Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(124)

“No, I mean…” Sergei gestures from Luka to me and back again. “You know what he deals with. He’s told you?”

I nod, and I look at the ceiling as I find the answer. “I think he told me when I was…thirteen? Yeah, thirteen.” It was really hard for Luka to describe what had happened, which is why I don’t ever repeat his past to anyone. Not even to someone who may already have the answers.

Like Sergei.

He scratches his short hair. “I should’ve known you two were together.” His shoulders rise. “I just thought Luka would’ve told me that he had feelings for you. I never thought he legally couldn’t say anything.”

“I doubt Luka minds anymore,” I say. “He’s not really a grudge-holder.”

“My apology is for you.”

My brows jump.

Sergei laughs, more at himself than at me. “No one thinks I can apologize?”

I must not be the first stop on the Sergei Kotov apology tour. “It’s just apologies usually begin with I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “For more than one thing.” He passes me an envelope.

My lips part. “Is this…?” I feel the outline of money without opening the flap. The grand for my misplaced box. I paid AE and depleted my bank account months ago.

“It’s not all I owe you. I thought I could pay in installments. A hundred a month.”

“I’m confused.” I slowly shake my head to clear cobwebs. “Why now?”

Sergei rubs his throat. “It’s not easy admitting that I’m in the wrong. Before I transferred to Infini and moved to Vegas—I honestly did not know this about myself. I guess confronting old choices puts your life into perspective…” He pauses. “And I’ve been mentally revisiting conversations and things I’ve done, and I realized I was stubborn and…an ass here. So.” He motions to the money. “That’s a start to an I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” I say with a small smile. “I accept, thanks.” Do we shake? Do we hug?

I guess I have to start with: what is Sergei to me exactly?

A co-worker?

My boyfriend’s older brother?

Luka is on okay terms with him. They haven’t built a close-knit relationship, but he’s not cold-shouldering Sergei like Timo.

To my knowledge, Timo hasn’t spoken to Sergei since The Red Death, and Sergei has respected his little brother’s space.

Their disputes aren’t mine though. I want to be friendly to someone who’s been kind, so I extend a hand to shake.

Sergei smiles and shakes back.

“I have it under control,” Luka says strongly to the doctor. Our eyes fix back on him.

She sighs. “You’ll need to start writing down everything you eat and your feelings about the food before and after consumption. I’ll give you a journal before you leave. I believe you did this before when you were…” She flips into his chart. “Six-years-old—”

“I am not that bad,” he refutes, turning his back on us.

Sergei cracks his knuckles, on edge.

“I think it’s best, Luka,” she says. “Stay there, let me get you a journal.”

“Baylee.”

I jump so much at the sound of Geoffrey’s voice, right by my ear. I end up bumping into Sergei, but he puts a hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

My lungs just shot out of my body, and Geoffrey wears zero humor.

Before I ask what, he says, “You’ll need to stay late tonight.”

Today is an “off” day—no performances. So Luka and I came in at 5:00 a.m. on the dot to workout and practice so we could have the night off. I reiterate this to Geoffrey, and he cuts me off mid-sentence with, “Shut up.”

“That’s not necessary, Geoffrey,” Sergei tells him in a controlled voice.

Luka abandons the medicine cabinet to reach us. “What’s going on?” His hand slips into mine.

My ribs hurt; I’m so stiff. “He’s saying we need to stay late.”

Luka shakes his head. “Why?”

“I need you both on trampoline tonight,” Geoffrey explains. “We’re changing your eight-ball, seven-up pirouette.”

“I can’t do nine balls,” I emphasize, my pulse racing in fear. It’s not possible. I’ve never done that before, not even on the ground. And any big changes we make now are risky. The show has already begun.

“Did I specify nine balls? No, I didn’t,” Geoffrey snaps. “You’re not going to sit on Luka’s shoulders anymore.” He takes one beat. “You’re going to stand.”

Shit.

Shit.

I rub my eyes, already tired at the thought of nailing that trick down while standing on his shoulders. And the timing—God, the timing.

Perrot would tell us to deal with this change. So I nod. “Okay.” All I can do is agree and work hard again and again.

Ignore the stress.

Luka asks, “Can we start working on it tomorrow?”

“No. You start tonight.” He laughs once, his lips hiking, almost mockingly. “Why? Do you have a date or something?”

My face drops. He heard the Kotovas shouting date night at us.