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“I’m thinking no rougher than losing your parents at… How old were you?”
She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Seven.”
“Do you remember them?”
“Parts of them,” Polly admits. “I remember Mama tucking me into bed at night. I remember Papa swinging me in the air and carrying me on his shoulders. But sometimes…” She sighs. “Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m remembering my dad or if I’m remembering Uri.” The unshed tears sparkle in the gloom. “He replaced a lot of memories for me. There are days when I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”
“Are they happy memories?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s a good thing.”
She smiles sadly. “How did your sister die?”
“Cancer. She was diagnosed with leukemia right after we turned sixteen. It was a rough year and a half.”
“I know this might sound… bad… but at least you got to say goodbye, y’know?”
I swallow the acrid taste in my mouth. “You’d think so. But that’s the thing about death: even if you can see it coming, you’re not really prepared. I spent a lot of that year and a half refusing to believe anything anyone told me. I guess I was hoping that Ziva would beat the odds. I convinced her to keep fighting, to continue chemo because I honestly believed she could recover. I thought I was championing her. But really… I was just in denial.”
“You had hope,” she offers. “I get that. Uri was my hope, you know. I think I slept next to him for the whole first year after Mama and Papa died. When I woke up with nightmares, he’d lift me into his arms and carry me around the room until I could breathe again. Or if I couldn’t go back to sleep, he’d sing to me.”
My jaw drops. “Hesings?”
Polly chuckles softly. “He’s actually got an amazing voice. He just doesn’t use it very often. I know what you’re thinking: what can’t he do, right?”
“Nothing, it seems,” I mumble distractedly. “Except be vulnerable.” Polly turns her head towards me and I bite my tongue. “I’m sorry; that kinda slipped out.”
She chuckles. “No, it’s okay. You’re totally right. He’s not good at that.”
“Was it always that way?”
“Pretty much. Ever since I can remember, at least. But then again, he was really young, too, when everything happened. He became responsible for the entire family and the entire Bratva in one night.”
I frown. “Can I ask you something, Polly?”
“Sure.”
“Nikolai’s older than Uri, right?”
“Mm. You wanna know why Uri took over and not Nikolai?” She shifts, the sheets scrunching up with her limited motion. “From what I was allowed to see, Nikolai kinda broke down right after my parents died. He locked himself away and refused to participate in anything. So Uri had to step up. He was the one in the hospital looking out for Lev. He was the one at home, taking care of me. He was the one in every Bratva meeting, calling the shots, making decisions. I don’t think he wanted to bepakhan—I think it chose him. And by the time Nikolai reappeared, the status quo had been established. Uri just became who he had to be.”
“Oh,” I say softly. It’s a broad strokes story, but I feel like I can sense little gaps in it where the heartbreak shines through. I can just imagine Uri burying his grief first thing each morning as he rose to do what his family needed him to do. Shoving it all somewhere deep inside him so it didn’t reach up from within and strangle him.
I know that feeling.
I’velivedthat feeling.
“He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve because he’s afraid to lose it, Alyssa. I know he cares about you, but he’s terrified to lose anyone else. Especially someone who’s as important to him as you are.”
A timid shiver runs down my spine. “Uri and I are just…” Well, whatarewe exactly? “Uri and I are nothing.”
Polly raises her eyebrows a fraction. It’s amazing how much I can see now in the darkness. “I’m fourteen, Alyssa. I’m not stupid.”
I smile. “No one could ever accuse you of being stupid, Polly.”
“Do you love my brother?”
