Chapter 11 - Emory

I didn't have much in the way of alcohol in the house except for a bottle of wine that I'd been holding onto for some "special occasion." Apparently, special was being told by a man that you'd slept with that he worked for the Russian mob, and some rival mafia group was now after him and very potentially you.

My head was fucking spinning, and the years of practice I had for compartmentalization and distancing were not working in the slightest right now.

"Okay, bucko." I polished off the last of my wine, having drank the thing in about a minute. "Details. I need to understand what's going on if I'm going to keep you here and still try to help you at the office."

Vlad rolled his eyes—just for a second—but I noticed, and that annoyance he was showing could fuck off. I had way more of a reason to be upset than him right now. Hell, he was probably used to being shot at, what with being a mercenary and all. I was not, and if I really was going to continue seeing him for the therapy he so clearly needed, I wanted to be sure that I wasn't risking my safety every time I went outside.

The alcohol swam in my stomach, slowly dissolving and working its magic as I waited for Vlad to type up his next response. It was just a few moments before he flashed the screen at me again.

"I'm not looking to continue our therapy sessions, so don't worry. I won't be dragging more Italians to your office."

My mouth dropped open as I read the words. "You're not? Vlad, I agreed to help you. You set up a second appointment. Surely, you know that this time with me is going to benefit you. You don't need to stop now just because there was an incident at the hospital."

Vlad cocked a brow, frustration making them pinch together. He typed another message on my phone, and I could feel the wine working, making my head a little fuzzy.

"I didn't set up another appointment with you. That was my brother. Again. And regardless, it's not smart to have me showing up at your work. The Italians have seen me with you, and it's better if they think you were just a helpful citizen. They won't think twice about killing you to send me a message if they think you're helping me in any way. Therapy or anything else."

I sighed, my frustration now making me return to my kitchen island and pour another glass of red.

"Your brother. Of course. Why would I think that you actually wanted help?"

As I tilted the bottle over my glass, Vlad came up behind me, grabbing it and pulling it away from me. When I turned around and glared at him, he shook his head.

"I'm entitled to another glass of wine, asshole."

Vlad shook his head again, typing with one hand as he held it away from me.

"Sure, just wait until I'm gone. You shouldn't have your guard down if the Italians are still trying to track me down."

"Ugh!" I threw up my hands, storming back over to the couch. "That's such a typical guy move. It takes more than two glasses of wine to get me drunk, Vlad."

But when I looked back at him, he just met my glare with an unimpressed expression. I was aware that he'd seen me pretty tipsy at the bar, and as much as I wanted to forget where that night ended, it was all I could think about now.

He gestured to the couch, encouraging me to have a seat.

"You're incredibly bossy, you know that?" But I still wound up sitting. "How does someone even wind up working for the mob anyway? Were you like born into it or something?"

I didn't like how unprofessional I sounded, but the truth was, I was tired. Today had been a lot emotionally—and physically—and it was so much harder to be that unassuming therapist right now. My nerves were frayed, and it was taking everything I had just to keep myself from having a total breakdown.

By the time I'd stopped contemplating how much I hated this, Vlad had typed another message.

"Sort of. My father knew some shady people back in Russia. When he died, my brother dragged the three of us to the States, and he hooked up with some of those shady people. We worked for them for a while, and eventually, my brothers and I became something more."

Curiosity was part of the reason I'd become a counselor, and it was undoubtedly piqued after that.

"Your father passed away when you were young?" Vlad nodded. "Was that difficult? I can only imagine what losing a parent is like. Did it have anything to do with—"

Vlad held up a hand, scoffing through his nose. He started typing, and I just waited for him to finish. I knew that I'd slipped into therapist mode, and I could see from Vlad's expression that he wasn't a huge fan. Still, this was apparently the only time I was going to get to talk to the guy.

After all, he didn't want to return for that other session. If I wanted to help Vlad, it looked like it was now or never.

"It's the past, Emory. I don't really like dwelling on that shit. Yeah, moving to a new country was a thing, but it's done. Here we are. And I'm NOT getting into the talking thing."

Vlad had put "not" in all caps in his message to emphasize his point. While I understood that dragging up things that you'd rather see buried wasn't always fun, I also knew that shoving your emotions down—repressing them—fueled mental health issues like gasoline on a fire.

"Well, you should." I just held his stare, the wine doing its thing and my tact level plummeting. "It doesn't do you or anyone around you any good to be holding onto trauma. Which you clearly are. Your brother obviously cares about you enough to try to get you help. Maybe you should at least try it for a while as a thank you."

Scoffing, Vlad's eyebrows shot up. His lips parted just a hair, and if he were anyone else, I would have thought he was getting ready to chew me out. As it was, I knew that Vlad wasn't about to yell at me, and even when I read his subsequent message, it didn't read with the same bite as an angry text.

"A ‘thank you,' huh? I'll admit that would be a first for either of us. We're not a touchy-feely kind of family."

I wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion, the bit of wine, or the fact that clearly, the old tricks weren't going to work with Vlad, but when my own dumb past bubbled up in my head, I decided to share.

What was there to lose? Vlad could either trust me and accept the help, or he could leave when he was able and never look back. In either case, I wouldn't have to sit with potential regret for not having done my best.

"You know, families can kind of suck—even when they're not affiliated with the mafia," Vlad smirked, listening as I went on. "My parents are both doctors, experts in their fields, but it didn't stop them from being struck by illness. Not directly, of course, through me."

