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“Can you tell me anything about that or will it somehow put me in danger, too?”
“It won’t put you in danger. It’s just a shitty story.”
“Right, and mine was all rainbows and sunshine,” I mutter sarcastically.
Yakov assesses me, his brows pinched together. Finally, he blows out a breath. “He died.”
I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. “I’m really sorry for your loss… but there has to be more to that story.”
“Storytelling is not one of my many talents.” He shrugs.
“Shocker,” I mumble. “You’re usually so chatty.”
He smirks. Then it melts off and he looks away, tension creeping back into his face. “It was five years ago. The anniversary of his death was actually the night you and I met. I was at the restaurant to meet my brother for dinner.”
My mouth falls open. “I had no idea. If I’d known?—”
“If you’d known, then you wouldn’t have been a very good distraction.”
“You said it was a shitty night. I think you might have undersold it,” I say. “You could have told me.”
“I held my father as he took his last breath. It’s not a day I like to reminisce about.”
My hand instinctively reaches towards his. I stop myself, my fingers drumming on the table instead. “Yakov, I’m… I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but I see it now. The weight of it hanging on his shoulders. The dark cloud over his head.
“It’s not the same, but my dad died, too.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I guess to make him feel better, if that’s even possible. “He left when I was little. I didn’t know him at all. By the time I wanted to get to know him, he was gone. A car accident.”
“He missed out,” Yakov whispers.
I’ve heard a lot of responses to that story ranging from pity to anger on my behalf.
Yakov’s is my favorite.
“Can I ask what happened to your dad?” I press, greedy for more.
“He was murdered. Shot in the chest.”
My mouth falls open. “But you said you held him when he died. You were… you were there?”
He gives me a sad smile.
Now, I can’t stop myself—I reach across the table and grab his hand. As soon as I do, I understand why Gregory turned into a puddle as soon as Yakov touched him. He’s warm and strong and I’ve never felt safer in my life.
I curl both of my hands around his and run my thumbs over his knuckles. I want to map out the feel of him even as my heart breaks for everything he has been through.
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. No one should have to see something like that.”
“I was trained for that moment.” He’s staring at our hands, but he doesn’t pull away. “My siblings were not. They both saw it, too. I should have kept them from that.”
“That’s not something anyone plans for. You couldn’t have known.” I take a shaky breath. “I know I haven’t known you very long, but I can tell that you take care of the people around you. If I can see that, I’m sure they can, too.”
They’d be stupid not to.
“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”
I hear what he’s saying, but I don’t believe him. Seeing your father die in front of your eyes isn’t the kind of thing people wash their hands of. You carry it with you always.
