Page 23 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

Okay, so I’m having fun. Certainly a lot more than I assumed I’d be having.

The magic show is entertaining, especially after the beer I’ve nearly finished drinking. It’s helped make the magician’s silly antics that cause the crowd to ooh and ahh more bearable.

It’s thanks to the people surrounding me that’s making this a pleasant time. Nora shrieks at almost everything the magician does, and Melissa and her husband have been nice, if not a bit comical. I don’t speak to Melissa at work often.

Then there’s Caleb.

Every time Nora reacts in her loud way, he’s rolling his eyes alongside me. He admitted he thinks magic shows are ridiculous. “Money grabbing” is how he described it, launching into an entire spiel about how magicians only trick people out of their hard-earned paycheques.

I laughed, pointing out he willingly came tonight, and earned a grin in response. A grin that made my stomach flip in a good way. In a way that’s been absent entirely too long.

I turn my head into my shoulder, breathing in the scent of sandalwood. I definitely should have dressed better tonight, underestimating the chill in the air, but Caleb was nice enough to lend me his sweater. It’s large and welcoming and cozy, making me want to curl up in it.

Every few minutes, in between the magician’s acts, he throws me a smile. That’s it. Just a simple acknowledgment, but it’s having such a relaxing effect on me, I’m grateful for him.

Caleb leans closer, his warm breath blowing along my nape with his question. “I’m grabbing another drink. Want a second?”

Given I’m only a few sips away from the bottom of mine, I nod, welcoming the prospect of more alcohol to blur my thoughts and get them off Caleb’s smile.

“You got it. Don’t enjoy the show too much while I’m gone.” He winks and disappears towards the bar somewhere behind us.

The second he’s gone, Nora and Melissa are both staring at me, with Nora looking seconds away from bursting. Even Melissa’s husband glances over, amused, before giving the front his attention.

“Don’t say anything,” I mutter to Nora, who only shrugs in response and twists around in her chair.

With her attention off me, I’m immediately hit with the strange but almost welcoming—simply for their familiarity—tingles that coast over the back of my neck and chill the length of my spine, making me shoot straighter in my chair.

Not again.

If I admitted this sensation to anyone outside Ava, they’d think I’m insane. A year ago, I did mention it to Ava, but she believes it’s linked to anxiety and suggested I reflect on the moments they happen to find a common thread between all instances.

It doesn’t feel like anxiety. It feels…well, if I’m honest with myself, it feels like I’m being watched.

It occurs too randomly to trace similarities between the occurrences. Too infrequently to really worry about. Except when it does happen, I do get worried. I get thrown back to another time, when men’s gazes were vile before they took .

My hand drifts to my arm, the urge to remind myself where I am too difficult to ignore, but with Caleb’s sweater covering me, the material ensures my nails don’t harm my skin.

While I’m grateful it saved me from self-harm, I’m also annoyed, stuck with trying to recite the numerous reminders Ava has drilled into my head over the years.

Breathe. I’m safe. Okay. They’re not watching me. No one is. I’m safe on the correct side of my protective barrier.

Needing something else to focus on, to get me away from my mental spiral, I twist towards the bar, eyes scanning over the thin crowd at the back of the room until spotting Caleb. He’s facing my way while the bartender is popping open two bottles.

Maybe he was behind the strange sensation. Doesn’t explain every other instance, but I’ll take the excuse this time.

Caleb returns and drops one bottle in front of me. He pushes his hair to the side and tilts his head to look at me, and?—

My vision rocks, hands clutching the edge of the table.

How did I not see it before now? It all makes so much fucking sense. My allure to Caleb. He reminds me of…of him. Of a name locked behind a wall, but in this instance, I allow it to slip through the crack made.

Of Dimitri Volkov.

It’s in the sweep of dark hair, his soulful eyes, his flirty grin, ignoring the fact I probably seem slightly insane.

Caleb looks nothing like him. His face is rounder, his hair longer, his build lankier. But he’s the closest reminder of Dimitri I’ve had in a long time, and Caleb’s unknowingly tossing away years of repressed memories and ricocheting me through the history I’m forever running from.

No. Brain, focus! My grip gets tighter around the edge of the table, my breaths forced between clenched teeth.

I need to ground myself, to reclaim the control of the moment.

So often, I have no control. I haven’t in a long fucking time, starting with the night my life changed. But this…Caleb… I must regain control.

Safe. Not real.

Caleb—real and safe. He’s real. He’s not Dimitri. He’s safe…I hope.

“You okay?” His gaze flicks over my face, searching for the answer. “Still cold?”

I’m not, but I bring his sweater tighter around me, welcoming the sandalwood scent. Dimitri never smelled like sandalwood. He— Whoa, nope! Don’t go there. Not worth the disturbed sleep when I unwittingly visit the past.

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good. Your sweater helps.”

“Looks better on you than me anyway. I’m half tempted to let you keep it.”

He’s flirting. Okay. I think I can handle this.

Past him, Melissa whips around, her smile creeping up in the corners. She winks before leaning into her husband again.

“I have to give it back so I can borrow it the next time I’m cold.”

Hey, look at me go. Flirting doesn’t happen often—meaning ever. My tongue never works to that extreme, but something has helped my brain flick from traumatized girl to functioning woman tonight, and I’ll take it. It’s a welcome reprieve from the norm.

He chuckles, a sound that sets him further apart from the person of my past. Dimitri’s chuckle promised a core-clenching intensity that both thrilled and excited me, while Caleb’s is lighthearted and friendly.

He leans back against his chair and drags his beer closer, highlighting another major difference.

Dimitri was always tense, stressed about his family and organization, hardly ever as lax as Caleb is.

