Page 34

34

SUTTON

“What did he say exactly?” I demand for the third time. “I want verbatim quotes. Don’t you dare paraphrase.”

Artem sighs with the patience of a saint. “They touched down. They’re on their way here. He sent the text a while back, so they should be here soon.”

“‘They’?” I clarify. “As in him and Sydney?”

“The text doesn’t mention your sister by name but he said everything went well in Nevada. That has to mean that he has Sydney.”

“Speculation, but I’ll allow it.” I dig the heels of my hands into my tired eyes. “Did he say anything else after that?”

“Only that they touched down.”

I jump off the bar stool and start pacing.

I know I’m being a pain in the ass—I can feel every millimeter of how annoying I’m acting—but I can’t turn it off. It just keeps pouring out of me, unchecked and uncheckable.

“Did he say what happened to Paul?”

Saint Artem’s patience continues. “No. But if I had to guess, I’m guessing he’s worm food.”

My nose scrunches. “Morbid, Artem.”

“It’s the circle of life.” He grins unapologetically, then starts singing from The Lion King soundtrack.

“You don’t have to wait with me, you know,” I tell him, taking another anxious lap around the kitchen. “I’m okay to sit here and vibrate with nerves all by lonesome.”

“Right,” he snorts. “If I take my eyes off you for one second, you’re gonna pace right through a plate-glass window, and then Oleg will skin me and turn me into a lampshade. Will you sit the hell down and take a breath?”

“I’m nervous.”

“You’re panicky,” he accuses. “And I don’t see why. Oleg’s got this. He made you a promise and he’s going to deliver. I know he is.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s Oleg fucking Pavlov. He’s the motherfucking Beast.”

I’m about to roll my eyes at Artem when I hear the rev of an engine. “Oh my God! That’s them! It has to be, right?”

“Wait right here. I’ll check.”

Ironically, for all my pacing in the last hour, I can’t seem to get my legs to cooperate now. I stand there uselessly in the kitchen, rooted to the floor, waiting for Artem to come back.

This has to be a dream.

There’s no way it’s really happening.

If Sydney is truly here, it’s because at long last, she’s finally out of Paul’s reach.

That’s almost impossible to imagine.

I hear footsteps. Too heavy to be Sydney’s.

A shadow falls across the doorway. I hold my breath. Is she…?

Then Artem steps back into the kitchen.

My face falls dramatically. “Oh.”

He scowls. “Gee, thanks. This is the thanks I get for staying with you and answering your incessant questions.”

“Sorry, Artem. I’m just?—”

But he doesn’t get to hear my half-assed apology because at that moment, Oleg rounds the corner…

Right alongside my sister.

“Sydney!”

“Sutton!”

“Syd!”

“Sut!”

Just like that, the curse trapping my feet to the floor is lifted.

We run at each other, head on, hands outstretched, until we collide and she wraps her arms around me so tightly that I can’t breathe.

But it doesn’t matter if I can breathe or not, or if she can, because she’s here, she’s with me, she’s free and the world at last has shown that maybe it’s capable of being kind after all.

I have my sister again.

We tumble to the ground together like we used to do as kids, her hands still locked around me, my legs wrapping around her.

I’m vaguely aware that we’re making a spectacle of ourselves but I couldn’t possibly care less.

“You’re here!” I exclaim over and over again. “You’re actually here!”

“I’m here,” she murmurs back every time. “I’m actually here.”

Eventually, we pull ourselves apart, but not entirely—just enough so we can see eye to eye.

Sydney grins as she looks overhead and marvels at the vaulted ceilings. “I can’t believe you actually live here, Sut. This place is amazing.”

I couldn’t possibly care less about the ceilings, though. I can only look at her.

“How are you? Are you okay?”

“How are you ? Should we even be doing this—aren’t you pregnant?”

Laughing, I pull back just a little just in case we do happen to be squashing the baby.

“I am indeed pregnant,” I agree, pointing to my modest little baby bump.

“Disgusting. This is what you look like pregnant?” she says. “Outrageous. Unfair.”

We talk over each other, barely answering the other’s questions, still a mess of tangled limbs on the kitchen floor. It’s not until Oleg clears his throat loudly that we remember that we have an audience.

“Sorry,” I mutter, taking the hand Oleg’s offering me before he pulls me to my feet. “Got carried away.”

“Understandable,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

“Frankly, I quite enjoyed that,” Artem quips. “Who wouldn’t enjoy two cute blondes rolling around on the floor together? Add some bikinis, some baby oil, and?—”

I punch him in the arm until he shuts up, laughing. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Ship’s already sailed on that one.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn to Sydney and take her hand. “Syd, this obnoxious one over here is Artem. It may not seem like it, but he’s actually a pretty decent guy. As his wife and kids will attest.”

I emphasize the last part, because Faye would have his balls in a jar on the mantle if she heard him making jokes about bikini wrestling.