I stopped looking at my impromptu guest, my eyes roaming over the seams in the couch as I remembered growing up. A fog of sorts settled over me, and I dictated what I saw in my mind's eye with a sense of detachment, the years of my own therapy helping me to talk about it.

"I was sick a lot as a kid. I was in the hospital more often than not, actually. I was born with some genetic conditions that took extensive therapy and surgery to correct. I'm fine now. I just go in for more check-ups than other people, but so much of my youth was spent in a bed that I'll never forget how much I missed. How lonely I felt most of the time."

The room was silent. I'd told several people how much I hated my life as a kid and young teen. I'd even told my therapist during college that because I was so sick, I'd wanted to do everything to make my parents happy with me now.

I had just never told someone I'd slept with before.

"My parents have always expected a lot from me, and sometimes, I thought they may have been happier when I was sick. I sort of was. For as isolated as I felt, they didn't push me as hard. When I got better, when it was safe to demand the most from me, my parents didn't let up. I tried so hard to make them happy. I'm still trying, unfortunately, but…I'm getting better.

"It shouldn't surprise you that I've talked to a therapist, too. It's sort of a prerequisite for becoming one, but going had actually allowed me to see these things about myself and my life before I chose this career. I think talking to someone and experiencing how much it could help actually made me want to become a counselor."

And that was it. Vlad raked his stare over me critically as if looking for any sign that I was being disingenuous or stretching the truth. I wasn't, of course, so there was no deceit to find.

When I just pulled my knees up to my chest and sighed, Vlad went back to typing.

"I really do think I deserve another glass of wine, especially now."

There was a slight noise at that, and when I looked over at Vlad, I had to assume it was a chuckle. It was so small and different, not a scoff or a one-off laugh. Something longer and more musical while still carrying zero hints at what his voice might sound like.

After a few seconds, more than other times, Vlad held up the phone. This time, however, he slid it into my palm while he got up from the couch. I only watched him for a second, then turned my attention to the screen.

"I'm not sure how, but I get what you're saying. Being cut off from people because of circumstances. I'll admit that life has never been the same for me as it has for my brothers or the Vadims that I've worked for. I'm not like them, so noticeably, in fact, that to stave off the snide remarks while we were making a name for ourselves, I had to lean into the ‘silent' thing. I'm the Unholy Ghost, and a lot of times, I do feel like one."

When I looked up, Vlad stood before me with a fresh glass of wine.

I chuckled, taking the glass from him and having a sip. "Thanks. And look, I'm not trying to force you into anything. I just…yeah, you get it."

Vlad looked over at me from his position on the other end of the couch. He gave a slight nod, a crooked smile sitting on his face. And then the silence started to crowd back in around us. I traded off between taking tiny sips of my wine and flicking my stare back to Vlad.

Watching him was fascinating, and I remembered how much I'd enjoyed having his attention on me the time we were...intimate.

Emory, no. That's not a good idea.

Still, when I glanced his way, Vlad met my stare across the couch, and we were both locked into each other. The air thickened, and my skin tingled, my fingers itching to touch him again.

"Why did you come to me for help?"

Vlad's stare dropped, his jaw working as his thoughts visibly churned. When I was about to say something again, he scooted forward on the couch, his knee brushing mine where I'd dropped it to the cushion.

I swallowed, trying to hold his stare stoically as he looked up, and Vlad's gleaming yellow-gold eyes met mine. He pointed at me and then turned the corners of his mouth down as he shrugged subtly. And for some strange reason, when we made eye contact again, I could actually parse out what he was getting at.

"I was the safest option at the time." Vlad nodded. "Well, what about now? Am I still safe?"

Meeting my eyes hard, Vlad dropped his chin, shifting forward on the sofa and closing a few more inches that stood between us. He pointed at my chest again, then back toward his own. Then he slashed his hand through the air, his expression severe.

"You won't let anything happen to me."

Vlad nodded.

"Why? Why do you care?"

I wasn't sure why I asked. It was a stupid, self-damaging question. But I couldn't hold the words back behind my lips. They took off with a mind of their own.

Leveling his stare at me, Vlad pushed in closer still. As he did, I had no choice but to move my leg out of the way so that Vlad could shift onto his knee in front of me. He was so damn close, and my heart thundered as my head spun.

I wasn't drunk. I wasn't even tipsy. And this wasn't the bar like last time.

Still, having Vlad this close, feeling the weight and warmth of his presence so strongly, there was little I could do to keep myself from falling into that same place we'd been the other night. Something about Vlad just called to me, and it was proving more and more impossible for me to deny that.

"Vlad, I…"

But what was I supposed to say? I couldn't think, and his proximity was making that so much more challenging. The couch dipped where Vlad knelt on the cushion, and my body was forced to lean toward him.

Either that or I'd moved closer to him on instinct.

He leaned over me, sucking in a rough breath as he planted his hands on either side of me on the armrest. Vlad's broad body pressed between my legs, and I just stared up into his gorgeous eyes, unable to look away.

Vlad had ditched the phone before he moved, and I was desperate to know what he was thinking. Being held in this silence was maddening, particularly for someone whose entire life was built around talking things out.

Then, his hand was coming up to the side of my face, and I immediately knew what was on his mind. It was on mine, too, after all. My lips parted as he stared down at me, locking me beneath him. I could scarcely breathe, and then Vlad's grip on the back of my neck tightened.

He inched closer, lowering his mouth to hover over mine. But then he waited. Vlad didn't move another inch, holding the space for me to say no, push him back, or even shake my head.

I didn't do any of that.

Instead, I tilted my face toward his, looking into those golden pools before I clamped my eyes shut and crashed my lips against his.

Here we go again.