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She frowns. “What kinds of things?”
I grimace and close my eyes. “I think you know, June.”
When I look at her again, her cheeks are flushed with color. “There was this story. It was the only story Adrian ever told me about his childhood,” she whispers. “It’s the reason I fell in love with him in the first place. I suppose I’m just happy to find out that it’s true.”
“What story did he tell you?”
She hesitates for a moment before she begins. “He told me that he met a young girl in one of those motels. He struck up a friendship with her, and he learned that she had been forced into prostitution when she was thirteen and she’d been passed from man to man for the last three years.” She smiles a little, through the velvety haze of emotion shining from her eyes. “He was a teenager himself, but he was outraged for her. He hated the fact that a woman could be used like that, and he knew that he had to get himself out of that life. But first, he needed to help her.”
Jesus Christ. My knuckles have gone white now, not that June notices.
“And he did,” she says, her tone shining with pride. “He got her out from her pimp’s clutches. He tucked her away somewhere safe. He got her a place to stay and a job. He helped her rebuild her life. That story made me see him as he really was. A strong man, a righteous man. A compassionate man. Someone who couldn’t just sit by and watch someone else suffer. He hated injustice, and he worked to change it. He saved that girl’s life.” She takes another breath and looks at me. “That is how I remembered him on all those dark days when he was the worst version of himself. When he drank or yelled or broke things. And that is how I choose to remember him now. Not as the drunk who couldn’t bear his grief. But as someone who felt so much for others.”
Adrian. Fucking Adrian. He’s been dead more than three months, but it feels like he’s still here. His lies keep creeping along with lives of their own. Like ghosts. Like spiders in the corner, rats in the woodwork. Skittering just out of sight.
“Kolya,” June says softly, “why do you look so mad?”
Her eyes are wide with uncertainty. I could spare her the truth and simply let her believe the glowing ideal of whom she thought Adrian was. But that would be kind.
And I have never been a kind man.
“My brother always did have a talent for taking credit for the actions of others,” I snarl.
Her face drops immediately. It’s almost like she’s been anticipating this very reaction. Like she’s half-expecting it. Why else would she believe it so easily? Why else would she look as though she’s experiencing his death all over again?
“We did live in motels throughout our adolescence. And there was a young prostitute who needed help. But Adrian was not the one that saved her. I did.”
I meet her eyes, just to make sure she can’t run from the truth.
“Adrian didn’t tell you his story. He stole mine.”
27
JUNE
“You’re lying.”
He looks bored, but the harsh angle of his eyebrows betrays a darker emotion. “I have no reason to lie.”
“Except to make Adrian sound like an asshole.”
“Hewasan asshole.”
“Yeah, well, so are you.”
I get to my feet and storm towards the balcony. For a moment, I think about flinging myself off it. Or better yet, maybe I’ll fling him off it. Anything to get out of his oppressive presence. Anything to get his voice out of my head.
He’s already in your head.
“Shut up!” I say out loud to the ghost I can’t seem to get rid of.
“You need to breathe,” Kolya says, embodying all the calm I seem incapable of corralling. “Would you still rather cling to a fantasy of him, rather than accept the truth of who he was?”
I turn to face Kolya. He’s still in the same position, one leg cocked confidently, his eyes trained on me. “There is more than one truth to a person. Adrian was—”
“Adrian is dead,” he growls, his tone sinister. “It’s time you accept that.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “No wonder he stayed away from the family. Why would he want to have a relationship with someone like you?”
