Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(19)

It sends my pulse into a worse tailspin. I can’t say anything more than what. I shouldn’t feel all of this after years of silence.

Brenden clutches his glass tighter. “I’m not the only one who thinks it.”

I frown at Zhen. “You too?”

“It makes the most sense. He has a history of stealing.”

“Useless things,” I emphasize, suddenly guarding someone I haven’t seen in forever. Luka would’ve known how much that box meant to me. I truly believe this. For context, I add, “Aerial Ethereal gave him a warning for stealing a chess set when he was thirteen, and he didn’t even play chess.”

“Maybe he thought your box was useless,” Brenden retorts. Off the hurt on my face, he says, “He’s a bad guy. So why the hell are you defending him?”

Because he’s not bad.

I’m not trying to support theft by defending Luka. I just wish I could tell Brenden that there’s so much more complexity to Luka’s issues. But I can’t really talk about him.

I shouldn’t even be having this conversation.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about his name.

But in one moment, Brenden cracked the floodgates of my mind, and the surge of memories gushes through—I doubt I’ll be able to stop them that easily.

Luka.

Luka.

I wonder if Brenden can tell I’m fixated on his name. On this “bad guy” who’s not as bad as he seems.

When my brother heard that AE nearly suspended me for using cocaine (allegedly), he directed all of his anger towards the person he believed corrupted me. That hate hasn’t extinguished.

It still boils in his eyes.

The worst part of everything: I can’t tell my brother the truth. I risk the jobs of every minor in Aerial Ethereal, and so I have to lie to his face. Over and over.

Plainly, I say, “I just know he wouldn’t steal my box.”

“We’ve been living with him for three days,” Zhen tells me, “and he’s already stolen my carton of egg whites from the refrigerator.”

I don’t believe that, I want to say, but how can I know the truth? Years and a stringent contract have separated us, and maybe in that time Luka Kotova changed. Maybe he’s less the boy I loved, and he’s now become a man I’d hate.

No.

I don’t want to believe it.

The thought alone hurts. I swallow and then sip my whiskey, the liquid burning my throat. I glance cautiously at my brother. “Did you…you didn’t fight with him, did you?”

Brenden bears down on his teeth.

Last time Brenden and Luka spoke, fists were flying. My brother may be a couple inches shorter and a few pounds lighter, but he busted Luka’s lip and left bruises.

Luka didn’t even try to block him. It almost looked like he wanted to be hit.

Zhen pulled Brenden off of Luka, and Dimitri stepped in and grabbed the back of Luka’s shirt. That was over four years ago, and ironically, now those four guys are roommates.

Whoever created the room assignments obviously has no clue about everyone’s workplace rivalries and drama. They stuck me with Nikolai Kotova, his girlfriend, and his little sister. I’ve already endured the most awkward hello from Nikolai, and the coldest shoulder of all shoulders from Katya Kotova.

Brenden continues to silently glower.

“You’re just going to let me guess whether you fought with him?” I question.

“You still like him?” he asks me point-blank.

“No,” I say instantly, my face twisting. My pulse vibrating.

I feel hot all of a sudden.

Brenden nods, believing me somewhat. He still ends up sulking off to another table, and before Zhen joins him, he tells me that there’s only been uncomfortable silence between Luka and Brenden. Nothing more.

I’m left alone.

I don’t mind. By the time I order another whiskey and return to my high-top table, stool hard beneath my ass, the door blows open.

Zhen and Brenden do the meet-and-greeting. Both are incredibly welcoming to newcomers and old friends.

I stay put and just watch. My mom used to call me the director of life—someone who’d rather observe and take in the scene than be a part of it. The next year, I dressed up as a Hollywood director for Halloween, and my dad gave me his old Super 8 video camera and everything.

I was six.

In the bar, I spot three Asian girls, all extremely thin, and they speak to Zhen in Mandarin. I peg them as contortionists based on their builds. More artists of varying ethnicities and backgrounds flood inside.

The circus is made up of so many people and cultures. I love being here, and it makes me even more proud to be biracial and Jamaican.

As 1842 fills, I keep thinking about Luka. I heard rumors that he was transferring to Infini a while back, and I had trouble believing the news. I still can’t understand why?

Why would Aerial Ethereal ever allow Luka to transfer to this show? The company has been hell-bent on separating us, which was why he ended up in Viva. Now, all of a sudden, our names are attached to the same cast sheet.

And he’s rooming with my brother.

Someone I spend most of my free time with. I worry that I’ll need to start avoiding Brenden in order to avoid Luka, and I don’t want that.

Brenden is my go-to person in my life. He’s the one I confide in—the one I text about my dating failures, the one who binge-watches Netflix shows with me, the one who has my back on hellish work days.