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Once Sara finishes saying farewell to Saint, she gives me a tight hug and kisses my cheek. There isn’t anything further to say because no matter how many times we say goodbye, it’ll never make this any easier. Max wraps his arm around her shuddering shoulders and leads her toward the SUV.
Pavel starts the engine, hinting it’s time to go.
Zoey wipes her eyes as she walks down the stairs. She slides open the door, but suddenly stops dead in her tracks.
“Fuck.” Saint curses under his breath. His boots sink into the deep snow as he marches toward her. I follow in hot pursuit, wondering what’s going on.
When I see Ingrid crouched in the back of the van, I have my answer.
“Why is she here?” Zoey snarls, burning Ingrid alive with her death glares.
“Because I’m dropping her off at a friend’s,” Pavel replies from the front seat. Ingrid’s hollowed expression has me wondering where exactly Pavel is taking her.
She is broken; this beautiful angelic being is broken beyond repair. I can only hope she’ll finally find peace where she’s going.
Zoey opens her mouth, primed on arguing as Ingrid is still public enemy number one, but Saint grips her arm and shakes his head. “Just get in the van, Zoey.”
She could argue, but she knows when a battle is lost, and this is one of them. With an unhappy grumble, she complies.
Larisa has provided us with a haven, and even though she hasn’t liked me, I still want to thank her for taking me in. I walk up the stairs and offer my hand. “???????.”
When she shakes it firmly, I’m relieved she’s accepted my gratitude.
I don’t know what else to say because someone like Larisa doesn’t dabble in bullshit. She’s a straight shooter, and I don’t want to insult her by delivering her a clichéd line.
I am about to turn around and leave, but she pulls me toward her, robbing me of air as she delivers a line of her own. “Never compromise what you think is right. Doesn’t matter the risk. The risk to your heart is more,” she affirms in broken English, her astute eyes boring into me.
My mouth parts in surprise because I have no fucking idea what she just said. Is this some Russian proverb? I’m about to ask her what she means, but she nods once, as if that’s the answer I need.
Saint approaches seconds later, but he didn’t see our exchange because she has released my hand. He gives her a tight hug, speaking to her in Russian. I am too dumbfounded to even process what is going on. Saint casually reaches for my hand and leads me down the stairs.
I quickly turn over my shoulder, desperate to ask Larisa what she meant, but she doesn’t look back, and it appears she believes neither should I. By closing the door, she’s forcing me to figure this out on my own.
“You want to ride shotgun?” Saint asks me, rubbing my arms to create heat because I’m shivering. But it has nothing to do with the cold.
Peering up at him from under my lashes, I take in the man who he is and subconsciously know Larisa’s words are connected to him. Even though it’s cold as hell, I’m suddenly burning up.
“A?????” he questions, sensing my sudden clam up.
“Never compromise what you think is right. Doesn’t matter the risk. The risk to your heart is more.”
My heart is Saint, and Larisa knows it. So what is she trying to say?
Sadly, I’ve run out of time to figure it out. “We have to leave now; otherwise, you will miss your flight.” Pavel’s voice alerts me to the fact that we’re cutting it close, so irrespective that every bone in my body is in protest, I peck Saint on the lips and get into the back of the van.
He watches me closely with his hand poised on the door as if he wants to say something. Something invisible lingers, but it appears neither of us knows what it is. Just like déjà vu, when you sense you should know something—like you’ve already experienced a situation or a feeling—but you just can’t pinpoint what it is. This is what it feels like.
I’m hoping he is about to solve the mystery, but when he closes the door, the air deflates out of me like a balloon. I sag into my seat, defeated.
When Saint jumps into the passenger seat and fastens his seat belt, Pavel puts the van into drive, and just like that, we’re gone. The seat belt cuts off my air supply, so I place my hand under the belt and pull it away from my body.
It’s stifling hot in here, thanks to the heater cranking, and you’d think, thanks to the subzero temperature, that I’d be basking in the heat. But I’m not. I’m on fire.
Pavel and Saint speak softly, but I don’t hear a word. I peer out the windshield and watch my freedom unfurl before me. The punishing terrain is twisted in white sleet. Pavel navigates the roads with care, but I grip the seat beneath me, clawing the leather to shreds.
Zoey catches wind of my meltdown and nudges me with her knee. “What’s wrong with you?” Her question is laced with interest rather than concern.
“Nothing,” I reply breathlessly. I don’t want to talk in fear of throwing up.
