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RAYNE
“You had to rush off to go to a school?” Kirill leans forward, squinting through the windshield at the sign hanging above the door. It’s a stick drawing of two children holding hands, a yellow sun hanging in the sky behind them.
He made it to the school faster than I anticipated. Between that and the constant stream of worst-case scenarios running through my head, I never managed to make a case for why he should leave me here and drive away.
Or how to explain to him what I’m doing here in the first place.
“Yeah. I just have—There’s business. It’s a business,” I fumble, scrambling for some rationale. “I work here. I clean. Sometimes.”
He arches a dark brow. “Bullshit.”
I hum noncommittally, a strangled, in-between kind of sound that ends up lodged in my throat.
I hate lying to him. But after everything he said to me back at his house, I can’t tell him the truth now. Maybe not ever. Definitely not like this.
If I tell him at all, it needs to be brought up gently, slowly, over a nice meal, maybe… with lots of witnesses around in case he reacts badly.
“What happened? Did they have a spree of bathroom emergencies that require your expertise?” he asks.
The taunting tone raises my hackles. “What if they did? Someone like you isn’t going to jump up and take care of it. They have to bring inthe help."
He reaches over the console and grips my chin. His green eyes have golden flecks in them. “Tell me what's happening, Rayne.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to go.”
He reaches for my hand, but I’m already sliding out of the car and slamming the door closed behind me. I let Kirill get the best of my common sense back at his house, but when Yuliana is in the picture, nothing else matters.
I march up the walkway, resisting the urge to look back. He can’t be here when I get back. He can’t think he needs to wait for me.
When I finally make it inside and turn back, Kirill’s car is gone.
A weight lifts off my chest—only to be replaced by another one twice the size when I walk into the front office.
Mrs. Wilkens and Ms. Holliday are bent together, whispering. When they realize I’m there, they spring apart. I don’t have to wonder who they were talking about.
“Oh, Rayne.” Mrs. Wilkens has a sad smile on her face. “I’m so sorry about calling you again.”
These people aren’t my enemy. I know they’re doing their best. But they are the last people I want to see right now.
“Where is she?” I croak.
She turns around and moves towards her office. Ms. Holliday raises her hand in a small wave that I don’t return.
It feels like I’m being led back to a hospital room. Like I’m waiting for a doctor to sit me down and deliver some devastating news.
Mrs. Wilkens’s office door is cracked open, but she stops just outside of it. “She didn’t want to talk to any of us. My office was the only place she seemed relatively calm, so I left her in here. I normally wouldn’t leave a child alone, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. She was breaking things. I worried she would hurt herself.”
“I understand,” I say, partially just to make her stop.
Hearing someone else describe one of Yuliana’s tantrums is harder to take than I would have guessed. When I tell someone about her behavior, it comes from a place of worry and concern. There’s nothing she could ever do to change my love for her or how wonderful I think she is.
Mrs. Wilkens, however, runs an entire school. Her favorite kids are probably the uncomplicated children. The kids who are quiet in class, go with the flow, and leave without any trouble.
I can’t imagine Yuliana ranks high on the list.
I’m beginning to understand why Kirill was so protective of Ilya. It’s hard to see a person you love through someone else’s eyes.
“Thank you,” I add. “I know this has been a stressful few days. I appreciate—I’m trying to help her through it.”
