Page 59 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

A tear drops onto the page, pulling the ink up into its droplet and making it swirl around. I brush it away with trembling fingers, streaking and smudging some of the other words. Frowning, I wipe my cheeks so another doesn’t fall.

I can’t ruin this. It’s all I have of him. I’ll need to laminate it or something if I want to keep it forever.

Ugh. What is the matter with me? I’m supposed to be moving on, not planning on how to save and keep the broken pieces of this brief time in my life.

My facial expressions must display my internal torment, because Eleanor’s brows come together in concern. “Nicole, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what happened,” she begs .

“Nothing happened,” I say, hearing the unsteady rhythm of my voice. “I just can’t stay. I can’t live like this.”

“I didn’t realize you were so unhappy here,” she says softly after a moment.

“I’m…” I trail off, glancing up out the front window of the car, watching as a few people board one of the buses.

Idly, I wonder where that bus is going, but not with the same kind of squirmy thrill I normally would.

It strikes me that I’ve never been sad like this, leaving a place.

I’ve been excited, maybe a bit nervous, but generally in a positive state of mind.

I normally love a fresh start. But this time…

I can’t help thinking about how lonely I’m going to be.

Again. And this time, I won’t have anyone to blame but myself.

“I’m not,” I realize. “But I will be. This life isn’t for me. I can’t do it.”

She frowns. “You don’t think Dimitri could make you happy?”

He definitely could.

She can see the answer on my face; I don’t have to say it out loud. “Then you don’t think he would ? You don’t think he cares about you enough to make sure you’re happy?”

I shake my head. “He would, I’m sure, but what if it’s not enough? I’d end up feeling bad because he was unhappy that I was unhappy… It’s a cycle. I can break it before it even starts. It’s the kinder thing to do, for both of us.”

Her frown deepens, and she shifts in her seat so she can face me more fully, a look of accusation written plainly on her face. “I’m sorry, but I cannot have understood you right. Are you telling me you’re leaving because you’re worried that at some point in the future you might be unhappy?”

“I know myself,” I say defensively. “And in my experience, it’s best to get ahead of these things.”

I’m not sure how I expected her to react, but it’s not with a high-pitched, mocking, childish comeback.

“Oh boo-hoo , I’m running away from my sex god boyfriend who would burn down the world to keep me safe because I’m not 100% sure we’ll live happily ever after.

” She rolls her eyes. “That’s you. That’s what you sound like. ”

I cut her a look, and a pretty pink blush colors her cheeks. “Eleanor—”

“I’m sorry, but that’s just fucked up.”

“Don’t judge me,” I hiss. “You don’t know me, Eleanor. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

She sighs, and her shoulders drop. “Sorry… got a bit caught up. It’s just… the possibility of being unhappy is life , Nicole. What you’re describing is life. You can’t control every aspect so you’re never unhappy. That’s not how it works.”

“It’s worked for me all these years.”

Her face softens. “Okay, look, Nicole. Lord knows we’ve all got our demons, but I’m not letting you leave thinking you’re doing the hard thing and making some huge sacrifice when in reality you’re just running away.

You love him,” she accuses. “And he loves you. You’re scared.

And there’s nothing wrong with being scared, but—”

“I’m not,” I defend. “I just refuse to live like a prisoner.”

She squints at me. “So don’t,” she says, shrugging. “I told you—you don’t have to do this like how Mac and I do. There are other ways. Don’t you want to be with him?”

I scoff. “It’s not that simple! The cops are looking for me, and an entire Russian mafia knows I had millions of dollars of their money. They’re always going to keep coming after me.”

“So? Nicole, those three have a combined IQ of, like, 600. They could easily figure out another way—you don’t have to leave. Of course there are other ways. I reject that reason. Try again.”

“He doesn’t really want me to stay,” I confess, feeling my chest cave, pulling down my shoulders in a protective curl.

I thought after the night he killed the Volkevich leader that he agreed we were worth fighting for.

I hoped last night he’d at least try to talk me out of it.

But… seeing that duffle this morning, and realizing how easy it was for him to let me go…

He’s a fighter—it’s what he does; it’s all he does—and he didn’t fight for me. No one ever has.

It hurts so much.

“What makes you think that?” she demands incredulously.

