Chapter Twenty-Nine
Adrik
Seversk, Russia
Adrik stepped out of the house and instantly turned to ice, literally. The cold slapped him in the face so hard his eyes watered. He stopped halfway to Yakov’s car, boots crunching in the thick snow.
“What is wrong with this weather?” Adrik muttered, pulling his jacket tighter.
Yakov opened the passenger door with one gloved hand. “It’s minus fifteen Celsius.”
Adrik blinked. “So… really what?”
“Five degrees Fahrenheit,” Yakov said, like it was nothing.
Adrik groaned. “You didn’t tell me anything about my mother’s surgery.”
Yakov shrugged, brushing snow off the windshield. “The doctor will tell you. You’re family. He will explain everything.”
The discomfort under his ribs sharpened instead of fading.
Snowflakes the size of coins drifted down, sticking to his hair and coat. He glanced at the sky—heavy clouds rolling in. Great. I’ll be trapped here forever.
He climbed into the SUV, shivering as Yakov cranked up the heat.
The drive through Seversk was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the soft thud of snow hitting the windshield.
Adrik kept imagining the worst—his mother alone, bleeding, scared.
He pressed his palms against his knees, trying to steady himself.
At the hospital, Yakov led him through a maze of hallways until a nurse pointed them toward a small office. The doctor, an older man with tired eyes, motioned for Adrik to sit.
“Your mother needs a hysterectomy,” he said slowly in Russian, enunciating each word like he knew Adrik would be struggling to keep up. “She lost a lot of blood.”
“Will she be okay?”
“Yes, she needs more blood.”
Adrik nodded, throat tight. “I can give blood. We have the same type. Negative B.”
The doctor’s eyebrows lifted. “Excellent. The surgery will begin in an hour. After you see her, go to the lab.” He handed Adrik a small map of the hospital and circled two spots. “Here is the lab. Here is her room.”
“Thank you,” Adrik said, folding the paper carefully even though his hands felt clumsy.
Yakov walked him to her room but stopped at the doorway. “Go. She will want to see you alone.”
Adrik stepped inside and froze again but for a different reason. Her skin was so pale, it was hard to tell where it ended and the sheets began. A sudden, piercing pain shot through his chest.
“Mom,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you?”
She opened her eyes, and the moment she saw him, she pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around him. “Adrik! What a beautiful surprise!”
He held her carefully; afraid she might break. “How did this happen?”
“No idea,” she said, brushing his cheek like she used to when he was little.
“Why didn’t you go back to New York?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I told you why,” she said gently. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” he promised.
Two nurses entered, apologetic but firm. “We need to prepare her,” one said.
Adrik kissed his mother’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”
He stepped out, letting the nurses close the door behind him. Yakov waited silently, hands in his pockets. Together they walked to the lab, where Adrik rolled up his sleeve and donated blood, trying not to think about how much she needed it.
Later, back at his mother’s house, he finally called Hans. The moment Hans answered, Adrik felt his shoulders relaxed.
“How is she?” Hans asked immediately.
“She’s… stable. Surgery was an hour after I arrived. I gave blood.” Adrik glanced out the window at the swirling snow. “And it’s freezing here. Like, actually freezing. I can’t feel my face.”
Hans laughed. “I miss your face.”
Adrik smiled despite everything. “I miss you too.”
“Are you okay?” Hans asked.
“No,” Adrik admitted. “But hearing your voice helps.”
“I’m right here,” Hans said. “All the way until you come home.”
Adrik leaned back on the couch, letting the warmth of Hans’ voice settle over him. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Hans replied.
For the first time since landing in Russia, Adrik felt like he could breathe again.
After they ended the call, Adrik looked at the time. He called the hospital every thirty minutes to check on his mother. When she was out of surgery, they said he could visit tomorrow afternoon. Yakov left him alone and told him he’d pick him up in the afternoon and to call if he needed anything.
Adrik tried to rest, but his mind kept circling the same thought: Sergei was here. Close enough to walk to. Close enough for Sergei to hurt him all over again. Sleep came in short, restless spurts, never enough to quiet the unease sitting under his ribs.
Adrik ordered a car the next morning, though every part of him wanted to cancel it and pretend Sergei wasn’t living a few streets away.
The ride through Seversk was silent, the windows fogging from the difference between the brutal cold outside and the heater blasting inside.
When the car finally stopped in front of Sergei’s building, Adrik hesitated before stepping out.
The cold hit him like a punch. His breath turned to vapor instantly, and the wind cut straight through his clothes.
He hurried up the walkway, boots slipping on packed snow, and rang the doorbell.
The metal button burned his finger from the cold.
If Sergei didn’t open the door soon, he was convinced he’d freeze solid on the spot.
After the seconds stretched so thin they felt like minutes, the door swung open.
Sergei stood there in tight jeans and a thick brown cable-knit sweater, looking like he’d stepped out of a different life, one where he wasn’t hiding in Western Siberia.
His hair was longer than Adrik remembered, a little messy, brushing the tops of his ears.
His beard was fuller too. The man was still impossibly broad-shouldered, still carried himself with a quiet authority that made people move out of his way without thinking.
And those eyes—deep brown, unreadable—still had that strange mix of softness and steel. Adrik had seen both sides. He’d been taught languages under that soft gaze. He’d also watched those same eyes go cold when danger was near.
“Adrik!” Sergei barked, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him inside. The door slammed shut behind them, the lock clicking into place.
