Chapter 41
The rhythmic melody of the waves, the tang of the salty air, and the soothing sensation of the sand beneath my feet had always been my happy place. Images of the many summers all of us spent plotting our lives whirled inside my mind. I drew in a deep breath.
I never imagined I’d ever experience this. I closed my eyes and mouthed her name, loving the way it felt on my tongue. My mind drifted to the night when she played for the first time for me. That was several weeks ago, and now my beautiful girl played weekly for us.
Sometimes she’d play and Kinsley would sing. There was something magical about those nights. Isabella would often draw the two of them. There was always a sadness in her eyes, and it only fueled me.
The need to find their missing season sister had become a personal mission of mine. Oftentimes, I let it consume me. How would she fit into our family? Would she be willing to move here to be with us? Did she have a husband and children of her own?
There were so many unknowns. The only man with information about her true identity was dead. The records that Owen had originally sent were given to Fedorov and had been destroyed years ago. Once the operation was complete, and the Mask was no more, there wasn’t a need for them.
Fedorov didn’t leave traces. He was meticulous—a way for him to keep up the facade he operated under.
So it only made it harder to navigate. Knowing the vast size of the United States made it daunting in every way.
I shifted my focus and took several cleansing breaths, letting a sense of serenity envelop me.
Just last summer, we welcomed Kinsley into the family.
Now it was Victoria and Declan’s turn. My head whipped up as the warm, gentle breeze carried the joyful laughter of my son playing outside on the newly built playground.
His bare feet scampered across the sand, and his gleeful giggles punctuated the air.
My heart swelled large inside my chest as I gazed out through the open window. Christopher King and Vincent Caruso ran around kicking his favorite ball with him. Sophia King and Martina Caruso clapped happily as they supervised the rambunctiousness.
The sun played off Declan’s hair and painted the scene with hues of burnished copper and gold. I shivered, a chill running through me despite the warmth of the day. The hair stood up on the back of my arms and neck, and I could almost hear her voice in this place.
“Be the glue.”
“Vanya,” I whispered her name.
Vanya and I were two lost souls when we met.
I’d never forgotten the day she tenderly tried to help remove the marker from my face.
I’d been shocked when Ivan handed her a bottle of vodka.
I had no idea she was going to use it to remove the stain.
I foolishly thought they’d brought it to numb the pain of some other type of removal. Easily, I slipped into the past.
She squeezed my hand. Hers was small and warm, like Ivy’s. Thinking about what a mess that had been made, my throat tightened. Vanya’s eyes met mine again. There was no flinch of disgust, no hesitation. Just understanding as she stared at the wound on my wrist.
“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the bed.
I didn’t argue, though I wanted to run, to disappear, to do anything but sit.
I lowered myself onto the edge of her bed.
The mattress dipped as she sat beside me, close but not too close.
Her room was painted a lavender shade and smelled of vanilla.
It had a haphazard feel, other than the small desk in the corner, which was neat.
Textbooks sat in a pile. The lamp on the table gave off a soft glow. The posters lining the walls were all of bands I didn’t know. They looked edgy, full of defiance and maybe rebellion. She pulled her knees up, resting her chin on them as she studied me.
“What happened?”
I swallowed, my throat thick. I didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to say. Whatever it was, they did a number on you didn’t they?”
I nodded and then hung my head. She didn’t push. The silence stretched between us, then a sense of peace followed.
“It was Cameron Evans.”
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’ve heard he’s a mean one. Makes me glad I don’t go there.”
“Where do you go?” I asked.
“Private tutor,” she mumbled.
“Oh, can I get their name?”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Trust me, you don’t want it.”
“Why not?”
She sighed, “Because mine is miserable. She makes me do double the work and my mom insists I do ‘school’ downstairs.”
Her tone was flat, but there was something underneath. Something bitter, resentful. It seemed like a dream come true. But something told me Nan probably wouldn’t go for it. I glanced toward the desk again. The stack of textbooks was neat and orderly, with a few notebooks off to the side of them.
