Page 32 of Unbroken

"He's safe with Zoya."

As we get to my car, I feel a little guilty—until I remember that Luka is with the Kopolovs, and I’m confident that they are feeding him and entertaining him and takingcare of him. We were supposed to go back to the house and grill food and have dinner. Like a family. But Mom's at peace now, she's taking her meds, and I need a little time to myself.

"See you back at the house?"

"Yeah," I tell him with a little nod. I do want to say goodbye to my nephew, and I’m starving. But I'm not gonna stay long because I need to get home. I need to veg out on my couch and maybe eat some ice cream and doomscroll for a little bit. "I'll see you there," I tell him.

I get in my car, and he gets on the back of his bike and starts it up. It rumbles beside me, and I pull up my phone, checking my messages.

Why hasn't he left yet? Is he making sure that I get home alright, or… He hasn't moved. I pretend I'm not looking at him in my peripheral vision and start my car.

Ortryto. A strange little clicking sound happens when I turn the key. Disbelieving, I turn it again.

And again.

And again.

Fuck.

Vadka is watching me, his helmet on, his huge bike rumbling beneath him, but he doesn't move. Finally, he swings his leg off the side of the bike, walks over to me, and raps a knuckle on my window. I roll it down.

"Won't start?"

"Yeah," I say with a sigh. “I have no idea what's wrong.”

"Pop the hood," he rumbles. His eyes are narrowed on me because obviously, he thinks this has something to do with me neglecting the care of my car. With a sigh, I pop the hood. He pokes around, looks at things that I have no clue about because I'm not a car person, and he scowls and shakes his head.

"Hey, my service stuff is up-to-date, okay? Don't start judging me, buddy."

A brisk wind has kicked up, and I'm cold. I rub my bare arms. It was a warm day that's quickly faded to overcast and chilly, and I'm kicking myself for not bringing a sweatshirt or sweater or something.

He looks at me curiously. "Why did your mind go there? Why are you thinking that?"

"Because earlier, you were saying shit about me not taking care of my car," I say with a shrug. "I mean, obviously, right?"

He bends over the hood of my car, and a lock of hair falls across his forehead. I want to brush it off. I want to tell him he doesn't have to do this because I would feel shitty if he got grease on that perfectly white shirt. But I'm too mesmerized by the span of his large hands on each side of my car, the way his lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the memory of how he handled my mother with such perfect ease.

Oh, Vadka.

"I'm not checking in on how well you cared for your car, Ruthie. I'm checking to see if someone has fucked around with it."

For the past years since my sister was married into this family, I've only been tangentially related to them. And now this is the first time I'm realizing that the life Vadka—and even my sister—lead is so vastly different from mine.

Yes, I've given them information when I found it. Yes, I've befriended the family, but I can't ever remember wondering if someonefucked around with my car.

What does this mean? I remember going shopping with Mariah, and she would have bodyguards. I remember the little red light flashing on her phone, indicating that Vadka was tracking her location at all times. I thought it was a little much, a little over the top, and I never really understood what was going on.

But I'm starting to understand now.

I rub my arms again, and it does little to warm me up.

"Put my jacket on," he rumbles, jerking his head at a leather jacket strewn across his seat.

No. I don't want to put his jacket on. It will smell like him and be all warm and leathery, and it's so fucking intimate, and I'm not in a place where I welcome intimacy. Not now. So I shake my head.

"I'm fine."

His eyes flicker to mine, and I wonder if he's going to push the issue, but he only shakes his head and goes back to the car.