Page 112 of Root

“Rush, I…”

“What?” He comes over to me and starts to undo my hands, rubbing where the straps bit, kissing my fingers, my wrists.

“I…I don’t want to like you, but I do.”

“I shouldn’t like you, but I do as well,” he says. “You can trust me.”

“I don’t think you should trust me.”

“Nah,” he says, taking me to look out at the city. He sits, taking me with him, and wraps around me. I don’t have the energy to fight. “You should always trust the tricky ones. It’s more interesting that way.”

“You don’t know me.” I rest my hands on his thighs as I sit between them, drinking in his heat. My body throbs with latent pleasure.

“Sure, I do. We’re a lot alike.”

“You grew up with luxury.”

“We don’t have parents.”

“I grew up in the system. Our mother was more interested in putting out and getting high than her kids, and we were taken. I think she died. I don’t know or care. She didn’t care about us. And I worry I didn’t do enough to help Jack.” I stop. That’s more than I’ve told anyone about my past. And something cracks open.

“I think she used sex to pay for drugs, or good times. I don’t…I don’t feel for her. She wanted it, we held her back. A neighbor called someone in when her boyfriend or pimp tried to beat up Jack, and we were taken into the system. Jack got the brunt of it all because he was younger, and a boy, but the moment I was sixteen, we took off and…that’s that.”

“To this day, Nikolai won’t tell me what Rose’s sperm donor—her words—did to my parents. Finnegan killed them, but it must have been bad, really bad. I have pictures but don’t really remember them, not like I do Nikolai. There are blurs of mom and dad, but the one in sharp focus who permeates my memories is Nikolai.”

I try to think of something to say, but words don’t come, so I just rub my face against his arm and squeeze his hand.

“I shot a guy who wanted to trade me to Finnegan when I was nine. Killed him. And… Nikolai made me face it, made me face everything. He’s the one I know and remember.”

His cousin has really been like a father to him. His love soaks his words. Even in the hard times, he had Nikolai. Like Jack had me. The difference is, I ended up letting him down, letting him get into trouble.

“Jack only had me.”

“You’re his Nikolai.”

“I’m really not. I’m not that good at protection.” I try to harden myself. “But you had a roof.”

“I was lucky I had Nikolai. And Jack’s lucky he has you.” Then he kisses my cheek. “Shit, I’m not even really called Rush. My real name’s Beckett, but to protect me Nikolai made it seem like I wasn’t Beckett. I was Rush, and now that’s who I am.”

This bad motherfucker, Nikolai, loves him.

I don’t point out the differences again, I just enjoy the warmth because he’s not about to let me go.

“How do you know Jack wasn’t here?”

I sigh. “We have a signal, and if it’s not there, then he didn’t come up here.”

“Was he meant to leave you something?”

“I like this spot, and no. But it’s always worth a look.”

“Or he’s in trouble?”

“Jack’s always in trouble.”

He tells me some funny stories about growing up with Nikolai, and I slide into them like they’re my skin, my stories, but really I’m just tired, depleted.

“That sex,” Rush says, “was for you.”

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