Piotr grins. “Probably. He’d have given out loaves and fishes instead of candy.”
Aga nudges him. “Zosia should’ve gone as a saint. That would makeFather Marek happy.”
We all laugh, and it feels strange, like testing a bone that might still be broken. At the church, the parish has set up a little harvest fair: bobbing for apples, hay bales, bowls of candy. Zosia shrieks with delight when she wins an apple and drops it straight into her bucket. The priest waves us over, kind eyes shining behind his glasses.
Dominik and I hover close while she plays, and I catch Piotr watching us with a teasing spark in his eye. I give him a look. Because I can’t. My heart’s still scattered somewhere between retinal scans and a man pouring his heart out in a studio in L.A. Every shard still belongs to Rafe. The idea of anyone else feelswrong.
When we get back to Mama and Tata’s, Zosia dumps her haul across the dining table, candy spilling everywhere. Tata examines each piece like treasure. “Ah, the rarest of sweets! The famous Mars bar of legend!”
Zosia giggles so hard she hiccups. Then she picks up one wrapped chocolate and runs to Dominik. “Tatus?”
“Yes, my princess,” he says, crouching down.
“Can we save this one for Mama? Can you keep it for her?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. She would love that.”
She nods solemnly and drops the candy into his hand before running back to show me the rest.
When she presses one into my palm, I smile. “You know, chocolate is a sign of love.”
Her grin widens, bright and messy. I take a photo of her face, smudged with chocolate and joy. Instinctively, I open Rafe’s contact. His name still sits there, stubborn and glowing.
I start to type—She’s okay. We’re okay. I miss you.Then delete it all. I set the phone down and pretend no one notices. But I can feel Piotr’s eyes on me.
Later, Aga shows Mama a photo Natalia posted, another mirror shot, all legs and attitude. Mama gasps, mutters a prayer, and makes the sign of the cross. “She will get in trouble. Truly.”
I roll my eyes, and Piotr catches the look. We share a silent sibling sigh. When the night quiets, I walk Dominik to his car, just to be sure he doesn’t need to lean on me. His face is still pale under the streetlight.
“Are youreallyokay?” I ask. “Do you need anything?”
He gives me that crooked grin. “Do you have an extra gallbladder?”
I laugh. “No. But I could maybe give you half of mine.”
“Tempting, but I’ll pass.” He softens. “The wounds will heal. You know this. Some she’ll keep carrying." He lifts his chin towards Zosia happily munching on chocolate in the car. "Mine, all fine.”
He’s bluffing, but I don’t call him out. I just squeeze his hand and kiss his cheek. “You’re a good father...a good man.”
The warmth between us lingers a little too long. I pull back first. Before I can say anything else, Zosia’s small voice calls from the car—“Tatus!”—and he’s already moving.
As they drive off, Piotr comes up beside me, hands in his pockets. “I think he still loves you. Gave up an organ to prove it, eh?”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m just not in a place to think about it.”
His mouth tightens, eyes soft. He pulls me into a hug that carries his scent, cheap bar soap and motor oil beneath it, and it feels like home. When he lets go, he grins. “So, what did you get from Zosia? Because she gave me a Snickers. I saw her give you a Reese’s Cup. Trade?”
I smile, smallbut true. “Deal.”
Rafe
The guys finish recording early, which is usually a miracle worth celebrating. Tonight, though, it feels like another hour I have to fill with pretending. There’s a big Halloween party, label-sponsored, all the usual plastic crowd and I’ve already told them I’m not going. That lasts exactly six minutes before there’s pounding at my door.
“Rafe,” Ronan calls. “You’re fucking going.”
When I open it, all three of them are standing there like a bad intervention. Ronan’s dressed as a priest, the collar crooked, black shirt half-unbuttoned, a silver flask peeking from his pocket like a confession he hasn’t decided to make. Rithy looks like some gothic fever dream: velvet coat, fake blood on his throat too convincing to be funny. And Kiri, of course, went pirate, leather coat, rings, eyeliner better than mine, topped with a hat that looks almost authentic. They’re all smirking like a pack of devils.
“I don’t have a costume,” I say.
