Page 25

Agafon, on the other hand, would bristle and grow angry at any chance a conversation could steer toward the topic of Nikandr. Hearing Agafon now divulge information about his brother, the man I once dated back in college, is not only surprising and shocking but also, in a strange way, a sign of progress between us.

“Involved how?” I ask, treading carefully, not wanting to scare him off from talking about Nikandr. He might realize he made a mistake; he might shut down.

Agafon’s gaze now fixes behind me, on the wall. I can tell he’s in some emotional pain and inch closer, letting go of his hand to gently rub up and down his arm in support.

“Nikandr...” Agafon's jaw tightens, his words carefully chosen. “Nikandr used to run with them. He started off as a customer, and we worried for him. We had to control him, so I made some decisions that might have led to where we are now. I... I refused to give him money, thinking he’d only buy drugs. Next thing we knew, he turned into a courier for the Sokolovs. We were furious, but he never listened. I should have seen the signs, but I thought he’d turn his life around as long as I stayed by his side.

But he never did. He was getting into all forms of trouble and fights. ”

I shift on the bed, unconsciously moving closer as his story unfolds. “What happened then?”

“What didn't happen? Fights. Overdoses. Disappearing for weeks. Showing up bloodied or worse.” His hands flex against the sheet. “I tried everything. Threats. Bribes. Rehabilitation centers. Nothing worked.”

I can picture it—Agafon trying to save his brother while simultaneously taking control of the family business, with responsibility crushing down on him from every angle possible. My heart bleeds for him.

“I tried for so long to keep his reckless side under control. I had guards on his trail to call me at the first hint of trouble. I thought I was helping him, but maybe…” his voice wavers, and I see the pain on his face, hear it in his voice. “Maybe I enabled him.”

“Oh, Agafon!” I hush, my heart breaking for him. Every word Agafon says is laced with guilt. He’s blaming himself for not being able to protect his younger brother from the path Nikandr chose. Without thinking, I slide up the bed and kneel, cupping his cheek in my hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“He’s my responsibility,” Agafon continues, his eyes glassy.

“But I failed him. I first noticed him getting into trouble when he was much younger. I chalked it up to him acting out because our father died. Young boys, they can’t handle their pain, you know?

Maybe if I’d known what to do then, we wouldn’t be where we are today. ”

“No,” I say softly and move even closer.

“I don’t know,” he closes his eyes and grimaces.

“Nikandr didn’t think so. He defected from the family a few years ago.

He was missing for years, and sometimes, we’d hear snippets about his whereabouts from people who stumbled upon him.

Nikandr in Moscow. Nikandr in Berlin. Nikandr overdosing in some alley.

Nikandr is working for rivals. Every time I sent someone to find him, he'd vanish again.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper. My legs now hurt beside me, and I turn to stretch them out, sliding up to sit beside Agafon, my legs stretched out before me, Agafon’s shoulder next to me.

“We tried reaching out, but he wanted us out of his life. We tried keeping our doors open—keep them open even now—but he wants no part in our family,” Agafon says in a haunted voice.

“You think you failed him,” I say gently, trying to talk him out of this belief. But before that, I had to get him to admit how he truly feels.

His eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head. “I know I failed him.”

I feel the pain in his words, a desperation to prove him wrong. “No. That's not how it works.”

“Isn't it? I'm the eldest. After our father died, they became my responsibility. All of them.”

“People make their own choices, Agafon,” I say gently. “Even brothers. Even family.”

He grimaces. “You don't understand.”

“I understand more than you think.” I pause, debating how much to reveal. I don’t want to say too much because it might bring Agafon more pain. However, there is something he needs to know. Something that might help. “Nikandr and I…when we were together, he was not in a good place.”

Understanding darkens Agafon's expression. “He was using.”

“Yes. But even then, do you know what he talked about?” I shift closer, our shoulders almost touching now. “His big brother. How Agafon would be disappointed. How he wished he could be what Agafon wanted him to be.”

There’s a flicker of pain so raw in his expression that it makes my chest ache.

“He never stopped looking up to you,” I continue. “Even when he was at his worst. That doesn't sound like failure to me. His failures were personal. Nothing to do with you or anyone else.”

“You think so?” he asks, with such hope that I smile.

I reach out and link my fingers through his again. “I know so.”

A silence falls over the room, and it’s then that I realize I've somehow migrated fully onto the bed, close enough to be shoulder to shoulder.

“He's been in touch recently,” Agafon says finally. “Just messages. Letting us know he's alive. That he's... getting better.”

“That's good,” I say, genuine relief in my voice. “That's really good.”

His fingers, still interlinked with mine, gently trace patterns through my hand. He’s seeking comfort, I think. We sit in comfortable silence, and when Agafon’s eyes grow heavy from the exhaustion of the day and he shifts to lie down properly, I shuffle to leave.

But his hand catches mine.

“Stay,” he says, looking up at me. “Just... stay.”

I hesitate, only briefly. Not because I don’t want to stay, but because he needs his rest undisturbed. But when he scoots over and makes more space, I realize he needs comfort, too.

“Alright,” I murmur and give him a small smile. “I’ll stay.”

He smiles and pulls the cover off my corner of the bed. I slide in, and he gently throws it over me with one arm.

Eventually, he reaches out, and his hand curls into mine. I watch as his breathing evens out, and then, I fall asleep too.