Sydney gives him a shy smile. While she’s shaking his hand, I give her the once-over.

She’s lost a lot of weight. The white t-shirt she’s wearing hangs on her the same way it would on a coat hanger. Her usually blushing cheeks are pale and hollowed in. New gray hairs streak sneakily amongst her blonde side bangs.

“You look exhausted,” I murmur.

“Is that your diplomatic way of telling me I look like shit?” Sydney asks. “Because I know. I look like shit.”

“You do not. You just need a good night’s sleep in a real bed.”

Longing transforms Sydney’s features as she sighs. “Man, that does sound good.”

“Come on.” I gesture for her to follow me. “Let me show you to your room.”

I expect her to follow me, but instead, she turns to Oleg, her eyes softening. “I just want to thank you properly, Oleg. If it weren’t for you, I’d be the one lying on the ground with my face blown off.”

My eyebrows hit the top of my forehead, but no one is paying attention to me.

“How can I ever thank you?” she finishes.

“Seeing you and Sutton reunited is thanks enough,” he replies graciously.

Sutton’s eyes brighten. She hesitates for a split second before she lunges forward and throws her arms around Oleg.

Even he seems taken back by the gesture, because he stands there stiffly for a moment before returning her hug awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Sydney whispers sincerely. Then she releases him and turns to me. “I’m ready to see my room now.”

I hook my hand through her arm and lead her towards the staircase. Her head swivels from one side to the other, but I can tell she can’t take too much in.

There’s a veil over her eyes, fatigue weighing down her movements.

I show her to one of the guest bedrooms along the same hall where my bedroom is situated. It has an amazing view of the gardens, a small walk-in closet, and a gorgeous little lounge area complete with a flat screen and stereo system, though the real selling point for her right now is a warm mattress with the covers turned down.

“Here you are. Home sweet home.”

“Wow,” Sydney says again. “This house is unbelievable.”

“We moved in recently. Right after we got back from Nassau. I would have told you, of course, but… you stopped answering my calls.”

Sydney winces. She lowers herself down onto the loveseat and looks up at me with cloudy eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sutton. I should have kept you in the loop, but it was getting harder and harder to contact you without Paul noticing.”

“Is he really dead?”

Sydney nods. “I wasn’t kidding. He really did get his face blown off.”

“Jesus.”

A shiver runs over her body. She tries to cover it up by getting to her feet and walking to the window.

“It’s so beautiful here. So peaceful.”

I join her by the window. “Are you okay?” I ask gently.

“I wasn’t hurt, Sut, not really. Just a few bumps and bruises. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not what I meant. You saw him die, Syd. I know he was a brute, but you were with him for a long time.”

There’s that shiver again, crawling up her spine despite her best efforts to suppress it.

“It still feels like… like a scene from a movie,” she decides, her voice breaking. “He answered his phone thinking you were the one calling. And then it was Oleg. He freaked out a little, grabbed me… p-put the gun to my head…”

I grab her hand, my heart jumping to my throat. “You must have been terrified.”

“I was. Right up until he started insulting you.”

I do a double-take. “He did what?”

Syd combs her limp hair out of her face, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “I think he was just trying to get a rise out of Oleg. It was working, too. Oleg looked like he was ready to bury Paul alive. But he still didn’t shoot.”

“He knows how much you mean to me, Syd. He would never have compromised your safety that way.” I grip her arm a little tighter. “How did you get away?”

“I guess I got so pissed that I didn’t care if I lived or died. I head-butted him…” She frowns at the memory. “But with the back of my head, kinda? I don’t know; it all happened so fast. Anyway, then Oleg shot at him. I think a bunch of other guys did, too, because the next thing I knew, he was on the ground, at my feet. Dead.”

That sisterly twang of shared pain singes through me like fire. I squeeze her again, though gently. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m finally free of him, Sutton,” she says in a small voice. She turns to me, lip trembling. “What does it say about me that I’m scared of what comes now?”

“It says that you’re traumatized. You’ve been in an abusive relationship for most of your adult life and you’re not sure what to do with your freedom.” I hug her from behind and rest my chin on her shoulder. “But don’t worry—I’ll help you figure it out.”

She twists around to give me a kiss on the forehead, then sighs. “I think I need to sleep.”

“Come on.” I lead her to the bed and pull back the covers. I help her out of her clothes and nestle her into the soft pillows.

“God, this feels like heaven.”

I stroke her forehead until her eyes start to get heavy. “Sleep now. Everything will look better tomorrow.”

She fights sleep as she looks at me, her eyelids fluttering with the effort. “I didn’t need to worry about you, little sister. You were always a survivor.”

“If I am, it’s only because of you.”

She smiles as she starts to drift off. “I don’t agree but I’m happy to take… to take… credit…”

Chuckling, I pull the covers over her chest. “We can argue about this tomorrow. For now, sleep.”

Before I even leave the room, Sydney is snoring softly.