Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“I swear this isn’t a line to get your number or anything. I just could have sworn we’ve met before.”
With my smarts too clouded with confusion to jump straight into another shit fight so soon after the last one, it leaves Bayli plenty of opportunity to offer an introduction.
It doesn’t go as planned.
“Ano. It is nice to meet you…”
Ano? Who the hell is Ano?
When he holds out his hand in offering, I accept it before finalizing his question in a way I haven’t in over a decade. “Zoya Sakharoff.”
I’m not seeking an invitation back into the Sakharoff realm. I’m trying to trip Ano up because something is very wrong with this picture.
I could have sworn on a Bible that he was Aleena’s ex who disappeared not long after her sixteenth birthday party. Even Aleena is convinced they’re one and the same.
After working my name through his head for several long seconds, Ano gestures to a bar across the road from Le Rogue. “Do you want to grab a drink?”
“I thought you said this wasn’t about trying to secure a date?”
He doesn’t give off creeper vibes, but just like Andrik last night, something is off with his demeanor.
Even Ano’s dimple-blemished grin is a match for Bayli’s shy smile. “I’m not. I just have a feeling you’ve got answers to questions I’ve been seeking for years, but I don’t see me asking them without a gallon of vodka priming my veins.”
Since he seems harmless enough, I gesture for him to lead the way, hopeful I will get as many answers for Aleena as I will for myself.
58
ANDRIK
My drunken climb up the stairs of my home slows when I hear giggling. It’s late. I think. I haven’t looked at a clock in hours. I’ve done nothing but drink—and plot. Both have done little to improve my mood. I’m a grouchy prick, hence my hesitation to head in the direction of the noise.
“Fuck it,” I murmur to myself before heading to Zakhar’s room.
Fury is the first emotion I feel when I crack open his door enough to see his bed. It is soon replaced with fond memories. Anoushka is tucking Zakhar in by using the same tactic she did when I was a child. She tells him he will be transported to another dimension anytime he sleeps. He’s not sick in that world. He can leave his bed and play sports. He can do anything he wants to do.
Before my head can talk me out of it, my drunken heart says, “I hear sweets grow on bushes over there.”
Zakhar’s tired eyes shoot to me before the biggest grin stretches across his face. “No, they don’t. Sweets don’t grow on bushes.” He laughs, but it doesn’t hide his hope that I’m telling the truth.
“It’s another dimension, Zak. Things aren’t the same there. You can be anything you want to be when you’re visiting another dimension.”
Anoushka smiles in gratitude that I haven’t kicked her out as I did previously before she continues her famous bedtime routine. “What do you want to be, Zak? You have to imagine it now to make sure you get the right world once you’re asleep.”
As she rakes her fingers through his locks that are two shades lighter than mine, Zakhar’s eyelids grow heavy.
“I don’t want to be sick anymore.” He yawns, muffling his words. “I want to be strong and healthy like Daddy.” His reply is already tugging at my heartstrings, so I’m knocked completely fucking down when he whispers, “Then maybe he’ll stop being mad at me. He might love me like Mommy does…” He hiccups like he is fighting not to cry. “Like Mommy did.”
“Your mother loves you, Zak.”
He can’t hide his tears when he shouts, “Then why did she make me come here? Why did she leave me with people who hate me? I want to go home!”
He clutches Anoushka’s shirt like I did multiple times when I wasn’t much older than him, hiding his shame.
I refuse to let him.
Not because I’m an ass, but because he needs to know he did nothing wrong.
“She had no choice, Zak.”
When he shakes his head, sending more tears flinging off his cheeks, I gently grip his arms and pull him back from Anoushka. I need him to see the honesty in my eyes when I repeat my statement.
“She had no choice. But I do. I have a choice, Zak, and I’m not going to leave you. I promise I will be here with you as long as you’ll have me.” He looks like he believes me, and it weakens the heaviness on my chest. “But you need to promise the same, okay? You need to keep fighting. Can you promise me you’ll do that, Zak? That you will stay for me?”
“I promise,” he answers, his voice barely a squeak.
“Then I’ll do the same,” I pledge before pulling him into my chest so my shirt can soak up more than the black slosh that’s been leaking from my heart over the past few days.