Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(90)

I strain my ears for the response.





Act Thirty-One Baylee Wright



“It’s me, Kat!” Luka.

That was one-hundred percent Luka Kotova. I keep smoothing my lips together, and my arm loosely hangs onto my bent knee. Nervous-excited at even the thought of seeing him right now.

Katya springs off the desk chair and cracks the door. I piece apart the chaotic shouts. Most of them yell at Luka, “Who’s in there, Luka?! Find out who! Who said Dimitri has a little cock?!”

Luka ignores his family like it’s just any other day.

Katya speaks in Russian to her brother, and after a couple exchanged words, she opens the door wider and Luka slips inside. He kicks the door closed.

And his eyes instantly find me on the floor, his lips surely rising.

“You’re Luka,” Camila states.

Luka glances at Camila and nods.

She swings her head to me. “Accurate description. Spot on.”

“What?” Luka smiles bigger at me.

I shrug, but I smile off of his as usual. “I described you to her.”

His brows jump, his grin curving even higher. “You did?”

I nod and lose track of my next thought. I notice a baggie of ice in his left hand, along with a potted cactus. Rudy.

Before he nears me, he hugs Katya to his side and says Happy Birthday, Katya in Russian.

She hugs back and then rises and falls on her tiptoes excitedly. Speaking eagerly in the same language, I assume she’s thanking him for the gift.

“You already opened it?” he asks in English, his voice tighter than normal.

“Was I not supposed to?”

My stomach nosedives like maybe I forgot to intervene. Quickly I double-check our text thread, but Luka never replied to my not yet answer. So whatever he planned, he didn’t inform me.

“No, it’s…” He stops himself as Katya’s face falls, and he sweeps her makeup with deep, tormented thought. I seriously think he regrets gifting the fake ID.

Luk.

I wish I could hug him and remind him that his sister is older than she sometimes appears. She’s seventeen.

She’s tough-skinned and sweet-hearted. And Kat has the best directional sense. Whenever I forgot where a really good food truck was located, she’d remember and tell me which block it was parked on. I’d trust Katya Kotova with my life, and usually Luka would too.

So what’s his deal?

“Luka?” Katya’s voice breaks a little.

“It’s okay.” He nods a couple times like he’s trying to believe it. They share a look that I can’t translate perfectly. If I had to try, I’d say it’s Katya reassuring him that she’s not na?ve and she’s allowed to grow older—and Luka trying to accept this fact.

Then Luka shakes the baggie of ice and gestures to me.

Katya smiles and nods like go to her.

I’m about to stand, but Luka already towers above me, dressed up in dark jeans and a white button-down. Squatting, he becomes eye-level with me. He passes me the ice but hangs onto my cactus.

I roll up the sleeve of my robe, genuinely scared about Rudy now. The ice touches my bandage, and my shoulders relax at the cold that soothes my second-degree burn.

I have no idea if the other girls are watching us. I’m concentrated on the potted succulent more than I probably should be.

“He’s not in pieces?” I ask, seeing an intact ceramic pot.

“Still alive,” Luka assures me. “He just has a little more character than before.” He waits like he’s ensuring I’ll be okay with the incoming news.

My features plummet. “Who took a knife to Rudy?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes, not denying that someone cut my cactus.

My fingers touch the watery corners of my eyes, and I try to speak—to say something like: it doesn’t matter or it’s just a cactus. It’s just a thing.

I must not believe those words because I can’t find the strength to say them. I gather my thoughts, and softly, so only he can hear, I ask, “What kind of character?”

Luka reaches out to touch my cheek, but he stops short. Hesitating. He drops his hand, and my chest caves with his. Hold me.

Kiss me.

Luka licks his lips and then hands me the pot. “You have to turn it.”

I rotate Rudy, and my face contorts.

The bulbous lump on Rudy’s backside has been hacked off. I try to process this into an emotion other than heavy sadness. I keep swallowing and swallowing. I see no point in racing out to the living room and accusing every Kotova. It doesn’t really matter who did it.

What’s done is done. Yelling feels worthless.

Still, it hurts. “He looks awful,” is all I can say. My nose runs before my eyes leak, and I wipe my upper-lip with my arm.

Luka can’t hold back any longer. He wraps a strong, sturdy arm around my shoulders and draws me to his chest. I place Rudy down and clutch Luka’s sides tightly.

Kiss me.

He kisses the top of my head. Taking the risk in front of the girls. Then he tugs my body even closer, and his heartbeat thuds right against mine.

My cheek to his collar, I eye the round cactus, and I think about how Luka found this pot in a chaotic living room full of men. And he knew to protect what was left of Rudy for me.