28. Logan

CHAPTER 28

LOGAN

On the patio of a small taco joint I’ve been frequenting for years, I watch as Sasha wrestles with his taco. The tortilla is nearly bursting with plump pink shrimp and crisp cabbage slaw while juice drips onto his paper plate as he takes a messy bite. The wind tousles his blond undercut, the sun catching the strands and turning them golden.

A thought punches through my mind. I think I could look at him forever. Just look. Nothing else.

Around us, the small hole-in-the-wall place buzzes with chatter and sizzling grills. English and Spanish are mixed in the air. Peeling posters advertise local bands and colorful art adorns the bright yellow walls. The tangy scent of tomatillo salsa and charred meats fills my nostrils. This place has been my escape from the grit of the Vegas streets since I was old enough to earn my own money. And it feels monumental to be able to share it with the man who brings meaning to my life after I've lost all my family.

As I take a swig of my Coke, a memory of my mother surfaces, unbidden.

Live. Truly live, Logan. Don't let the shadows of this world swallow you whole.

A familiar ache settles in my chest.

Your life is yours alone. No one else gets to tell you how to walk it.

And I want to believe it. Want to believe that taking Sasha from Vlad, separating him from the Solovey name and making him mine is easy. But it’s not.

"You alright there, mate? You look like you've seen a ghost." Sasha's British accent, so out of place here, cuts through my trance.

I clear my throat. "I'm good. Just thinking."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further, taking another enthusiastic bite of his taco.

"Careful, you're getting hooked on this stuff," I tease, nodding at his plate. "Won't be able to go back to tea and crumpets after all this flavor."

"Sod off." Sasha chuckles, licking a spot of salsa off his thumb. "I'm in love. Might have to marry a taco at this rate."

I snort. "Good luck getting Vlad's blessing on that union."

Sasha's smile tightens at the mention of his brother. A shadow flickers across his face, there and gone. He takes a long sip of horchata as if washing away an unpleasant taste.

The dark ink on my arm itches, the scar on my temple throbbing, both reminders of roads I can't go back down. I should change the subject, steer us toward safer waters.

Because, in the end, it’s up to him. It’s his family.

But behind Sasha's easy charm, I see that haunted look. The same look I used to see in the mirror, before I learned to bury it deep. I want to tell him I understand. That he's not alone in this.

I open my mouth, searching for the right words. But they lodge in my throat, trapped behind years of silence and secrets. The moment stretches taut between us, heavy with words—once again—unsaid.

No, I tell myself. It’s not why we’re here today. We don’t get to be ourselves at home and now that Vlad is gone, we have this small pocket of time to just be and not look over our shoulders, however short.

I clear my throat, forcing the words out. "So, what's the plan after you finish up your degree? You gonna keep pursuing a career in graphic design?"

Sasha's fingers tighten around his glass, his gaze darting away. "I...I want to. It's my passion, you know? Creating something, something that speaks to people." He shrugs, a bitter twist to his lips. "But I’m sure you know my family, they have...expectations. Vlad probably wants me to work for him." He chuckles darkly. "Imagine me slapping labels on crates of cocaine or something in some dingy warehouse."

The resignation in his voice sets my teeth on edge. I lean forward, catching his eyes. "Sasha, listen to me. You've got a gift, a real talent. Don't let anyone tell you different, not even Vlad."

"How do you know I have a talent?"

"I’ve seen some of the stuff you do on your iPad when you think no one is looking, brat."

Sasha's brow furrows, a flicker of hope warring with doubt in his eyes. "You really think so?"

"I know so," I insist. "There's a reason you're in school, studying what you love, what you chose, not what was chosen for you. Maybe your family sent you off to London so you could follow your own path, be your own man."

Sasha huffs out a laugh, but there's no humor in it. "That's a very American way of thinking, Logan. All that freedom and self-determination." He shakes his head, his accent thickening and now it’s a strange mix of British and Russian, like all these personalities are battling inside him. "Where I'm from, you're born into a role, a set of expectations. And when you're part of a family like mine, with money and power...well, let's just say there's no room for a gay son with a head full of dreams."

The bitterness in his tone cuts deep, echoing the old anger that simmers in my own veins. I remember some of the guys back on the force dropping homophobic jokes and laughing at them and it made my stomach churn.