I shifted uncomfortably, praying her bed wouldn’t squeak too loud as I did. “Still sounds better than school.”
Her lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah, sometimes, I suppose it is. I don’t have to wear a silly uniform. Or be bothered by a bunch of people. Typically, it’s just the tutor and me. But a nicer one would be better.”
I didn’t know what to say about that. The silence stretched between us again, this time a little heavier.
“How do you know Ivan?”
“I don’t, really. Other than we’re in the same year. I’m new at the school.”
“Wait.” Her voice was gentle when she finally spoke again. “You saw me.”
I stiffened. My pulse slammed against my ribs.
It didn’t take a genius to know she had put two and two together.
I didn’t have to ask what she meant. I had seen her.
But I thought for sure she hadn’t seen me.
Every glance I’d given her that day. Her eyes had been vacant, and she had been staring at the ground.
I forced myself to meet her gaze, those green eyes that were so much like Nikolai’s. Only hers weren’t sharp like his. They were softer, full of something I couldn’t name. I looked away first.
“Did it hurt?” Her voice was quiet.
She wasn’t talking about my face. I flexed my fingers, staring down at the raw red mark across my wrist. My stomach twisted with shame. “I didn’t get that far.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “Mine didn’t, not at first. I was too numb inside.”
She reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to. I didn’t. Her fingers brushed over the mark, light as air, like she was trying to erase it.
“It doesn’t fix anything, you know. Unless you’re one of the lucky ones.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, well, I don’t have any luck, so I guess I’m stuck.”
Her thumb traced the inside of my wrist, over the place where my pulse still beat. “But it feels like it might.”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
She exhaled and ruffled the hem of her oversized hoodie. “He’ll try to save you.”
“He?”
“Ivan. He’s persistent, loves an underdog. No offense.”
“None taken. He’s probably wasting his time, though, with me. I doubt I’m worth saving. Hence this.” I touched my wrist this time.
“Do me a huge favor?”
“What?” I asked warily.
“Let him.”
My throat almost closed as her words rattled around in my head. I didn’t get a chance to respond, though, because the door swung open. In Ivan strode, holding up a bottle of vodka like it were some kind of trophy.
I blinked, confused. “We’re not old enough.”
Vanya let out a sharp laugh, but Ivan just deadpanned before shaking his head. “I’m aware of that, hence no glasses. And as a Russian, you don’t just drink vodka. Not without rules, mate.”
I frowned. “You have rules?”
“Yeah, we’ll save those for another day. It’s to clean your face.”
I was still staring at the bottle. “What?”
Ivan grinned. “Vodka takes off permanent marker. It’ll sting, though. Can’t help that. Hey you stay with your grandparents, huh?”
“Yeah, why?”
“How are they with sleepovers?”
“Sleepovers? I don’t understand?”
“Yeah, either at your place or here?”
“Told you. It’s easier to just let him.” Vanya patted my hand and rose. “I’ll get a cloth.”
A small chuckle escaped, and my heart filled with a warmth I held exclusively for her and her alone. She was one of my most ardent supporters along the way and, despite the fact that I grew while she stayed the same, it never hindered our closeness.
We’d had so many conversations about our feelings.
She was one of the reasons I went into counseling.
I found I had a knack for it, was good at being a sounding board.
If only I’d had the educational knowledge to really help her.
I didn’t allow myself to play the ‘what if’ game, but when it came to Vanya, I did, and often.
I tried my hardest to be prepared for deep conversations with her. Aside from her diary, she’d never told anyone other than me the horrible details about her rape. When she confessed, I was all of fourteen years old.
Research sent me down dark and ugly paths as I tried to find coping techniques to suggest. As hard as that research was, it provided answers to her behavior and the risky choices she made almost weekly.
I closed my eyes and imagined the last time I’d been with her. She had been growing more and more distant and out of control. Ivan had asked me to talk to her. It was shortly before she ran away. She had been sitting alone in the garden, her favorite place aside from here.
“Hey there, mind if I sit a minute with you?” I asked, seeing the tears she angrily tried to wipe away.