The sudden warmth made Adrik’s skin sting. He was still shivering when Sergei rounded on him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sergei shouted.
Adrik shot back, “What are you doing in Western Siberia?”
Sergei didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed Adrik’s jacket and peeled it off him like he was a child who couldn’t manage his own sleeves.
Same old Sergei—always the protector, even when he was furious.
“Follow me. We’ll talk.”
Adrik trailed him through the house, scanning every room they passed—kitchen, hallway, small office—madly looking for signs of someone else living there. A woman’s shoes. A second coat. Anything. But the place felt lived-in by one person only.
In the living room, Sergei spun around. “You don’t fucking follow directions, do you?”
Adrik’s chest tightened. “Why did you tell my mother you never wanted to see me?” His voice cracked despite his best efforts.
Between the cold and the emotional hit, he felt like he was being pulled apart from the inside.
The man he’d admired—worshipped, if he was honest—looked like he regretted opening the door.
“Sit,” Sergei ordered, pointing at a recliner.
Adrik sat. Sergei grabbed a crocheted blanket from the couch—something homemade, something soft—and draped it over him before hitting the button to lift his feet. The gesture was so familiar it hurt.
Sergei didn’t answer his question. Instead, he went to the bar cart and poured two double vodkas, the ice clinking sharply in the glasses. He handed one to Adrik but stayed standing, looming over him like a bodyguard on duty.
“That’s right,” Sergei said finally. “I didn’t want to see you again. And here you are. Did you forget the Run Rules? No contact with anyone. That includes me.”
“Fuck you, Sergei,” Adrik snapped. “You owe me an explanation. Not some bullshit about Run Rules. That didn’t stop my mother from finding me, did it?”
Sergei’s jaw tightened. “It’s complicated. Very complicated. I love you on so many levels. But you and I can’t be together the way you wanted—and the way I wanted too.”
Adrik’s breath caught. “Why? I deserve that much.”
“Your father is one reason,” Sergei said. “I made a promise to him when he hired me—not to show my gay side to you.”
Adrik stared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? He put a hit on you. That promise should be long gone.”
“The second reason,” Sergei continued, “is that I joined the Foreign Intelligence Service. I can’t be gay, Adrik.”
“So what?”
“The third reason is I’m engaged. To a woman. Do you get it yet?”
Like stones, each reason struck him, the impact hard and unforgiving. Something inside him folded in on itself, a slow, sinking sensation leaving his chest scraped raw. His hands trembled before he could stop them, the words landing with a force he couldn’t absorb all at once.
“I get that you don’t want me in that way,” he said. “But why can’t we be friends?”
“I can’t associate with criminal elements or a gay man.”
The words knocked the air out of him. The room tilted slightly. His head throbbed. “That’s what I am to you now? A gay criminal element?”
Sergei didn’t flinch. “Tell me about Hans Schroeger.”
A wave of nausea washed over Adrik as his stomach plummeted. “How do you know about Hans?”
“I know everything you’ve been doing. I have access.”
“I love Hans,” Adrik said, voice shaking. “But that doesn’t mean I want you out of my life.”
“It has to be this way. For your safety and mine.”
Adrik blinked hard, but tears still filled his eyes. “If you say so.”
Sergei sighed. “Your father called off the hit on both of us. So, return to New York City.”
“Why is my mother in Siberia?”
“Because your father was a threat, and I was stationed here. But Viktor is not a threat anymore.”
“I see.” Adrik stood slowly. “I need to leave. I’ll call a car.”
“I’ll bring you,” Sergei said. “And your mother has been in contact with your father. Don’t stay too long if you don’t want to see him.”
“Don’t bother,” Adrik said coldly. “You won’t see or hear from me again.”
He finished his drink, shoved the blanket aside, and stood.
“No reason for you to call a car,” Sergei said again.
Adrik ignored him, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. Sergei followed, pulling on his own coat. They drove in silence. Adrik leaned his head against the window, watching the snow blur past, trying not to fall apart.
When they reached his mother’s house, Sergei parked.
“Live your life with Hans,” he said softly. “Be happy.”
Adrik opened the door immediately, not wanting to hear another word.
But Sergei grabbed his arm. “Hey. I haven’t stopped loving you. But it has to be this way. Don’t contact me again.”
Adrik nodded once, jerked free, and walked inside without looking back.
He threw his jacket on the floor and went straight to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets until he found a bottle of something strong. He poured a full glass—no ice, no thought—and carried it to the guest bedroom.
He collapsed onto the bed and pulled out his phone.
Hans answered on the first ring. “Hey, I was thinking about you. I miss you so much, Adrik. You okay?”
Adrik had to swallow twice before he could speak. His voice barely came out. “No. I need to get out of here, but I have to see my mother later today.”
“I can fly out if you want me to.”
“No. Not here. I don’t feel safe. I want to come home.”
“I want that too,” Hans said.
“What kind of job am I going to get?” Adrik whispered.
“Don’t worry about that. I have enough to support both of us. You can stay home.”
“That won’t work. I need a job, or my visa will expire. The plan was to move every thirty days if I couldn’t find work.”
“That’s the least of your worries. We’ll figure it out.”
Adrik opened his mouth to respond—then he heard footsteps.
Inside the house.
Slow. Heavy. Getting closer to his room.
His heart lurched.
Fuck. He didn’t have a weapon.
Who the hell was in the house?