black warmups. Usually, he sleeps naked, but he gets into bed like that. He lies on his side with his back to me.
My throat closes. I go into the bathroom and get ready for bed. I take a shower so that I can cry without Roman hearing me.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Roman is still lying exactly as he was. He doesn’t move even as I get in bed with him. He keeps his back to me. I don’t want to put my back to him, but I can’t handle seeing that, so I do it anyway.
***
I never fall completely asleep, so I’m partially awake when Roman starts letting out short, distressed huffs. They tug at my semi-conscious mind.
Usually, I’m more relaxed and his dreams don’t wake me. Usually, I only stir after he’s gone and my body senses the wrongness of his absence. But I knew this was coming.
I sit up, groggy and slow. Roman is twitching in his sleep. His vocalizations are getting sharper. I reach for him. It’s automatic. I’m not thinking. I just lay my hand on his shoulder.
Roman explodes awake.
He moves so fast that I can’t track what happens. All I know is that the world flips and spins and suddenly I’m on the floor, pinned under him. His arm is hooked around my neck. He’s snarling in my ear.
“ Ro-man ,” I choke out. I don’t fight him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. “ St-op .”
The shudder that goes through him shakes my body too. He makes an awful, broken sound as his grip releases and he scrambles away from me.
It takes me longer to get up. I’m so disoriented. By the time I’m on my feet, he’s at the door.
“Roman!”
He yanks it open and bolts out. I fumble for my sweats, tripping over them as I yank them on. Roman’s footsteps are thundering down the stairs. I hear Vitali’s door open down the hallway. I hear Vitali shout, then the sound of his and Quinn’s footsteps, but I’m already racing after Roman.
He doesn’t head for the kitchen or the porch like he usually does after a nightmare. He goes downstairs, but he’s not heading for the gym either.
By the time I reach the garage, Roman is already in one of the cars. The engine roars to life and the tires squeal, drowning out my shout. The garage door opens as the car races toward it.
I run after the car, but it’s too late.
He’s already gone.