I dive in and start swimming laps.
Trying—and failing—to not think about the boy who taught me this stroke.
RUN AWAY TO ROTTERDAM
Crisp air saws in and out of my lungs as I race along the packed dirt. Two of the three hounds accompanying me run ahead, barking at a bird. They both halt in surprise when it takes flight rather than lying limp, like the dead ones they’re trained to retrieve.
Igor occasionally hosts hunting parties on the couple hundred hectares that make up the Serebryanovo estate, but he’s been too preoccupied with his latest mistress to do much of that lately. The dogs are nearly as restless as I am.
I’ve been back in Russia for less than a month, but it feels like an eternity since I left Chicago. I want a distraction, yet nothing has been able to hold my attention. My mother wasn’t lying about firing Anna. I could visit Aleksandr’s favorite club, but there’s something unappealing about imitating my brother’s behaviors. Something unappealing about fucking a random woman too. That’s left exercise and work as my only outlets. I haven’t wanted company, so I’ve avoided the gym. And things have been quiet since Koslov and Galkin delivered the body of the man waiting outside Aleksandr’s favorite club. It’suncommon anyone local is bold enough to challenge us, so that should be the end of it.
I pick up my pace, recognizing the silver birch ahead. One of the property’s namesakes. The woods are noticeably thinning around me. A large perimeter of cleared land surrounds the manor and smaller outbuildings—the garage, kennel, and gym—a deliberate lack of cover to prevent anyone from making a stealthy approach.
I whistle. Polkan races into view, joining the other two hounds up ahead. They know the route back as well as I do, racing ahead toward their kennel and waiting breakfast eagerly.
Sweat pours off of me as I follow, pushing my endurance. The combination of fresh air and exercise clears my head—at least temporarily.
A lone figure is leaning against the side of the kennel when I reach them, a lit cigarette dangling between two fingers.
I shoo the dogs inside, not missing that Burya and Ural sniff at Maksim. He used to beg our father for a canine companion when he was younger. He wanted a pet and hadn’t yet learned the lesson that Igor required everything to serve a purpose. These hounds work when and how it pleases him, same as the rest of us.
My brother watches me lock the kennel’s chain-link door. He appears tired and is likely hungover, but pointing that out will only result in an unpleasant conversation. It’s common for Maksim to disappear for several days to do fuck knows what. A habit he learned from Elena perhaps.
“You smell,” I state.
He swipes some shaggy strands out of his eyes before replying, “So do you.”
I refrain from suggesting he get a haircut. “Like sweat. Not like a bar.”
Maksim grins, dropping the cigarette and stamping on the glowing end. “I lost track of time.”
I scoff, pointing at the litter he left on the ground. “Pick that up, or one of the dogs might eat it.”
He sighs but listens, then slouches again. When he bothers to stand straight, my younger brother has a couple of inches on me. Yet he lacks the muscle I do, thanks to his infrequent trips to the gym and unhealthy diet of mostly booze. “Do you know what this is about?”
“No.” I watch more closely as Maksim flips his hair back again, his movements loose and languid. “You’re drunk.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “A little.”
I shake my head, then stride toward the house.
“Loosen up, Lev!” Maksim calls after me.
Inside, I hustle up to my room to shower and change. I don’t know why Igor called a meeting, but if he included Maksim, it’s likely something serious.
I’m first to arrive in my father’s office. The fire is crackling even though we’re inching closer to summer. It usually burns year-round.
Igor appears pleased to see me, so nothing too catastrophic could have occurred.
“I saw you running.” My father nods out the windows behind his desk as I lean against one of the bookcases that cover the walls.
Most of the books haven’t been moved since my grandfather occupied this office. I run a finger down the spine of a Dostoevsky novel. When I inspect my skin, there’s a fine coating of dust.
“The dogs need more exercise.”
“They are lucky to live here.”
“Maksim agrees.”
