Page 109 of Lost & Found

COUNSELOR:

Yeah. How is our boy doing?

I hesitated.

ISABELLA:

Pasha? Good. He’s realizing he’s grown a lot.

“Sorry, it’s home,” I murmured to Lisa while the dots pulsed on the screen.

It struck me as strange that Marcel was asking me about Pasha. Was there something he wasn’t saying? Had Pasha reached out and said something about earlier?

“No worries,” Lisa replied. “I always wanted siblings, but it was only me. Mom had a hard time. How big is your family?”

“Biologically? Just me and Bash,” I said. “Chosen? There will be ten of us. Eleven if you count me. The Kings and my family grew up together. The rest were…collected along the way.”

“Eleven in one house?”

My head whipped up.

“Sorry,” she added quickly. “Pasha mentioned your living arrangements.”

“Right. It’s loud. Chaotic. But big enough to disappear when you need to.”

Another message came through.

COUNSELOR:

Tell him to reach out if he needs an ear. I’m here for him, seriously. Love you both.

That made my stomach twist.

ISABELLA:

I will. Give my love to the family. Kiss Declan for me.

The lift landed with a soft jerk. Outside, the others were already gathering.

“Shelia insisted I come along. She’s gonna stay here,” Reggie offered.

We set off, and the boardwalk swallowed us whole. Salt air clung to my skin. The ocean rolled endlessly beside us. Laughter, music, and the distant screams of people on rides drifted through the breeze.

Pasha’s hand brushed mine. When his fingers laced through, the contact sent a small, electric ripple up my arm. We walked for a while and then found the arcade. I slipped his T-shirt on, loving the smell of him on it. Both of the girls at home went on and on about how calming the scent of their men were, and I reluctantly had to admit they were right.

I quickly tied the loose ends through one of the loops on my shorts. I’d seen Kinsley do it a thousand times. Inside, the group mingled together and soon, with the whirlwind of games and laughter, Pasha let go a little more.

Inside, chaos reigned in the best possible way. Neon lights flickered overhead. Bells rang. Children shrieked in triumph or devastation. The air smelled faintly of popcorn and metal. Pasha stepped up to a machine.

It was a basketball hoop game. He started stretching like he was preparing for a round with Ivan in the boxing ring back home. I bit back laughter and shook my head at him. Within seconds, his competitive streak ignited.

With his jaw set and his shoulders squared, that lazy confidence sharpened into focus. Every muscle in his forearms flexed as he gripped the ball. I leaned against a nearby game and snapped a few pictures.

He bit the inside of his cheek when he missed a shot. Pumped his fist when he nailed one. In between, he trash-talked—what I assumed was trash talk—under his breath in Russian.

God, he was beautiful like this.

All the guys took turns. When he finally cleared a round, he spun around looking for me.