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I shouldn’t have gone in there, and when he found me holding the little bag, I should have assured him I wasn’t mad. Because I wasn’t. I was worried. I was scared, but not mad. He was barely eighteen and had already been fighting his addiction so hard for so many years.
If I hadn’t gone in there. If I had just waited for him.
A soft knock on the door interrupts my latest round of mental self-loathing. Maxim opens the door enough to see me standing at the dresser, brushing my hair.
“Good. You’re up.” He comes inside, shuts the door. I wind my hair up into a quick ponytail before I turn to him. I’ve been hiding long enough. It’s time to face reality.
“I am.” I lean my hip against the dresser and slide my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “Thanks for letting me crash.”
He eyes me silently for a minute, like he’s not sure how to handle me now. Or he’s finding a polite way to ask me to move back out. Which is totally understandable. I was only here so he could be sure I didn’t cause trouble for the Romanov family.
“And for, well, helping me.” I can feel tears threatening so I straighten and take a cleansing breath. I’m done crying. I don’t have time for it now. I have a list of things to do. Samantha was understanding about me not coming into work and told me to take a full week.
“There’s scrambled eggs and pancakes and French toast.” He lifts a shoulder. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I made it all.”
“You made breakfast?”
“I didn’t think you’d want a house full of people, so I sent everyone away.” By everyone he means the cook who comes in every other day to fill his fridge, and the cleaning service.
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. I’m not really hungry.” I look toward the closet. “I think I’m just going to pack up and call a cab.”
His eyes go dark in an instant. “What? Why?”
“Well, you did your part. You helped me, you kept me from causing a mess for your bosses, and now it’s over. I’m going home.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I do,” I say. “I have an appointment at a funeral home this afternoon. Gunner deserves a burial. It won’t be much, but I’m having him buried next to my parents. He deserves a good place to rest.” I clear my throat to chase away the sob that wants to break free.
After Maxim brought me home that horrible night, he had a few men go with Jack to find my brother’s body. As of now, he’s in a morgue. Maxim has refused to let me go there and promised no one working there will let me see Gunner’s body. He’s been gone for too long, and Maxim doesn’t want that image in my head.
I don’t either.
“I’ll go with you,” Maxim says, grabbing my arm when I turn. “I’ll help you get all of this finished. We never talked about your faith, but I know a priest that can do a service for him if you want. You do not have to do this alone.”
Alone.
There’s that word.
I have been alone since the moment my parents died in that car crash, and I will be alone from here on out. It’s better this way. So much pain has come from loving, from trying to care for someone.
What would it feel like if something happens to Maxim? Just the idea, the thought of finding out that he was gone from this world, makes the pain in my chest balloon to unbearable proportions.
“That’s nice of you, but no. I can do this on my own.” I get my suitcase from the closet and bring it back to the bed, but before I can get a grip on the zipper, Maxim has put his hand on the lid.
“You’re not leaving yet, Mandy. I wasn’t playing games. When I said you are mine, I meant it.”
I’m tired, too tired to fight him.
“I can’t do this, Maxim. I can’t be with you. I just want to get on with it.”
“With what?” He tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to understand me, really trying to hear me.
“With my life. I just need to get on with it.” I swallow hard, keeping myself together. Because if I break down now, I’ll be a mess for the rest of the day.
“You’ll get on with your life here. With me.”
What would that even entail? He’s tangled up with the Russian mob. How the hell can I do that?
