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“Thank you, but I think I might love you more,” I whisper back.
He sighs, and I feel his chest rise and fall with a shaky breath. “Selfishly, I hope you come back to me soon, but however long it takes, I’ll always be waiting for you.”
Thirty-Three
Hail
ONE MONTH LATER
Onlywhenwehavebreaks in our tour do I realize how much I rely on others to entertain me.
We get five whole days off for Thanksgiving. It’s the longest break we’ve had since I can last remember, and I’ve already decided that I’m going to spend 4.75 of those days nagging Liam to hang out, which I know is going to require more gym time than I prefer. I’m pretty sure the guy holds permanent residence there.
Get ready to see me jacked, Z.
For some unknown reason, maybe because I’m a masochist, I agreed to my sister’s request to attend one family dinner. While I’m always hesitant to visit home, I’ll never turn down the chance to spend time with my twin.
There’s also a little itch in my brain that wants me to tell my family about Z. How much I want to keep him.
I sprint across my parents’ manicured lawn to scoop Stasi up in a bear hug. Lifting her, I spin her around and let out a menacing growl that definitely makes the neighbors debate calling the police. Sun hats and visors pop up all around us behind sprinklers and tornados of grass trimmings, their laser eyes focused on the “riff raff” that just got out of a black muscle car with too much tint.
Liam leans against the driver’s side, sunglasses on, and folds his tattooed arms over his massive chest.
“You’re thirty minutes late,” Stasi complains when I finally set her down. Her attention drifts to Liam. She lifts a hand and gives a shy smile. “Hey.”
“Stasi,” he replies.
Her cheeks flush with rosy color, and my head whips between them. Surely I’ve mistaken Liam’s sultry tone.
“Oh, hell no!” I jab a finger in his direction. “Take the fucking sunglasses off!”
“I’d rather not.”
“You’d better not be checking out my sister, then. I’ll put you in a chokehold.”
Cool as a fucking cucumber, Liam pushes off his car and opens the driver’s door. “No offense, Hail, but out of the three of us, you’d be the last to win in a fight. And Stasi’s a grown woman. She can imagine me naked all she wants.”
I’m pouting as he gets in his car and speeds off, turning heads. I can practically taste the HOA’s fury brewing.
I mean, Stasi isripped. Lean, but definitely a fucking threat.
“You, uh, get a job as security at an MMA dojo or something?” I ask, scratching at my chin.
Stasi’s laugh is light, and it makes my heart soar. “No, but I do spend my free time between classes working off stress. Now get your ass inside.”
Stepping up to the door, I suck in a deep breath, planning to hold it through the entirety of this meal. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited home.
Stasi gives my hand a squeeze. “Hail. This has nothing to do with you, but Max canceled last minute. And as far as Dad goes, just don’t let him get to you, okay?”
“Easier said than done,” I mutter. I know for a fact Max backed out because he found out I was coming. To this day, my family won’t accept that I’m not in some sort of cult—biting heads off bats and snorting lines out of hookers’ ass cracks.
And if Max isn't going to be here, that means the focus will be all on me.
My aunt and uncle are already seated with my mom and dad at the formal table in the dining room, which smells faintly like expensive Cuban cigars. They all look me over when I stride in, fingers trailing the wainscoting, so I take them in as well to prove I’m not intimidated. My uncle is dressed down for once in a Packers shirt—I’m sure that pisses Stasi off—and my aunt has a silly floppy sun hat on, which I can tell is pissing my mom off across the table. My mom keeps fiddling with the rings around the cloth napkins she set out.
“Mykhail!” my mother forces out, coming over to give me an awkward hug. Stasi and I got our light hair and rich eyes from her. “We were just talking about you.”
My father grunts and digs his knife into his steak. His blonde hair is more silvery-white now, and he’s lost significant weight. “More tattoos, I see. Is any of that necessary?”
