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I thought my taste in men improved after Nick. I thought I was picking men who were solid and reliable. Who had principles and morals and convictions. Who weregood.
If Leo and I ever disappeared without a trace, the way I vanished from Michael’s life, I know Nick wouldn’t let the police handle it. He wouldn’t launch a half-baked private investigation that ended at the first sign of trouble. He would burn buildings and spill blood.
The thought should terrify me. I should flinch from such madness, from the obvious depravity. Instead, there’s some sick comfort in it.
“I will be,” I say because I know that Michael’s words, while cowardly, come from a place of caring.
He nods, then glances at the bar. “Are you driving home?”
“I had one drink, Michael.”
I used to find Michael’s responsibility reassuring. All of a sudden, I’m finding it overly restrictive. Like a child who isn’t trusted to handle anything. Nick let me fly thousands of miles away from him the day after being kidnapped and shooting a man.
“I’m just worried about you, Lyla.”
“I know,” I allow. “I actually moved. I’m walking.”
“You moved? To Rittenhouse Square?”
I nod, pretending not to hear the judgment and curiosity in his tone.
“I’ll walk with you,” he says. “I parked down the street.”
“Okay,” I agree because I can’t come up with a polite excuse. And I’m quite certain this will be the last time I see Michael. There’s no reason to end things on a negative note.
We set off down the street.
“How are things at the firm?” I ask.
“Busy. I’m headed to Phoenix for a deposition next week.”
“That sounds warm.”
Michael nods enthusiastically. He hates the cold.
“Um…this is me.”
Michael glances at the building. It’s an older brick building but obviously well-maintained. I haven’t looked up exactly how expensive housing in Rittenhouse Square is, but I can make a good guess that it’s pricey.
Instead of impressed, he appears worried. It makes me wonder what exactly comes up when you look into the Morozov family. My internet access was limited when I was in Russia. And I’ve done my best to avoid anything directly related to Nick since being back. Forgetting him has been difficult enough without looking for reminders.
“Take care of yourself, Michael. I’m sorry about…well, I’m sorry.”
Sudden disappearance, followed by a cryptic breakup call, isn’t a conventional way to end a relationship. But Michael doesn’t appear to be the least bit surprised that I’m not interested in picking our relationship up where we left it now that I’m back in Philadelphia. It makes me wonder what exactly he’s assumed about what my disappearance meant. And if maybe I was the only one who idealized our relationship into something it wasn’t.
We never talked about him meeting Leo. Moving in together. Marriage. More kids. All the things you’re supposed to picture with someone at a certain point.
“Take care, Lyla.” Michael smiles and then keeps walking.
I watch his tall frame until it disappears from sight, lost in the shadows cast by the streetlights.
It feels like the end of something. My quest to live differently from my mother maybe. And if I really think about it and look back on it, I think I accomplished that a long time ago. Leo’s life is very different from mine was, and that was true long before Nick came into his life and back into mine.
I pull my keys out of my purse, brushing against the hard metal of Nick’s gun. I never ever thought I’d be the person who walked around with a loaded weapon. I’m not even sure it’s legal, and concerningly, it’s not the first law I’ve broken without a second thought lately.
For better or worse, I see the world differently now. I see the gray. I’d think it’s a bad thing, but I also know that there’s always been something between black and white I just chose not to look at. Becoming aware of something isn’t the same as it never having existed in the first place.
There’s also some sentimental value I never thought I’d associate with a weapon capable of killing someone.
