15. Roman
FIFTEEN
Roman
I hear Vitali and Sasha’s voices as I approach my old room. The door is open, so I walk in. Their voices are coming from the closet.
“I feel like this could be my room,” Sasha says.
“I thought you might,” Vitali replies dryly. “This closet would finally give you room for the five shirts you own.”
“Excuse me, I own twelve shirts. Some of them just look the same. How many shirts do you have?”
Vitali snorts. “More than twelve. But maybe we could give this some time before you move your shit in here.”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t mean right now.”
I go to the closet doorway. “You should take it now,” I tell Sasha .
She startles, dropping the tie she was rolling up. “Good god, you can be surprisingly quiet.”
“Take the room. I don’t want it.”
She picks the tie up off the floor. “There’s no rush, Roman. I was just bullshitting.”
“I’d feel much better with someone else in here.” I force the admission out because if I don’t, she won’t take the room, and I want this space to stop feeling like it’s mine. I want to move on from it.
Sasha nods. “Okay. I get that. You hear that, boss?”
Vitali just grunts, watching me from the corner of his eye as he grabs a few hangers draped with jackets and transfers them to the cardboard wardrobe box.
Now that I’m noticing his avoidance, it really stands out to me.
But it’s not just him. I avoid him like this too.
Things are always a little tense, a little uncomfortable, enough so that Lucas noticed it.
And yet, Vitali is in the middle of doing something for me.
Like Lucas, he’s trying to help. He’s been trying to help all along.
And I need it.
I need help.
Vitali realizes that I’m trying to catch his eye. When he meets my gaze, I ask, “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.”
Vitali edges around the boxes and follows me to the sliding glass door. I open it, and we step out onto the deck. I hover at the railing for a minute, looking out over the lawn to the woods. It doesn’t feel right, so I head down the steps.
Vitali follows me, and I find that I’m okay with him being behind me. It makes me realize that I’m getting better, a little. But things are still so hard, and I’m making them hard for other people too. Lucas especially, but not just Lucas.
Vitali and I end up on the pool patio. It feels right. Nothing bad has ever happened here, and Lucas likes it. So do I. I like watching him in the water. He always looks so happy.
I keep my eyes fixed on the pool’s bright, still surface. I say, “Lucas wants me to, um …” I trail off then try again. “He thinks I should … see someone. Like a …”
I don’t know why I can’t say it. I don’t know why my face is hot. I didn’t get embarrassed when Lucas brought this up. I said no, but I wasn’t uncomfortable. But with Vitali …
“Like a therapist,” he fills in.
From the corner of my eye, I can see that his hands are in his pockets, but I don’t really look at him. “Yeah.”
Vitali takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I think that’s a really good idea.”
I frown because the idea doesn’t feel good to me. It feels weird. And weirdly scary.
“I don’t know what it would do,” I say. “It feels … fuck, I don’t know.” I walk away from Vitali. I stop at the edge of the pool .
I’m so uncomfortable. I don’t want to have this conversation.
But I need to. I make myself stay.
I do, however, need Vitali to close the distance that I’ve made because I can’t.
And he does it. He comes to stand beside me. He says, “I found someone that I think would be really good. If you want to try.”
“You found someone?”
“He understands the nature of our business, so you could tell him the truth. About what happened to you. And he’s worked with people who’ve been through … really hard things.”
For some reason, that makes my throat tighten. I don’t really think about things that way. As having happened to me. That makes me feel strange.
“And what’s the point?” I ask. My voice is sharp. I’m frustrated, and I don’t know why.
“To help—”
“I don’t want to be who I was before, if that’s the point.”
“That’s not the point, Roman.”
“I never liked who I was,” I say, compelled to argue even though Vitali isn’t arguing. I need him to understand this so I can clear it out, like that closet. “It was a relief to strip all that of away. I think that’s why I was able to do it. It was a fucking relief.”
Vitali takes that in. I stay focused on the pool, not looking at him, but I can feel him at my side, thinking .
Before he can say anything, I speak again. It’s so strange to feel words spilling out, but suddenly I can’t seem to stop them. “But I also can’t be what I am now. I’m dangerous to be around. I don’t like that.”
Vitali huffs, “And yet you saved my life, Roman. Have you already forgotten that? I fucking haven’t. When you got between me and that van? That bullet was meant for me, and it could’ve fucking killed you.”
It takes me a second to follow him, to remember. He’s right, I had forgotten. It was so automatic.
“You made me wear the vest,” I remind him.
“It could’ve hit you in the goddamn head, Roman. That vest wouldn’t have made one fucking bit of difference.” Now Vitali is the one who walks off. His hands come out of his pockets and scrape through his hair.
I’m not the only one who’s changed, I realize. He has too. He can still be cold and brutal. He has to be. But he’s more than that. He’s more than our father ever was. Vitali has rebuilt this family, with Quinn and Sasha, even with me and Lucas. He leads it better.
I’m so fucking glad he’s here. And not just instead of our father—I’m glad that Vitali, specifically, is here.
I get it now, him saying that to me. I feel the same way.
I’ve just been letting other things get in the way of it.
Vitali was locked in my mind in a certain way, just as I was locked in his.
But we’re getting used to each other. Every time I talk to him, I feel it more, probably because that’s when I let down the barrier that I’ve put between us .
It’ll probably creep back up, but it’s down now and I can see clearly for a second. I know why it was automatic for me to get between him and that gun. I know, too, what I wanted to say to him that night that I couldn’t figure out.
So when he comes back, all shaky and uncomfortable with me seeing how upset he is, I tell him, “I … love you, Vitali.”
“I fucking love you too, Roman, Jesus fucking Christ. Do you have any idea how much you fucking scared me?”
I huff a little because it’s so unlike Vitali and yet, so like him too.
We don’t touch. We both just stare at the pool, letting those words settle.
“I want you to do this,” he says after a while. “I really want you to do this.”
My heart skips. He’s circled back to the original topic. “I’m still thinking about it. I’m not sure. I’m just thinking.”
Vitali sighs. He’s not as patient as Lucas. But he says, “Okay. That’s fine.”
I’m at my limit. I know I need to talk to him again, but I can’t handle any more right now. So I walk away.
There was a time when Vitali might have called after me, been annoyed by my abruptness. But he accepts it, accepts me.
I see that now .
I walk around the pool and into the house. I go looking for Lucas and find him where I expect, in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he says as I walk in. His expression is warm but not exactly happy. He’s pleased to see me, but he’s worried. I’m so tired of worrying him.
I join him at the island. He’s making cookies, spooning the dough onto baking sheets. His hands are sticky, so he presses briefly into me in lieu of a hug. I pet his hair.
“What kind?” I ask.
“An experiment. I put all my favorite things in. Cinnamon and pumpkin pie spice, white and dark chocolate, pecans.”
“Huh.”
He chuckles at my skepticism. It’s sweet. I love his laugh. I haven’t heard it enough lately. I want him to be happy.
“Will you put that in?” he asks when the baking sheet is full.
I take it over to the oven and open the door, letting out a burst of heat. As I slide the tray in, he calls, “And set the timer for ten minutes?”
I do that, then I return to the island and watch him fill another sheet. I’m so glad we’re not in our cell anymore. I like seeing him in the striped apron. I like that he’s doing something he enjoys. I enjoy it too. Watching him. Helping clean up.
As he hands me the mixer bowl to rinse, he says, “When the cookies are done, maybe we could take some into the library?”
“Maybe we could start a new book,” I suggest.
He smiles. “I’d like that.”