My nose is starting to drip, but it feels too undignified to sniffle at this exact moment.

“Because if he wanted me to stay, he would have… said something, or done something so I’d understand.

I was honest with him about my reasons for wanting to leave—why couldn’t he have told me that we’d find another way?

I feel like he didn’t even try to convince me. ”

She lifts both hands and covers her eyes, rubbing harshly. It makes me bristle, even before she groans, “The two of you are going to give me an ulcer. You’re so stubborn.” She levels her index finger at my face. “That is a total cop-out.”

“What? Why?”

“Girl, be so fucking for real—that man is repressed. They all are. They kill people for a living. You don’t get into that business because you’re in touch with your emotions.

Take Mac, for example. He didn’t reason with me to get me to live with him, he—” she cuts off abruptly, cheeks flushing. “Never mind, bad example.”

“He what?”

Her cheeks stain redder. “Let’s just say it wasn’t a calm, pleasant, um…

face-to-face conversation. But anyway, my point is, of course Dimitri wants you to stay.

I’ve never seen him like he is with you.

He loves you,” she repeats, louder, as if volume was the reason it didn’t land the last time she said it. “Don’t you love him?”

I sigh.

Again, she sees the answer on my face. “Nicole, what are you doing?!” she cries.

“Why didn’t he say it?” I insist. “I explained my concerns last night; he could’ve—”

I stop.

So that is it, then? You have decided? You chose for us both?

I didn’t explain my concerns. He came in, and I told him what I’d already decided. He didn’t suggest alternatives because I didn’t let him. He even pointed it out to me. Why would he confess his love when I was pushing him away?

That’s what I do; I push people away. Moments ago, I was lamenting how lonely I was going to be, like it’s not always my fault. It totally is. I’m always the one that moves. I’m always the one who leaves. It’s a pattern of behavior.

The blood drains from my face. Oh no. And I did exactly what I accused him of doing. I decided, and I just expected him to go along with my decision. I assumed that if he had a strong enough alternate point of view, he’d push.

But instead, I hurt him. I made him think I didn’t care enough to find a way to stay with him .

“Fuck,” I curse slowly. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah,” she agrees without hesitation.

“But… he’s usually so confident and forceful and blunt ! He’s always saying exactly what he thinks.”

My uncomfortable revelations seem to have calmed her somewhat, because she considers my question and all the anger is gone from her voice when she tells me, “I think it’s easy to assume that someone who says what they think without sugarcoating it is going to be a good communicator, but there’s more to it than that. ”

I chew on my lip, turning that one over. “I guess it is pretty hard for him to understand subtext sometimes,” I agree, thinking back on all the missed jokes, and that is what I said.

She nods. “There’s a difference between being blunt and being emotionally intelligent.

Dimitri says what he thinks, not what he feels.

He may not have the tools to understand or express how he feels.

Most people don’t. You clearly don’t, even though you’re in, like, the top five smartest people I know. ”

My lower lip pops out from between my teeth as my jaw falls slack, and I stare at her, feeling especially prickly and raw from being read like a fucking book. “Whoa. What the hell, Eleanor?”

She shrugs, totally unrepentant as she senses her imminent victory.

I huff a sigh. “Are you some kind of secret therapist or something?”

Her smile is a little rueful this time. “Did you know that they’ve done studies that show that people who read a lot are more empathetic? I was kind of a loner growing up—I read a lot; still do.”

I flash her a half-smile and sit back in my seat. My leg jiggles as I turn over what she’s said. “So, I would have to do all the emotional labor for us?”

“Maybe, or maybe just this time you do. You could try letting him know that you need him to be more open about his feelings—you’re allowed to ask for that, you know—and if he cares, he’ll try to do it for you.

And I think we both know he cares,” she winks.

“Sometimes you have to learn together how to communicate.”

I stew on that. She’s right.

And that means I owe Dimitri one hell of an apology.

I groan. “I can’t believe what I said to him. I can’t believe I… We have to go back.”

She hoots triumphantly, happy tears shining in her eyes. “Yeah, we do! Take that, unhealed trauma—today, love wins!”

My mind is racing. I know we have hours until they return from their mission, and I have plenty of time to plan what I’ll say, but I’m anxious to start. I may even write myself a little script.