She nodded, and I sat with her for several long minutes. “You seem so distant lately. I won’t ask if everything is okay because it’s obviously not.”
“Please don’t get on me about Donovan. I know it was stupid. The last thing I need—”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m more worried about the alcohol use and the partying you’ve been doing.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Sometimes I just need to feel something other than numbness. Then I do stupid shit and hate myself for it. I can’t break free from the cycle. No matter how hard I try.”
“It’s understandable. You’re stuck in that place, afraid to move on.
Fear is keeping you captive. Every decision you make is filtered through what you experienced.
You can’t escape it, so you do things, dangerous things, because you’re the one in control at that moment.
You rationalize it because it makes you feel powerful. It’s a way to cope.”
“I swear I’m not a whore,” she sobbed.
“I never said you were. It doesn’t matter how many boys you’ve slept with. The problem is they don’t care about you. They’re using you and that’s what I hate. You don’t deserve pain, Vanya, you didn’t ask to be raped.”
“But I went willingly to that party. No one forced me.”
“You were twelve. And willingly going or not doesn’t change a single thing. Those guys violated you.”
“Broke me,” she sobbed. “I hate them. Hate them so much it consumes me. I want to slit their throats from ear to ear. I want to cut their dicks off and shove them down their throats. But I can’t. I don’t even know who they are.”
I held her as her tears ran their course. “I wish you’d talk to someone,” I whispered, feeling inadequate.
“I talk to you,” she managed to get out between sniffles.
“I’m not a professional, though. My ability to help is limited. I want to do more to help, as does the family. We love you so much.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Everyone deserves love and respect. A beautiful girl once told me that. I didn’t believe her, especially as my face was streaked with red sharpie.” I reminded her of her words to me that day long ago.
She rocked her shoulder into mine. “Yes, but you’re an amazing person, unlike me. You’ll go on and probably be a world-renowned scholar and counselor doing studies on human behavior and trauma. You’re going to make a real difference in other people’s lives. I have nothing to offer anyone.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. What about Sebastian? He loves you and knows your worth.”
“Sebastian is a fool. I’m damaged, and he deserves someone who is whole. Someone who can be there for him, love him without fear of intimacy. I can’t be that for him ever. I don’t want to burden him with my brokenness. You should tell him it’s time to move on.”
“Fat chance of that happening. You know how he is. You’re his one and only true love, his—”
“Don’t say that word,” she groaned, punching me on the arm and then looping hers through mine. “Promise me one thing.” Her voice was filled with urgency.
“What?”
“Make sure he doesn’t pine away for me. Be the rational influence I know you are. Tell him how foolish the concept of soulmates is. Point out every case you can of people who start over and are a thousand percent happier for it.”
“That’s a mighty big ask, and while I agree with you on the idea itself, Sebastian is one stubborn guy.”
“I have faith in you. Now one last thing.”
“Sounds ominous,” I said. My voice grew serious.
“Remember that every one of you plays a part.”
“I don’t recall signing up for theater,” I replied.
“Ha ha. As I was saying, one of yours is to be the glue. When the world goes to shit and it will, my friend, I need you to stand in the gap and be the glue to hold everyone together.”
“Ah, the pressure. What happens if I fall apart?” I teased.
“That’s the beauty. You’re built different.
Your trauma has molded and shaped you. When everyone else falls apart and can’t find the wherewithal to put even one foot in front of the other, you instinctively know.
I don’t doubt that life will deal you shitty things now and again.
It’s inevitable, but you will without any effort at all, find yourself moving forward because that’s all you know how to do.
I wish I had some of that. Be the glue, Marcel. ”
That night, Vanya and I watched the sunset together, lost in our own thoughts.
And now, as I looked outside at another sun, this one not quite ready to set, I saw Sophia and Martina remove their sandals and join in on the fun.
Over the years, I’d often felt Vanya’s presence here, but today it was different, stronger. I struggled to put my finger on it; it was a cross between a cheer and a warning.
Be the glue, Marcel, I mouthed and then added out loud. “For you, I will be.”