25. Sasha

CHAPTER 25

SASHA

I sit on the couch downstairs, laptop open on my lap as I browse through class options for the next semester. Graphic design has always been my passion, and I can't afford to let it slip away from me. Besides, I’m not going to Aunt Irina’s place back in Russia. Vlad casually threw this threat out the other day during breakfast again. Then asked me if I’d finally decided to apply myself.

Apply my arse.

And as much as I hate it, that lying wanker wins for once.

With the current semester being halfway through, spring seems like a good point in time to start making up all those classes I missed because of what happened in London. Andrey has already handled the transfers for me. All I have to do is just choose the rest.

The thought of my friend buried and no longer able to do all those fun things we discussed we would do after graduating has me shriveling on the inside. Even the impressive sight of Logan sitting across and reading something on his iPad doesn’t help.

I have to shut my eyes and try to persuade myself that Alfie would have wanted me to move on and maybe honor him by doing what he wanted. But if I’m stuck with Aunt Irina or even in this house, I won’t get to do any of those things.

So, I snap my eyes open and point my attention to the online list of classes in front of me. Oddly enough, with each course I choose, I feel a renewed sense of determination. I need that diploma, no matter what obstacles come my way.

"Digital Illustration or Typography? Decisions, decisions," I mutter under my breath, scribbling notes in my well-worn notebook. In the back of the notebook, there's a page with an unfinished doodle of my secret boyfriend. Or at least that's what I like to call Logan in my head. I've been sketching him all morning.

Across the room, that very same secret boyfriend is completely engrossed in reading, probably some articles on gun control. It seems to be this huge thing in this country. I don’t get it. London life was simple. Calm. Filled with too many trips to pubs, cramming for exams, and Alfie’s fart competitions.

Here in Vegas, it’s more like I’m the main character of a horror movie. And not the good one with that character surviving, but the kind of movie where the villain is the only one still alive at the end.

Subtly, I steal several glances at Logan, recalling our moments together–the night in the hotel room after the Lake Mead trip, sleeping entwined in each other's arms in his cramped apartment, sharing breakfast like a proper couple in a cafe somewhere away from the hustle of the Strip. It feels like a lifetime ago, even though it was only days since the last time we kissed.

But now, with Vlad and Ivan back in the house, we have to pretend there's nothing between us. And it’s harder than I hoped it would be. There’s this charge in the air between us, like an invisible thread.

You're so bloody fit , I think to myself openly studying Logan’s bulging arms, then shake my head to erase the thought. Now is not the time for distractions. I need to finish selecting the right classes. And the sketch .

Despite my best efforts, my thoughts keep drifting back to Logan. We've become so attuned to each other, and I hate having to hide it. But what choice do we have? If Vlad or even Ivan—who will report to Vlad—ever found out... the mere thought sends a cold shiver down my spine.

"Shit," I mutter, accidentally clicking the wrong class option. I quickly backtrack, but the frustration lingers.

Why should I have to suffer in silence, hiding who I am and who I care for?

Why?

Why can’t I be anyone but a Solovey?

"Everything okay?" Logan asks all of a sudden as if he feels my frustration. There’s genuine concern in his eyes—something he tries not to show when he is on the clock and when Vlad is around.

"Y-yeah," I stammer. "Just a bit knackered from all this class planning."

"Take your time," he says softly, offering me a small, comforting smile.

"Thanks," I reply, feeling the warmth of his words spread through my chest. For just a moment, it feels like we're that real couple again, even with the ever-looming presence of my family. But reality quickly sets back in, and I know we must keep up appearances–for both our sakes.

Right then, back to the grind.

After a few more minutes of painful semester planning, I tear a clean page from my notebook, scrunching it into a tight ball. I take aim and hurl it at Logan, watching as it bounces off his forehead. His eyes snap up, feigning annoyance, but there's a spark of amusement hidden behind them.

I have to hold back a giggle.

"Hey. What was that for?" he asks, trying to sound stern.

"Just wanted to bother you a bit."

"And that was your brightest idea?" He picks up the paper ball and tosses it back to me with a hint of a smirk.

I catch it and place it on the coffee table. There is a long moment of silence as we stare at each other. "Tell me about your time at the police academy," I ask, still not quite able to imagine Logan in the uniform. It’s strange. The only image of him that’s crystal clear is in all black and professional. And I guess, I want to know more of that Logan in ripped jeans and a white wrinkled T-shirt. Or the Logan who swore to protect and serve.

Logan hesitates, his playful demeanor fading slightly. It's evident he's guarded when it comes to discussing his past. But eventually, he speaks. "I told you already, I wanted to be a cop ever since I was a kid," he admits. "My parents didn't always agree with me, but in the end, I couldn't see myself doing anything else. I tried. I really did. But it was at the academy that I felt like I belonged to something bigger and better."

"You said your dad wasn't keen on the idea, right?" I recollect our previous conversation.

"Let's just say he hoped I’d choose a different path," Logan answers, looking away for a moment. "But, like I said, nothing else ever called to me like being a cop did."

"Must've been hard," I muse. "Putting your parents through that?" I know all too well the pain of defying family expectations.

"Yeah." Logan sighs. "But you have to follow your own path, even if others don't understand."

"Too right," I agree, feeling a strange sense of kinship with him. We've both faced challenges in our pursuit of our true selves, even if the specifics are vastly different. Even if we are different.

We fall into a comfortable silence, both lost in our own thoughts. The weight of our shared experiences grows heavy. But there’s a bond tightening between us. And for a fleeting moment, the world outside this room–with its dangers and secrets–falls away.

I don’t know how he does it, how he makes it all disappear, even if for a fraction of a second. It still means a lot to me. That little stretch of time without worry.

"Ultimately," Logan says, breaking the quiet between us, "I wanted to honor my dad. He never got to see me become a cop, but that only made me want it more."

"Can I ask what happened to the bloke who… shot your dad?" The words tumble from my mouth, and I immediately regret them as Logan's eyes cloud with anguish.

"Life in prison," he answers, his voice strained. "But if you ask me, the bastard should have gotten the lethal injection." His knuckles turn white around the edge of the iPad as he speaks, revealing the barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.

"Did you ever... I don't know, want revenge against him?" I venture cautiously, watching Logan's expression darken even further.

"Every day," he admits, his jaw clenched tight. "But I can't let myself go down that path."

Something shifts inside me, a fierce protectiveness and need to do something, anything, for Logan. My heart races as an idea takes shape. "Vlad could arrange for it." I surprise myself with the boldness of my suggestion despite the sick feeling in my stomach. It’s possibly the first time I claim the Solovey name. "He could take care of the man who killed your dad."

Logan's gaze snaps to mine, his eyes strange, even a little cold. "No, Sasha. That's not who we are."

"But why not?" I press, unable to let it go. "Why follow the law when it's done nothing for you?"

"Because," he says firmly, his steely resolve shining through, "we're not Gods who get to decide who lives and who dies. We have to trust in justice, even when it seems impossible."

I admire Logan's unwavering conviction, even in the face of his own pain. As I sit back on the couch, my mind racing with thoughts of revenge and justice, one thing becomes crystal clear: sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.

"Maybe you're right," I concede softly. "Perhaps the truest courage lies not in seeking vengeance, but in finding the strength to let go."