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Jesus. I should have known better, all the way around — should have known better than to bring it up, should have known better than to expectanythingout of him other than stubborn silence.
Throwing the covers back, I slipped out of bed again and disappeared into the closet. When I came back out completely dressed and wearing running shoes, he sat up and turned on the light next to the bed. “Where are you going?”
“For a run.”
Groaning, he got out of bed and headed for the closet.
“I don’t need you coming with me,” I snapped, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. “I’ll call Oleg if it’s that big of a fucking deal.”
“Oleg is gone,” Sasha said from the depth of the closet.
“What?” I stayed where I was, staring at the row of suit jackets, waiting for him to reappear. When he did, it was also in workout clothes with a resigned expression. “What happened to him?”
“He’s gone,” Sasha repeated as flatly as the first time.
“You mean you killed him.” When he didn’t deny it, I knew without a doubt my former bodyguard was in chunks at the bottom of Lake Michigan. Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him. “It was a fucking car accident, Sasha!Accident! They hit us! And I wasn’t even injured.”
“He should have been a better driver,” Sasha replied with a shrug. “A better driver would not have been rear-ended.”
“This isnotok.” I stopped myself before saying anything else and stormed out of the room. Snatching my earbuds off the kitchen counter, I lengthened my strides when I heard him behind me.
I managed to make it to the front door and open it an inch before his large hand reached around me and slammed it shut. Like it would make a damn bit of difference, I yanked on the handle again, hoping maybe he’d get the point.
“I’m not your fucking captive anymore, Sasha. Let me out.” I didn’t look at him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of his pale blue gaze as it seared into my skin.
“He knew the terms,” he said, as if that completely justified murdering a guy who didn’t do anything wrong.
“Yeah? So did I!” I turned my face toward him, not even trying to hide my rising anger. “I knew the danger in being with you. Everything that happened in that alley is onme. Stop taking it out on everyone else in my life, for fuck’s sake!”
“Roan.” He jerked back with a flinch, like I slapped him.
“No. I’m owning it, ok? What happened to me?Myfault. I don’t give a shit what you or the therapist says. I didn’t fucking listen to you.Iput myself in that situation. But you’re stomping around blaming everyone else formyfuck up. It has to stop.”
“They hadnoright to—”
“Save it.” The moment I felt the pressure on the door let up, I yanked it open again and wedged my foot in the opening so he couldn’t slam it shut. “I’ll be in the gym. Considering Misha literally owns the fucking building, I should be pretty safe, don’t you think?”
The muscle in his jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything as he stepped back. He looked as pissed as I felt. I knew I should have, but I didn’t feel the slightest bit of regret for picking a fight at three in the morning. Maybe if he had a normal job, we could have had this fight over dinner like a normal couple.
Then again, there was nothing “normal” about us. There never had been and there never would be. I was starting to wonder if it was even worth it anymore. If he thoughtIwas worth it.
Stuffing my earbuds in, I slipped out the door and down the hall. I didn’t have to close the door. Sasha did it for me — by fucking slamming it.
3
SASHA
The next morning,the bed beside me was empty.
Gritting my teeth, I threw the covers back, trying to come up with some plausible explanation for Roan’s absence as I marched out into the living room. I stopped short when I saw Roan was there, asleep on the couch. Relief and irritation warred in the center of my chest.
He was home and he was safe. But he was avoiding me. It was happening more and more, to the point where I held my breath every night when I came home, waiting to see if he was even there and if he was, what mood would he be in? As much as I tried to give him what he needed, I’d say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and he’d disappear to another part of the apartment — or leave altogether, like last night.
I made breakfast as quietly as I could, but Roan still woke up. He sat up and rubbed his eye while checking his phone. Cracking a smile at whatever was on the screen, he tapped out some sort of reply and then stood. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he purposely avoided even looking at the kitchen, despite the fact he was walking toward it.
“Breakfast?” I asked, swiping some butter on the slice of black bread before laying halved sausages down.
Roan shook his head, reaching for the coffee pot instead. He threw the grounds in the top and turned it on, walking away without a word, a glance, or gesture of any kind.
