I almost collapse.
My knees go weak, legs starting to buckle, foot slipping on the edge of the ledge. I sway, damn near falling, the sight hitting me like tank.
Buster.
Lorenzo holds the teddy bear upside down by its foot. It’s in worse shape than I’ve ever seen it, but I know that bear.
I’d recognize it anywhere.
“Jesus fuck.” Something flashes in Lorenzo’s eyes. It almost looks like fear. He darts forward, snatching ahold of me, yanking me back onto the roof. I slip again, almost falling, this time onto him, but he keeps me upright, slamming me back against the ledge, pinning me there with his body. “I swear to God, if you throw yourself off this roof, I’m jumping after you, and I’m going to catch you.”
Whoa. I don’t know what to make of those words.
My eyes widen, my heart racing.
“I’ll catch you,” he says again, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my skin, “because in those few seconds before you hit the ground, I’m going to fucking choke the life out of you for doing that shit. You got me?”
“I got you,” I whisper, surprised I can even speak.
He keeps me pinned there, pressed flat up against me, staring me dead in the face. I’m frozen, like I’m made from stone, unable to move... unable to look. He’s holding it in his hand, and I don’t know why, and I don’t know what it means, but it’s the closest I’ve gotten to her in ten long months. I need it to be real.
“I got you,” he says, his voice low, serious, and I think at first he’s just echoing what I said, until he raises his eyebrows, emphasizing them. “I got you. It’s okay.”
I blink rapidly, my eyes burning, a lump in my throat that I’m struggling to swallow back.
“I got you,” he says for the third time, “but I’m telling you, if you start fucking crying on me right now, if you start boo-hoo’ing, there’s a chance I’ll just throw you over the side myself, so don’t do it.”
“I’m trying not to,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Good,” he says. “You think I can let go? You think you can stand up on your own?”
I nod.
He lets go of me, taking a step back.
As soon as he does, my feet come out from under me, and I slide right down to the roof on my ass. My shirt catches on the ledge, the old crumbly bricks scraping my back, as a noise comes out of me. A loud noise. An inhuman noise. I quickly cover my mouth to stifle it.
Tears burn my eyes, obscuring my vision.
Buster is right there, inches from my face.
I reach for the bear, grasping hold of its arm, and Lorenzo relinquishes it to me, not hesitating at all. As I clutch it to my chest, I pull my knees up, folding into myself. Tears break free and stream down my cheeks.
I cry.
Fuck it.
I can’t hold it back anymore.
My chest aches, my stomach clenches, and I can’t catch my breath because I cry so hard. I’m hyperventilating, a mess, falling apart. Lorenzo just stands there, not consoling me, but he doesn’t leave, either. He stays right in front of me, staring out into the city, as I sob.
“I asked one thing of you,” he says when I calm down. “One thing. That’s it. I said don’t cry.”
I laugh at that, although my tears are still falling, laughing and crying at the same time, like a maniac. It’s not funny, no, but it’s so fucked up that I can’t help myself. “Sorry.”
“Jesus... don’t apologize, either. Stop saying you’re sorry all the fucking time.”
I want to point out that I’ve said it only maybe three times to him total, and that I should be apologizing, but I keep my mouth shut as I wipe my face on my shirt, trying to dry my eyes. I know it makes him uncomfortable. Emotion. Remorse. Tears. Apologies. The whole nine yards.
I press my face against the teddy bear, inhaling deeply. Dust tickles my nose. It smells musty. It doesn’t smell at all like sunshine or innocence. There’s no her in the bear anymore.
I don’t know what happened.
More tears fall, silent ones this time. I wipe them away and just sit there, hugging Buster.
After a moment, Lorenzo lets out a dramatic sigh before sitting down on the roof beside me, maybe a foot of space between us. We’re not touching, but he’s close enough that I can feel his warmth.
“Are you done crying now?” he asks.
I laugh again. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I was going to talk to you,” he says, “but you might blow snot on me with all that blubbering.”
I shake my head, wiping my nose on my sleeve. I’m a mess, but there’s nothing else I can do about it. It isn’t like he brought along any tissues.
Turning my head, I gaze at him. The sky is steadily lightening. I can make him out better now than when he showed up. Uneasiness wafts from him as he picks at the skin around his fingernails, out of his element. For the first time since I’ve met this man, he’s letting his nerves show, his guard lowering just enough for me to see it. I can tell he doesn’t want to be doing this, but he’s doing it, and that’s not something I ever expected from him.
He doesn’t owe me anything.
He glances at me, surveying my face. Reaching over, he grabs my right hand, turning it over, palm up, my wrist bending as he pushes the tattoo there toward me. My Scarlet Letter, he calls it.
I glance down at it. “Sasha.”
“Pity,” he says. “I hoped it would end up standing for ‘salad tosser’. I was looking forward to it.”
I roll my eyes, snatching my hand back away.
“It was different at first,” I say, running my fingers along the ridges of the tattoo, feeling for the scar beneath it. I can even still see it, if I look hard enough. “He carved an ‘S’ into my wrist. I hated it… hated seeing it. It stood for something else back then.”
“Suka.”
I cringe, hearing that word in his voice.
“Yes,” I say. “So after I escaped him, I covered it with her… the only good thing that ever came from me being his suka.”
It’s quiet after that, the two of us sitting here, as I stare out along the roof.
He knows my truth.
“What’s your first memory?” I ask after a while.
He doesn’t hesitate, answering, “The night my father was murdered. I remember coming down the steps and seeing the gun in the man’s hand. First time I ever saw one.”
“Do you remember your father?”
He shakes his head.
“I don’t remember my parents,” I say. “My first memory is of a social worker telling me the home I’d been living in didn’t want me anymore. I was five. I remember being so upset. I just wanted a family. I wanted a mom, but I never got one. So when I had Sasha, I was determined to give her what I never got. I was going to be the best goddamn mom on the planet.”
“I’m sure you’re a great mother.”
“I tried to be,” I say quietly. “I was only sixteen when I had her, and I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew we had to get away from Kassian, so I took her and ran. It wasn’t perfect, but we were happy… until he caught up to us. He took her, and he left me for dead. I haven’t seen her since. I don’t know where she is.”
Tears break free again.
I’m trying not to cry, because the man is actually listening, but it’s hard holding it back now that I’ve been cracked open.
I went to the police. I went to Child Protective Services. I’ve talked to lawyers and social workers and private investigators. Nobody wants to get involved. They all refuse to help.
Kassian is powerful. He’s wealthy. He’s terrifying. So they all just called it a ‘domestic problem’ and sent me packing.
In the beginning, I staked out his house. I kept an eye on the club. I followed his men around. Not once did I see her, or any sign that Kassian even had her, but I knew.
I know.
He’s got her somewhere.
“Did you...?” I trail off. “I mean, was she...?”
“I didn’t see her,” Lorenzo says, answering a question I can’t bring myself to finish. “The bear was on a fireplace mantle. He said it was just collecting dust, so he figured you’d want it.”