Page 140 of The Wrong Brother

“She was gorgeous.” The admission feels strangely inadequate. Kate’s smile softens.

“You love her.” She says it like a simple fact, like two plus two is four. Kids see love as so uncomplicated, even after everything I just told her.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to.

Because somewhere between Colorado and California, between revenge and forgiveness, my life quietly stopped revolving around Andrei. Now it revolves around a twelve-year-old girl finishing cold pancakes.

A woman carrying our child and hopefully napping in my father’s cabin.

The tiny life neither of us expected, but that I already find myself planning for.

The future remains uncertain. Emma could still decide she doesn’t choose me, doesn’t choose this baby. She might choose the baby and leave.

If that’s what she needs, I will accept it.

But a part of me quietly hopes, as I watch Kate get up and get ready for a day of gossiping on the phone and watching TV, that there’s still time for me to make a home. To have a future, and not just a past.

Chapter 36

Emma

By the twelfthday at the cabin, I almost forget we’re hiding. A small part of me looks for Ruslan every morning, but I shake it off as soon as Frank starts making coffee.

Despite his complaints that there are no bocce courts, no barbers (he doesn’t need a haircut), and no delis around, we’ve settled into a quiet routine. I get why Rus’ father came here, and why Rus kept the cabin as well. It’s quiet in a way that makes me feel settled and sure. I’m not second-guessing myself the way I did in the hustle and bustle of Miami, Denver, and California.

Somewhere between making breakfast, reading in front of the woodstove, and walking the trails around the property, I’ve started sleeping through the night again. It scares me a little how easy it is.

Late that afternoon, Frank suggests we drive into West River to pick up groceries before another storm rolls through. I haven’t heard anything from Rus in two days now, and it takes everything in me not to ask Frank, like a jealous teenage girl, ifhe’sheard anything orwhymy cell is radio silent.

You don’t have service;I remind myself, taking a deep, slow breath.You haven’t the whole time you’ve been at the cabin.

The air is cold enough to sting my cheeks as Frank and I climb out of the truck on the main street. Tiny white flakes drift lazily through the gray sky, dissolving before they ever reach the ground. They barely qualify as snow, but I stop walking anyway, smiling as I tip my face toward the clouds.

“It’s trying,” I murmur.

Frank follows my gaze. “The weather?”

“The snow.”

“It appears to be lacking commitment.”

“It still counts,” I laugh, grinning at the way his nose scrunches up in distaste.

A few flakes catch in my hair before disappearing. They’re gone almost as quickly as they arrive, but somehow that makes them more beautiful. The last traces of autumn cling stubbornly to the mountains around us, and for the first time in weeks, I feel something I haven’t allowed myself to entertain.

Hope.

Frank notices.

“I haven’t seen that expression in a while.”

“What expression?”

“The one that says you’re actually enjoying yourself.”

“I am.” The admission surprises me. “I think I needed to disappear for a little while.”

Frank smiles warmly. “I suspect everyone does, eventually. I tend to go to Umbria to do so, but…” He shrugs. “To each their own.”