Page 61 of True North
Misha shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Okay.” JT slowed to take a bend in the road. When Misha didn’t say anything else, he said, “You want something to eat when we get home? I know it’s early for dinner, but—”
“I can make. It’s fine.”
Leave him alone, JT told himself. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Misha went ahead of him into the house, took off his shoes, and then stood there in the mudroom for a minute, staring blankly at nothing. JT finished removing his own shoes and went into the kitchen. Misha would follow him or not; Misha would talk to him or not. JT wasn’t going to push him.
He washed his hands, unloaded the dishwasher, and put some chicken in the fridge to thaw for the next day. When Misha didn’t make an appearance, JT went looking for him, and found him on the couch in the den, wrapped up in a blanket, fast asleep.
JT stood there in the doorway for a minute, watching him sleep. Misha’s chest rose and fell gently with each breath. JT’s initial joy at Misha’s return was fading, leaving him wrung out and unexpectedly sad. Maybe Misha was just tired, and he would sleep for a while and wake up in a better mood. Soon enough, he’d be happy to be home. They could swim in the lake after dinner or stay in and watch a movie. Everything would go back to normal.
Misha stirred in his sleep, turning his head to face the other way. JT went back to the kitchen and started peeling carrots for dinner.
He had a pot of stew simmering on the stove by the time Misha came shuffling into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in uneven tufts. He yawned and rubbed at his face as he entered the room. “You cooking?”
“Lentil stew.” JT closed his laptop and set it aside. “Good nap?”
Misha shrugged. He glanced at the TV—some random movie JT had picked to serve as background noise—then joined JT at the table, sitting across from him with his back to the TV. He sat there for a moment, staring at the table’s surface, before getting up again and going over to the sink for a glass of water.
“Misha,” JT said. “What’s going on with you?”
So much for keeping his mouth shut.
Misha drained his glass and filled it again, his jaw set at a stubborn angle that meant nothing but trouble. “Nothing is going on.”
JT knew he should let it go. He knew what was going on: Misha was worried about going to prison. Well, JT was worried about that, too. Instead of sleeping, he’d spent the past few nights lying awake fretting about Misha. He was spending a lot of money and effort trying to keep Mishaoutof prison, and now Misha was shutting him out completely. The touching reunion JT had pictured was crumbling further with each passing moment.
“You won’t even look at me,” JT said, the stress and frustration of the past few days solidifying into a lump in his throat. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Misha shrugged and drank his water, staring out the windows toward the lake.
Abrupt, unexpected fury rose up over JT like black water. “You won’t even—and you’ve been living with me all this time and you didn’t say a thing. I had to watch you get arrested and I had no idea what was going on. You could have fucking warned me.”
Misha didn’t move or transfer his gaze away from the windows. “It’s not your business.”
“Uh, wow,” JT said, too stunned to manage anything else. “It’s not my business?”
“No,” Misha said. He finally turned his gaze toward JT, and his flat, stubborn stare sent JT’s blood pressure through the roof. He couldn’t believe Misha was pulling this shit.
“I’m giving you a place to live!” JT snapped. “I’m paying for your English lessons, I’m driving you to your job, now I’m paying for yourlawyer.If you don’t want it to be my business, you should have stayed in the woods!”
Misha flinched. He finally turned his gaze to JT, and his eyes were hurt even though his expression was stony. “You said it’s not a problem for you. You said, I have money, I have space. But it’s not okay?”
JT rubbed a hand over his mouth. He was already sorry he had raised his voice. “I didn’t say that. Look, I just hate being left in the dark. I still don’t even know what happened. I’ve got a guy living in my house who might have killed someone, and I think it’s normal to feel a little concerned about that!”
Misha looked down at the glass in his hand, then set it on the counter. His shoulders slumped. “I make so much trouble for you.”
“That’s not—I didn’t say that.” JT felt like he had totally lost control of this conversation. Each new word he said only made things worse. “Misha, please. Will you come sit down? Let’s have a beer.”
Misha stared at the empty glass, his lips compressed. His pursed mouth worked like he was rolling words around in his mouth. His slumped posture didn’t change.
Frustration kicked at JT’s ribs. “Do you just want me to fuck off for a while? You came in here, so I thought—”
“I fuck off,” Misha said. “I go out.” He patted his pocket, probably checking for his phone, and gave JT a tight, unfriendly smile. “See you later.”
“You’re going out? Misha—”