And unless I’m imagining things, he leans a bit closer to me too.

After the show, we all walk about half a block down to get away from the crowd exiting the bar.

The four of them gather by the crosswalk going north while I turn to walk the opposite way.

Melissa and her husband say their goodbyes while Nora lingers, ignoring the green light giving them the right-of-way at the crosswalk.

“That was fun. See you Monday, Katya!”

“Bye.”

Caleb remains between the two crosswalks, his eyes flicking to the trio, to me, and back again. “You’re not coming?”

“I live this way.” I jerk my head in the direction of the opposite street.

Another look back and forth. “You shouldn’t walk home alone this late. I’ll take you.”

Heat blossoms across my chest, which only reminds me I’m still wearing his sweater. I remove it, and the evening chill of late summer, of a fall creeping up in the months to come, causes goosebumps to almost immediately sprout.

“I’ll be fine. I walk alone all the time, so no need. Thanks, though.”

He takes his sweater back only to drape it over my shoulders, clenching it tight around the neck before using the material to drag me closer to him, our bodies coming nearer than what being coworkers allows for.

My heart flies out of my chest. Panic at the sudden nearness. Anxiety over how to respond.

“I don’t have to,” he replies in a low tone, almost a growl, “but I want to. Wear my sweater because it’s chilly. Even if it’s a shame to cover you up.”

He wants to walk me home? Instinct has me wanting to escape his hold and go alone, considering we barely know one another. What’s to say when he gets me alone, he won’t try to kidnap me or something equally dangerous?

Because he’s a normal man offering to do a nice thing. Accept it. Be normal.

Normal. Normal I can do. I think. A man walking a woman home could be considered normal, if I was the kind of woman with a cushy past. It’s what I’m trying to become, though, so without another argument lined up, my head bobs once, uncertain what part of his speech I’m responding to.

“This way, you said?” Without waiting for my response, he starts across the intersection, tugging me after him.

“Y-yeah. It’s not far. I hope it won’t be a long trip for you afterwards. Seriously, you don’t have to do this.” The terrified side of me doesn’t want him to, but the therapeutic side trying to heal does. It’s a conundrum within my body.

Caleb shrugs, clearly unbothered by the thought of having to walk himself home later. “That’s what buses are for. Besides, it’s worth it.”

We walk a few more feet before he shoves his hands into his front pockets, his shoulders lifting up to his ears. When he talks, it’s with a casualness that suggests it’s a warm afternoon instead of chilly night.

“So… What led you to becoming a therapist?”

Attending counselling myself showed me the power behind helping someone through the hard times.

The mental load people silently carry because, until talking to someone, it’s a pain concealed behind expressions and a lack of trust and openness.

The horrors I survived at eighteen were terrifying, but knowing kids younger than I was live through the same and have no one to share that burden with—to help them understand and process it—changed my view.

Caleb’s question is common enough. Most people get a standard response: “I enjoy helping people.” While not a lie, it’s not the entire truth either, and I’m compelled to admit the truth to Caleb for some reason. Well, to be semi-truthful without giving away the details.

“I, uh, lived through something really shitty when I was younger. It changed my worldview, I guess, so I switched my major from teaching to psychology and trained to become a therapist.”

His gaze makes the side of my face prickle, but I don’t risk looking over, uninterested in his pity. If only he knew the details of said “shitty” thing…

“I’ve always heard people who end up in the field of psychology are the ones who had it the hardest at one point. The ones trying to ensure what happened to them doesn’t happen to others.”

For that statement, I do give him my attention, because it’s like he read me.

A welcome notion, strangely enough. The last man to read me so correctly was?—

“Yeah,” I murmur, because what else is there to say?

“Did you always want to work with kids?”

I nod. “They’re why I went into the field.

Counselling adults is enjoyable because they, you know, talk.

Reply to my questions. They’re attending therapy because they chose it, so it’s easier for them to open up.

With kids, while some request support, most are referred by their parents.

” Or in special cases, Children’s Services and courts.

“Half of them don’t want to be there, and the others think it’s all colouring and games.

Which is fine too, because counselling children is all about giving them a safe place and person to open up to.

Not many have that, and their brains are young and innocent, so to be that person is a bit of an honour.

It’s unfortunate not every child gets the chance to retain that innocence, you know?

Plus, considering I once wanted to teach elementary school, it felt right to do something similar but different. ”

Caleb steps out of the way from an oncoming couple, and the back of his hand brushes against mine. Old instincts urge me to jerk my hand away—to protect myself. But he feels good, and the sensation is quickly cooled. My muscles untense, my arm remaining in the same place.

Hey, look at me go. I did it.

Caleb never moves away, his touch lingering as he replies, “It’s a nice outlook, to be that person for kids, because you’re right.

As a teacher, I see the other side, and it’s not sunshine and rainbows, that’s for sure.

When I worked in schools, it was really difficult being one against thirty.

Tutoring in small groups makes supporting them easier, but even so, I have to be careful about boundaries. ”

“That’s why the centre hired for my role.” I smile up at him, realizing how genuine and easy it’s becoming. Being around most men takes effort I don’t usually have the mental bandwidth for. “Takes some of the load off you guys.”

His beaming grin finds me, his eyes almost twinkling in the fluorescent lights around us. “I’m a lucky man then.”

Heat builds in my stomach, and, thankful for his oversized sweater, I curl my hands into the material, burying my shyness.

This conversation is headed into places too fast for me. At least, that’s what I’m reading into it. So before we wander further into that territory, I ask, “What led you into teaching?”

He spends the remainder of the walk recounting stories about teachers from his youth.