77. Mira

77

MIRA

I think I'm gonna throw up.

My hour-long shower, the three times I pulled over on the way here, and the whispered pep talk I had to give myself in the reflective handle of the stairwell door has done absolutely nothing to ease the anxiety swirling in my stomach.

I'm about to see Zane, and I want to run in the other direction.

He asked me to be here. That's a good sign, right?

Well, it could be.

It could also be a harbinger of heartbreak and devastation.

I'm leaning towards option number two when the door opens and Zane is standing in front of me.

God, he's handsome.

His blonde hair is wet and tousled away from his face. A blast of wintergreen and body wash hits me, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in like an inhaler.

"Hi." My voice is a barely-there whisper.

He steps to the side. "Come in."

Taylor told me a kickass outfit would make me feel more confident, so I put on my fire engine red sundress and gold sandals. I should have gone with chainmail, though. Maybe a goalie mask. Even a little padding would make me feel better. Because I can't even meet Zane's eyes as I walk past him.

Up until a week ago, this was my home. I had a hook next to the door, a cushion on the couch, and a chair at the table. Little pieces of this place belonged to me.

Now, I hover in the entryway, too nervous to overstep. "The house looks the same. I mean—" I shake my head. "Obviously. It's only been a week, I guess. It just feels longer."

"A lot longer," Zane agrees.

For a single second, I have hope that Zane is feeling the same way I am. Confused, sure, but also… lonely and yearning.

But then he says, "A lot has changed since then, too."

I don't even have a chance to ask what he means when he drops a manila folder on the coffee table.

I'm too scared to move closer. "What's that?"

"This is a report from a private investigator I hired," he says flatly. "It's everything anyone could ever want to know about a woman named Katerina Costa."

All at once, I feel dizzy.

That name on his lips— my name —is like being clubbed over the head. I blink and see stars.

I never thought, when my past caught up with me, that it would be Zane Whitaker's face I was staring into.

"It's true, then." Zane shakes his head. "Part of me thought, maybe… But your reaction makes it obvious. You're Katerina Costa."

"No." The word comes out surprisingly forcefully. It's only because I've had years to think about this moment. To plan exactly what I would say. "Katerina Costa is gone."

"There's no point lying. I know who you are, Kater?—"

"Katerina never even had a chance to live. Not in that house. Not with that family." A tear rolls down my cheek and I swipe it away. "Katerina is a scared little girl. Mira is the woman who saved her."

Zane stares at me for a second, his blue eyes as wide and pale as I've ever seen them. Slowly, he slides the folder to the side. "You were telling me the truth. About your dad."

I sink my teeth into my lower lip, trying my best to keep back the sobs that are squeezing my throat.

"Am I the only person you've ever told?"

I nod. "You're the only person I ever wanted to tell. You're the only person I ever wanted to know me. "

Daniel was right about that much, at least.

"You told me he died," he rumbles. "But that wasn't the whole story, was it?"

I close my eyes and I see the blood. Shattered glass.

There was so much yelling.

"You killed him. You killed your father."

There's no point trying to dry my cheeks now. Years' worth of backed-up tears are flowing. Taylor would be proud of me for finally clearing out my emotional constipation.

Maybe not so proud for the murder part, though.

Suddenly, Zane is in front of me.

His thumbs brush gently over my cheeks, and I have got to be dreaming. If I am, I never want to wake up.

I keep my eyes closed and fall against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady drumming in my ear. I take deep breaths of him. It's been days of feeling like one of those little monkeys playing the cymbals has taken up residence in my head.

Now, there's nothing. The noise is gone and it's just Zane.

Just us.

"You could have told me," he whispers against my temple. "If you'd told me everything, I would have understood. He hurt you ." Zane's arms tighten around me. If my dad was still alive, I'd almost feel compelled to warn him to watch his back. Almost . "No one would blame you for defending yourself. You could go back and talk to the police. You could?—"

"No!" The dream snaps and I step away. I shiver without his warmth around me, but I meet his eyes. "I can't go back, Zane. Ever."

He frowns. "You're going to keep running?"

I knew this day was coming, but I had no idea exactly how much it would hurt.

This is why I don't put down roots.

This tearing ache in my chest is why I don't fall in love with golden-haired hockey players and their friends. This is why I don't let blue-eyed four-year-olds patch up all of the broken parts of me with bedtime giggles and mouse-shaped pancakes and afternoons spent at the park.

It's easier when I have no one. When there's no one to leave behind. No one to break your heart.

"I don't have a choice," I sob, feeling every ounce of the weight of all the good things trying to keep me here. "I d-don't have another choice."

Something flickers across Zane's face. Then he clenches his jaw and reaches into his back pocket.

It takes me a couple seconds to realize what he's handing me.

I shake my head. "I don't need it. This wasn't?—"

"It's your last check," he says, forcing it into my hand. "Take it. Wherever you're going, you'll need it."

The tethers keeping me here are snapping one by one, and I'm not ready. For the first time in years, my instinct isn't to run; it's to stay. I want to stay.

But I can't.

I sniffle. "Can you tell Aiden that I?—"

"Mira?"

No. God, no. Please no.

Aiden pokes his head out of the hallway, his brow furrowed. Then he sees me and lights up. "Mira! You're back!"

Aiden throws his arms around my legs, and I don't know how I'm supposed to walk out of this house now.

I drop to my knees and hold him close.

He's so busy telling me about the last week of staying home with Uncle Owen that he doesn't even notice I'm crying.

"I missed you." He squeezes my neck.

"I missed you, too," I whisper, kissing his silky blonde hair.

I'm going to miss you so much more.

There are so many things I want to say, but I can't put my burdens on a four-year-old's shoulders. Here, with Zane, Aiden gets to be a kid. He gets to be happy.

I want that for him more than I want anything else.

Which is exactly why I can't stay.

Aiden frowns. Gently, he touches my cheek. "Sometimes, I cry, too."

It's one of the first things I ever said to him after I found him crying in the hall closet. The tenderness in his tiny voice cracks my busted-up heart in two.

I kiss his face and squeeze him in a hug, willing myself to stop crying. I don't want him to remember me like this.

I'm not sure how long I hold him, but Zane clears his throat. "Mira has to go, buddy."

Aiden pulls back, and I barely resist the urge to clutch him even tighter, to cling to this final moment for as long as I can. "Where are you going?"

I could tell him the truth, but why start now?

"I'm going on an adventure." I smile even as my eyes fill with tears.

"Oooh. If there's a mountain, can I climb it, too?"

I give him a watery laugh. "I don't know if that would be very safe. But if I climb a mountain, I'll send you a postcard, okay?"

"Do you know my address?" He twirls around, grabbing Zane's hand. "Daddy, give her our address."

"She knows our address." Zane ruffles Aiden's hair and glances up at me, just for a second. Long enough that I know this isn't what either of us wants. "Mira knows where to find us… if she needs anything."