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“Did he hurt you? Hurt Leo?” With each word, June’s voice pitches higher with alarm.
“No.No. He would never. He just…he’s hurt other people.”
“Dangerous people?”
There’s something in June’s expression, something in her voice, that makes me think she understands more than I meant to tell her. “Yes.”
She nods and takes a sip of her wine, gaining a distant, haunted expression. “Carson didn’t die in a supermarket. He died in a supermarket parking lot because his friend thought he could get away without settling a debt. Life is short, Lyla. If this guy is good to you, good to Leo, good in the ways that matter, that’s what is most important.”
“He’s Leo’s father.”
June’s eyes widen even further. “Really? I’ve always wondered…”
“I know. He—I—it’s…”
“Complicated,” June finishes.
“Right.”
“Does he love you too?”
“He’s never said it.” I replay theclankof a gun hitting hardwood. A terrible sound, yet somehow, it gives me comfort. I start running my finger around the rim of the glass in endless circles. They’re soothing and depressing. Endless. They never go anywhere.
June studies me, then purses her lips. “That’s not a no.”
I lift a shoulder, then drop it. “I’m here. He’s…not.”
Her nod is slow and unconvinced, but she changes the subject. We talk for another couple of hours before paying the check and then heading outside.
“Lyla?”
I turn to see a shocked Michael standing on the sidewalk a few feet away. He’s wearing the wool coat I’m convinced is the only jacket he owns and holding a grocery bag in one gloved hand.
I give him a small, awkward wave before we share a brief hug. “Hi.”
“I’ll let you two get caught up,” June says, shooting me a questioning look.
We give each other a farewell hug.
“I’ll text you in the morning about getting the boys,” she tells me before flagging down a taxi.
Michael is studying me with a disbelieving expression. “You’re back.”
I fiddle with the zipper on my down coat. “Yes.”
“You requested a reference? I just assumed it was…somewhere else.”
“I should have called or texted. I just wasn’t sure what to say. I…I wasn’t expecting to be gone for so long. It was a lot to figure out. My phone didn’t work overseas.”
Michael’s smile gains a bitter edge. “There’s no need to explain, Lyla. I had one of the firm’s PIs look into your disappearance. They asked me if anything unusual had happened right before. All I could think of was that doctor. Dr. Ivanov. I had them dig. He is a doctor. But he didn’t go to Harvard. And his family is notoriously tied to the Morozov family. Some of what comes up when you search that name…” He shudders.
“What are you saying, Michael?”
There’s an edge to my voice, and the emotion driving it isn’t one I expect to feel. I’m defensive, and it’s not just because he’s calling me a liar. Because everything he’s insinuating about Nick pisses me off even if it’s accurate.
He studies me. “I don’t want to know anything. Just be careful.”
Michael is an attorney. An upholder of the law. He’s supposed to fight for what is right, not flee from what is wrong.
