“Yeah, that.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “I don’t want to bother you with my problems.”
“That’s a load of shit. You never bother me with your problems.”
“You’re still recovering. I don’t want you to get even more stressed.”
She takes my shoulders and forces me to look at her. “It stresses me out to know that you’re upset and that you won’t let me help you.”
I stare into her hazel eyes, witnessing the spark slowly returning. It’s going to take a while for her to feel normal again. And maybe she’ll never quite feel normal enough. She’s going to carry around the scars of that auction forever.
And it’s all my fault.
I frown and look toward the empty tracks. Soot and dirt swirl around us until the breeze dies. It’s much quieter now that the train has left the station. A few people mill about, waiting for the next train to come through.
What am I supposed to say? I don’t want to burden her.
And I also don’t want to choke on this by myself forever.
I told Karina about it, so it’s only fair that I tell Willow as well.
“I gave Pavel back my wedding ring,” I finally say.
“Holy shit.” She grabs my left hand. “I can’t believe I didn’t even notice.”
“You’re traumatized. Why would you notice?”
“I thought something wasreallyweird.” She squeezes my hand and focuses on me. “Liya, what’s going on? Are you two…?” She drops the sentence.
And I thank her silently for that. “After this is over, I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes, I’m leaving.”
She frowns. “You mean you’re running away.”
“I’m not running away. I’mleaving.”
She drops my hand. “Don’t bullshit me, Liya. You’re running—and you can’t do that.”
Heat flushes my face as my anger surfaces. “Why?”
“It’s not going to solve your problems.”
“But leaving is a choice, Willow. It’s the only one I have left.”
She shakes her head. “You still have the baby. And the NYPD is still after you, too.”
My eyes flicker around the subway. I’m scrambling to steady myself while fighting off a new sensation clustering around my body. It’s a cloying smell—but it’s not the subway. It’s an awful heat—but it’s not the humidity trapped underground.
It’s my heart stuttering in my chest.
Not a heart attack, though I desperately wish it was.
A heart attack would be simple. An aneurysm could be measured and treated.
But this feeling? It can’t be fixed. It can’t be chased away. It can’t be left behind.