I reach across the table, my hand hovering near his. "You're not in Russia anymore, Sasha. Those old rules, those expectations...they don't have to define you here. In Vegas, you can be whoever the hell you want to be."

Sasha's eyes meet mine, a glimmer of desperate hope shining brighter and brighter through the fear. His fingers twitch, brushing against mine for the briefest moment. A spark ignites beneath my skin, a jolt of something I haven't felt in a long, long time.

"Hey," he says quietly. "I have something for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He thoroughly wipes his fingers and then goes into his backpack hanging on the corner of the chair. "It's not that great…" he mutters, handing me a neatly rolled-up piece of paper. "You kept on fidgeting, so–"

I take the roll from him and unfold it. Something in my chest tightens immediately. There's a meticulously detailed drawing, drawing of me, sitting in a chair in Vlad's mansion reading a newspaper. Every little line is so careful, so finely done.

"You can frame it." Sasha laughs nervously. "Or burn it."

"Burn it?" I say incredulously. "You're insane. This is amazing."

"You think?"

"Of course. I'm going to take good care of it."

After getting an eyeful of myself on paper, I carefully roll it back up and slide it into the pocket of my summer jacket.

Sasha falls silent, his gaze distant as he absently picks at the remnants of his taco. When he speaks again, his voice is a mutter and hard to make out among the racket of the patio. "You know most people back…home, back in Russia, they’re not like my father. They are good, kind folks with big hearts. Hardworking folks. They just don’t have the best of luck when it comes to those who run the country. They are born into this madness the same way I was and have no choice but to follow whatever they are told. And if they don’t, bad things happen to them and their families." Sasha pauses, his lips curving into something a lot like a smile. But it’s so sad. "My mother...she was different. Not like my father. Good. Too good for a man like him."

I lean in, my elbows resting on the table, giving him my full attention. I understand the need to talk about it more than he knows.

Sasha continues on. "I hardly remember her. I was so young when she... One day she was there, and the next...gone. Like she never existed at all."

My heart clenches at the pain in his words, the tragedy that’s still in his heart. Even all these years later. "I'm sorry, Sasha. That must have been awful."

He shrugs, but I can see the weight of it in the slump of his shoulders, the shadows that suddenly cloud his green eyes. "My aunt used to tell me that she was an angel, and that God needed her back in heaven. But I don't understand… How can a God who takes away someone so good, so pure...how can that be right?"

I swallow hard, my own grief rising up to choke me. Images of my mother flash through my mind—her warm smile, her gentle hands, the way she used to hum old lullabies when I couldn't sleep.

"Maybe..." I clear my throat, blinking back the unexpected sting of tears. "Maybe your mom and my mom are up there together, watching over us. Two angels, looking out for their sons."

Sasha's gaze snaps to mine. "You’re the cheesiest guy ever, Logan." He laughs softly. "But you may be right."

A flicker of understanding passes between us. For an instant, the walls crumble, and I see the lost, lonely boy beneath the hardened exterior. I see the real Alexander Solovey. A boy who likes to doodle on his iPad and on paper, a boy who likes the piano, a boy who likes to watch TV in bed while munching on chips. It's the cutest thing ever when he calls them crisps.

I don’t think I can part with him. I don’t think I can move on with my life if he’s not in it.

As we lapse into a comfortable silence, enjoying the last few bites of our meal, a familiar voice cuts through the chatter of the restaurant. "Logan? Is that you?"

My heart stutters in my chest as I lift my head to see Curtis weaving his way through the tables, a smile plastered across his face. Panic rises in my throat, and I shoot a quick glance at Sasha, who has gone still beside me.

"Curtis," I greet, forcing an answering smile as he stops at our table. "What brings you to this part of town?"

"Just grabbing some tacos for Connie and Aiden."

"Right." I nod. "Taco Tuesday tradition."

"Exactly. You still remember, buddy?"

"Of course." I nod again, not really wanting to go down memory lane when all of us used to hang out together. Now one of my best friends is married to a man who ruined my career.

Curtis’s eyes flick to Sasha. "Hey, how are you?" he greets him casually. "I’m Curtis. This big guy used to be my partner." Curtis claps my shoulder while his attention remains on Sasha.

