Page 135 of The Wrong Brother

“Always. What was for dinner,kozlenochek?Are there leftovers?”

Kate grins at the silly nickname, little goat, and takes my hand to drag me into the kitchen, talking about chicken wraps that I’m not the least bit interested in.

* * *

This morning is considerably harder, especially after only five restless hours of sleep. Kate had knocked out hard after chatting herself into exhaustion, but I stayed up, frustrated and worried. Annoyed by how strange it felt being away from Emma after over a month together.

Now Kate sits cross-legged on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, happily drowning a stack of pancakes in maple syrup while the sun pours through the windows overlooking the garden. Her blond hair is still damp from the shower, and she hums softly to herself between bites.

I sip my coffee. It’s all I can stomach this morning. Another sip—anything to delay the inevitable.

Kate notices, though, and narrows her eyes.

“You’ve been staring at your mug for like five minutes.”

“I have not.”

“You have.” She points her fork at me. “You’re doing yourthinking face.”

“I have a thinking face?”

“You do. It’s all—” She scrunches up her face, making me huff a laugh and almost choke on a mouthful of coffee.

“Wonderful.”

“The eyebrow thing.” She demonstrates by furrowing her own brows dramatically. “And the tapping.”

I immediately stop tapping my fingers against the mug. Kate grins.

“Knew it.”

I should have known better than to think I could hide anything from a twelve-year-old who’s spent six years studying my every habit. She’s sharp, which shouldn’t surprise me. I can see her being a psychologist someday, or a criminal investigator. I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

She cuts another piece of pancake before looking up again.

“You didn’t break up with Emma, did you?”

The question catches me completely off guard.

“What?”

“You look sad.”

“I—no. I didn’t break up with Emma. She’s just back in Colorado for a little longer.”

She chews, brows furrowed, and asks around her food: “You’re going back then, right? Maybe I can come with you this time?”

The thought of Kate and her father being in the same state is so infuriating that I need to look away. I can’t let her see that side of me.

I’m only now realizing how much of an effect the last month has had on me—seeing him again, being angry again, violent again. How stupid it is when I have so muchhere.

But if it weren’t for this mess with Andrei, I wouldn’t have Emma. She would’ve disappeared all those weeks ago to wherever she ran away to next.

I look out the kitchen windows toward the ocean. The conversation I’ve rehearsed a hundred different ways suddenly refuses to cooperate.

“No.”

I set the mug down and draw a slow breath.