I shake my head quickly. “No.”
He cocks his head like he knows I’m lying.
“I mean, yes, he was at my show, but I don’t know where he went after that. I mean, I haven’t seen him.” Damn, I’m a terrible liar. I sound breathless, and I’m speaking way too fast.
Maxim’s eyes narrow. He tries to peer past me, and when he does, his shoulders relax. “Oleg, what the fuck?”
I whirl to find Oleg behind me. He pulled on his jeans, but he’s shirtless, and there are no shoes on his feet. He’s certainly not hiding from these guys. Relief flows through me.
I’m suddenly overjoyed to have someone to share the weight of Oleg’s plight with. “He got attacked. Someone shot him,” I blurt, standing back from the door, so they can come in.
“What?” Maxim scans Oleg quickly.
“He got hit over the head and shot in the leg.” I point at the hole in his jeans. I washed the blood out, but the entire thigh area of his jeans is still stained rust.
“Fuck.” Maxim says something terse in Russian to Pavel who appears grim. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” I’m slightly offended. Of course, I took care of him. He’s my friend.
Oleg staggers back toward the bedroom, and Pavel follows him, not offering help but staying close.
“Do you know who attacked him? Did you see what happened?”
I shake my head. “No, he drove my van here to take me home. The next morning, I found him in the back of it, bleeding with a wound on the back of his head.”
Oleg appears with his shirt and boots on.
“Where the fuck is your phone?” Maxim demands. I bristle a little at the way he speaks to Oleg, but it also puts me at ease. They’re obviously comfortable with each other. There’s a rapport. Like I have with Flynn and the guys in the band.
Oleg doesn’t answer. Well, of course not, but he doesn’t try to communicate at all. I’ve noticed him do that with me, too, when he decides he doesn’t want to engage. It’s like he doesn’t even try.
“He smashed it,” I offer, even though I’m not sure Oleg wants me to share that.
Maxim stares at him, like he’s trying to puzzle it out. “Okay,” he says, like he’s got it handled. “Let’s get you home, buddy.”
Oleg looks at Maxim and tips his head my way.
Maxim pulls out his wallet and grabs all the cash in it. I catch sight of more than a few hundred dollar bills. He folds the wad in half and hands it all to me, pinched between his index and middle fingers. “Thank you for taking care of Oleg.”
“What?” I shove the bills back at him, offended. “I didn’t do it for the money.”
Oleg appears alarmed by my tone. His brows go up, and he watches my face carefully.
“No, no, no,” Maxim says smoothly. “I didn’t mean it to sound transactional.” He spreads his free hand in a peace-making gesture. “Not at all. I know you did it because you care about Oleg.”
I calm down a bit.
“But Oleg wants you to be taken care of. Please accept it.” He stretches his arm out toward me again.
I hesitate. I’m still a little offended. Or maybe I don’t like that Oleg’s leaving. He’s leaving, and I don’t have his number or know when I’m going to see him again.
This is so unlike me. Usually I’m the one running from a relationship.
My eyes suddenly get hot, and I blink rapidly. I still haven’t taken the money. I sort of hate that I’m talking to Maxim right now instead of Oleg.
Why is that?
Why is Oleg letting his friend speak for him? And why is he just leaving with them? Is he even going to say goodbye?
It pisses me off. I fold my arms across my chest. “Then let Oleg give it to me,” I challenge.
Maxim pivots, so his arm points toward Oleg. Oleg’s dark brows are down. He snatches the money from Maxim’s fingers and tosses it on my coffee table like he’s throwing it in the trash. He steps right into my space, cupping the back of my head, his mouth descending on mine before I even have time to breathe. To think.
The tears spear the inner corners of my eyes as I receive his kiss. His hand on my waist, his thumb cupping my cheek. When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against mine and stays there. He makes that soft humming sound he did after we had sex. His friends leave the apartment, standing out on the landing to give us privacy.
“Don’t do that to me,” I whisper, hurt still lacing my voice.
He pulls away, worried eyes studying my face.
“I don’t want an intermediary between us,” I explain because he obviously isn’t sure what I’m talking about.
He goes still, almost like I shocked him. Like he wasn’t aware of the way he just faded into the background the moment his friends arrived. He nods and bends his head to give me one soft kiss—a press of his lips to mine.
I don’t want him to leave. It’s crazy how much I don’t want him to leave. Even though I know this thing can’t go anywhere. I know exploring it will only lead to pain and the eventual end. Still, I cling to him. Wrap my arms around his back and press my body up against his in a hug.
“Get better soon,” I say, my voice rusty. It’s a stupid thing to say. It doesn’t encompass one-fifth of what I want to say to him. “Will you be at my show?”
Jesus.
Now I just sound clingy.
He freezes again, which tells me he doesn’t think he will be, but then he gives a single nod.
Hmm. I don’t quite believe him.
But there’s someone after him. Maybe he has to go into hiding now.
Fuck—maybe I’ll never see him again.
I catch his sleeve as he turns. “Oleg—”
He swivels back, that alarmed expression in place.
“Will you be? Really?”
He draws in a slow breath then nods.
I exhale.
“Be careful,” I say because now I feel guilty for asking him to come to my show when he’s obviously in danger.
He nods and catches my hand, squeezing it.
I still don’t want him to go. But his friends shift position in the hallway, and I notice the bulge of a handgun in Pavel’s jacket pocket, and I remember that I don’t belong in his world. Which means he can’t stay in mine.
“Bye,” I say quickly, turning away to pretend I’m cool. Because I am. I’ve had a lot of weird experiences in my short life. I’m in a band, and many of my friends do a lot of drugs. This will become another crazy story. Or maybe I’ll actually write the songs that have been eluding me for a while now.
Why, then, does it feel like such a loss when Oleg walks out my door?
Chapter 4
Oleg
I climb in the back of Maxim’s Tesla.
“Give him your phone,” Maxim barks and Pavel.
Pavel hands me his phone, and Maxim hands his to Pavel as he puts the car in drive and pulls out.
“Who was it?” Maxim demands.
My head throbs, and I still feel raw and rough from upsetting Story back there. Fuck. I definitely didn’t mean to offend her by having Maxim give her money. I just expected him to do and say the right things because I can’t say them myself. I wanted to take care of her. And I’m sure she could use the money. I did the math in my head. She can’t bring in more than eight hundred a week giving guitar lessons. So it’s not terrible money, but it’s not like she’s rich or anything. And Maxim is. He was smooth as fuck, too—saying all the right things, and it still pissed her off.