Sasha tips his chin politely, but I can see the tension in his posture and the wariness in his gaze as he takes in Curtis's badge winking from under his jacket. Long gone are the days when we sported the blues. Curtis is now a detective, mostly in civvies.

"Nice to meet you, mate."

"You picked a great spot. The tacos here are killer."

I’m desperate to steer the conversation away from Sasha, but thankfully Curtis does it before I come up with a good punchline. He turns to me and says, "I take it you heard about the reunion date changing."

"Yeah, yeah. I received the updates. They moved it to Thanksgiving week."

Curtis’s expression sobers all of a sudden, the smug smile is gone. "Shame about Fisher. Gone too soon."

A pang of sadness twists in my gut. "Yeah. Hope he rests in peace."

Curtis sighs, shaking his head. "Terrible thing. He was a good guy."

An awkward silence descends, and I can feel Sasha's eyes on me, questioning. I clear my throat, needing to end this conversation for good before Curtis starts asking too many questions.

"Well, we should probably get going," I say. "It was good to see you, Curtis."

"You too, Logan." He claps me on the shoulder once again, his gaze drifting back to Sasha. "Nice to meet you, pal."

Sasha murmurs a polite goodbye as Curtis heads over to the counter to pick up his order.

"That wanker has a bad energy about him," Sasha comments, scooping up the last of his taco from the plate.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. "Yeah, he’s a fucking asshole. I went to high school with his wife."

"And Fisher?" Sasha prompts.

"Another classmate," I explain.

"He died?"

"Yes, in a car accident. We had our high school reunion planned for this summer. Curtis’s wife, Connie, is actually one of the organizers. But with Fisher gone a few weeks before the event it felt strange to be celebrating when we just put him to the ground. So the reunion was moved to Thanksgiving week instead. Since that’s when everyone is in town."

"Can’t you just skip it this year? The reunion?"

"It’s an anniversary date. Fifteen years. Won’t be the same next summer."

Sasha is quiet for a bit, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry," he murmurs finally. "Were you close with him, this Fisher?"

I shake my head, the memories of high school, of Fisher's easy smile and infectious laugh, swimming through my mind. "Not exactly. But we were friendly. It's just...hard to believe he's gone in his early thirties… Anyway, I wasn’t going to attend."

"You were going to blow off your high school reunion? The anniversary?"

"Don’t like those types of events."

Sasha nods with understanding in his eyes.

"Let’s get out of here," I supply.

I drop a tip on the table and we walk out to the parking lot.

As we reach the car, I turn to face Sasha, my heart heavy with the truth I know I need to share. "Listen, Sasha... We really need to talk to Vlad. About this," I gesture between us.

A flicker of fear crosses Sasha’s features. "I know. I tried."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Curtis, the guy we just met… He's the one who ended my career on the force. He’s a slimy fucking bastard. It’s only a matter of time before he puts two and two together and rumors spread. We can’t keep on doing this."

"What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said that wanker is the reason you’re not a cop anymore."

I'm quiet for a long bit, the memories rushing back. The pain and betrayal are still raw even after all these years. "I took a fall for him," I whisper, my voice rough. "He was my partner, and he... He made a mistake. A big one. And I covered for him."

"I thought you were booted off the force."

"Yes, instead of him."

Sasha's eyes search mine, confusion and concern swirling in their green depths. "Why would you do that?"

I swallow hard, my throat tight. "His wife is my friend. They’d just had a little boy, and I... I couldn't bear the thought of that kid growing up with a father who was kicked out of the police. They’d lose all their benefits. I couldn’t do it to that boy. Or to Connie. Wasn’t his fault. So I took the blame."

Sasha is silent, processing my words. I can see the emotions playing out on his face—the shock, the sympathy, the understanding.

"Logan–" he begins, but I shake my head, cutting him off.

"Sasha, if we're going to do this, if we're going to be together, then I can't be your bodyguard anymore. I'm ready to turn in my resignation. You just need to tell me when."

Panic enters Sasha's eyes, his cheeks paling. "What? No, Logan, you can't—"

I reach out, taking his hand in mine, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. "It's okay," I murmur, my voice soft. "I'll still protect you, Sasha. I'll always protect you. But I can't do it as your employee. Not if we're going to have a real chance at this."

Sasha stares at me, his eyes shimmering. "So, you’ll basically do the same but for free?"

"No, not for free. I’ll have you as my reward."