Page 18 of Emerald Vices

“Define ‘alright.’”

She sighs, exchanging a glance with Mila that clearly says, She’s behaving exactly how we thought she would.

Needless to say, their telepathic shit-talking doesn’t improve my mood.

“I know you’re pissed.”

“Why is it that every time you meet a man, your loyalties shift?”

Katya’s jaw drops. There’s pin-drop silence in the room before she regroups. When she does, she looks as pissed as I feel. “This has nothing to do with Shura. My loyalties have been and always will be towards you!”

“Yeah? You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

Mila drifts between us as though she’s worried someone’s going to throw a punch. I happen to know that Katya has a mean right hook. Courtesy of years of practice dating assholes.

Me, on the other hand… well, there’s a first time for everything, right?

“You freaked me out when you called, Nat!” Katya cries, brushing past Mila with fire in her eyes. “You sounded bad on the phone. It reminded me of… of…” She sucks in a deep breath before charging through the end of her sentence. “… the time you first told me what happened to your parents.”

That shuts me right up.

“I figured you were in shock, and, sue me, but I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be wandering around New York City, pregnant and alone. Particularly not when you’d just shot the man you love!”

My heart is hammering against my chest and my arms are alight with goosebumps.

“So yeah,” she continues, “I called Andrey. Not because of loyalty to Shura or Andrey or anyone else, but because my best friend was having a mental fucking breakdown and she needed help.”

I still don’t know what to say. How to breathe. What to do with my hands.

“If you’re looking for an apology, don’t hold your breath,” Katya says, still standing tall on that soapbox of hers. “Because I don’t regret calling Andrey. I’d do it again if I had to.”

Mila reaches gingerly for her. “Kat?—”

“No!” She swats away Mila’s hand. “I get that she’s fragile right now, but she doesn’t get to blame me just so that she has an outlet for her anger. I’m her best friend, not a punching bag.”

The truth hits me like I’m its punching bag.

“You’re right,” I croak.

It does feel good to channel my helplessness into anger. It does feel good to blame someone else, even if that person doesn’t deserve it. Maybe even especially when that person doesn’t deserve it.

“I am?” Kat coughs and tries again. “Uh, I mean… Yes, I know I am.”

I swallow my pride. “You don’t owe me an apology, Kat. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“OhthankfuckingGod.” She lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing like a python. “You’re forgiven.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You didn’t make me sweat long.”

Katya releases me with a teary laugh. “I’ll save the sweating for when you’ve delivered those babies safely.”

“That’s generous of you.”

She winks. “I’m nothing if not generous.”

Just like that, the tension breaks. Not the guilt, though. That stuff has a way of lingering.

Katya claps her hands decisively. “Okay, now that you no longer want to kick my ass, what shall we do today?”

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