Page 102 of Kingmakers, Year Three

I’m striking him with all my might, with all my fury.

I’m in such a blaze of violence that it takes me far too long to realize that he’s not trying to duck or dodge. He’s not trying to defend himself.

He lets me hit him, over and over, in the face and body, without ever even holding up his hands to block me.

He lets me exhaust my anger on him, until I realize that I’m hitting the only friend I have, the only man who’s ever been good to me.

And then all the strength goes out of me, and I would have sunk down to my knees if Snow didn’t wrap his arms around me and hug me tight.

I’ve never been hugged like this, by someone strong. Someone who could hurt me if he wanted to, but instead is using his immense power to give me that sense of protection and support that I’ve never known in all my life.

I could have been a better man if my father had been more like this.

“Why couldn’t he be happy?” I sob. “Why couldn’t he live for me, for us?”

I’m thinking of my mother, too, of all the years she tried to laugh with him and joke with him like they used to. He shoved her away, over and over. Until she couldn’t even smile anymore, not for him and not for me.

Snow doesn’t try to answer. He just holds me, because somehow, he understands.

I’m crying again, and I’m so ashamed.

Cat saw me like this. And now Snow.

I’m weak and broken.

And that’s the real truth that torments me.

The real reason I’m so angry and alone.

“Why didn’t he love me?” I cry.

Snow puts his heavy hands on my shoulders and looks me in the face. His eyes are pale blue, clear as ice, but there’s no coldness in them.

“When you become a man worthy of love, you will receive love,” he tells me.

I search his battered face, trying to understand.

“I was alone,” Snow says. “No parents, no family. They called me Snow because I fought so cold. But I had anger inside me, too. An old boxer took me in. His name was Meyer. He was hard on me, and he was good to me, too. He showed me friendship. Love came later when I met Sasha. I saw her for what she was: a treasure to be protected at all costs. To have her, I had to become the man she deserved.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” I admit.

“It’s always a step into the dark,” Snow says. “No one knows the path they haven’t walked before.”

I look at Snow’s face, cut and swollen from my fists.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Snow says. “Be better.”

I waitoutside Cat’s Security Systems class for a period of time that feels equally like minutes and hours.

I keep thinking of my father’s house, burned to theground.

It was the only address my mother knew. The only place we lived in Moscow.

If she’s still alive, if she ever tries to send another postcard . . . it will have nowhere to go.

Of course, I don’t really believe any postcard is coming.

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