Page 18 of Scarred Angel

VALENTINA

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Maybe to steer us away from the subject of Cole, or because I can’t decide which of the two pisses me off more. Five days, and not a single call. Not even a damn check-in. It stings more than I want to admit.

“And don’t lie to me, Maksim. I’m not that little girl who used to hang on your every word without question.”

“I remember that going a little differently,” he says with a laugh. “More like you fought me at every turn. Is that why you dragged me up here?”

My annoyance wavers. I grit my teeth to hide the smile threatening to break through. “Maxy,” I snap, the old nickname slipping out. “Answer the damn question.”

“I haven’t.”

“Lie.”

I step closer, searching his eyes for a crack, but he gives nothing.

“Valentina,” he huffs, “I haven’t been avoiding you for the reasons you think.”

“So I was right.”

“Val…”

“Tell me then. What reasons would those be?”

He said he’s been busy. Just that. But somehow, that hurts worse.

Has so much time passed that I don’t matter anymore? That even after everything, even after almost dying, he can’t be bothered?

The back of my throat ignites as the realization creeps in. He hasn’t left my mind since the hospital, while to him, I’m still just that pesky little girl he left behind, begging for scraps of his attention.

Pathetic.

“Oh, just important work shit, right?” My tone wavers, softer and shakier than I mean it to. I hate myself for letting him hear it.

“Vali—”

“Valentina.”

The only people who still call meValiare my parents and those close enough to feel like family. From Maksim, it feels wrong. Too juvenile.

His eyes narrow. “Valentina, if you think for one second that anything matters more to me than knowing you’re okay…then you don’t know me at all.”

“I don’t. And let’s be honest—you don’t know me either.”

His lips twitch, a shadow of a smile that never quite makes it. “That’s fair.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question. What kept you away?”

I don’t even know what I want him to say. The words carry the weight of a decade, not just the week. Judging by the tension in his jaw, I know he feels it too.

With a quiet sigh, he drops onto the bed, catching my crutches in one hand while offering the other to help me down beside him. The brush of his fingers sends sparks through me, and when our thighs touch, nervous energy swarms under my skin.

“Work, thousands of miles, and the years between us. There really isn’t much more to it.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You were just a kid, Valentina. I had a lot going on. After a while, I figured you’d just?—”