Page 54 of Breakaway

“I’m going to choke on my food if you keep staring at me like that,” I tell him, pouring some apple juice in my glass.

Roman laughs, leaning back in his seat. He puts four pancakes on his plate, adds some sour cream, and instantly takes a bite. Closing his eyes, he chews with an absolutely satisfied look on his face. I shake my head, add more pancakes to my plate, and start eating.

“Add sour cream,” he suddenly says. “It’s better that way.”

“Really?” I arch an eyebrow but do as he says. Curiosity has always been my Achilles heel, and I’m not sure that will ever change. If this ends up ruining the taste— “God, it’s so good!” I exclaim loudly. “Why didn’t you tell me about the sour cream from the start?”

“I didn’t get the chance,” he says with humor in his voice.

“Next time you treat me to something new, tell me how I should eat it.” I point my fork at him. “Deal?”

“Whatever you want, Malyshka.”

The words leave his mouth sounding nonchalant, ordinary even. Yet I’m immediately transported back in time, to our moment in the living room. Sadness surrounds me, clouding my mind.

“When we do whatever I want, it doesn’t end well,” I mutter hoarsely, not thinking twice about what I’m about to say. “I end up all alone in your apartment while you fly to another country and spend time surrounded by tons of stunning girls.”

The kitchen pitches into a booming silence. It’s like I turned off all sound with my words. I hate this. The way he affects me is overwhelming; it knocks all rational sense out of me. We’re not even a couple, but I feel like I’m losing myself in him. And the stupidest thing is…I think I like it.

Because it feels right.

“Nevaeh.”

I look up, my eyes clashing with his. So many emotions flash through me, replacing each other at an unbelievable speed. I’m tired of this hopelessness, of this overpowering feeling of jealousy whenever I think about him with other girls. And I’m so tired of him not wanting me back.

“Tons of stunning girls might’ve been around, but I couldn’t care less about any of them,” he says, looking at me from under his eyelashes. His gaze is so intense and penetrating, it feels as if he’s looking right through me. I smirk, shaking my head. As if I’m going to beli— “I couldn’t stop thinking about the one I left at home.”

“Really?” I blurt, feeling close to fainting from happiness. It’s so not like me; I should be worried, but all I care about is the hope that rekindles in my chest. The warmth that is coursing through my veins, setting my skin on fire.

Roman nods, grinning his beautiful, crooked smile. “Really, Malyshka. I’m sorry for hurting you that night, and I’m sorry forleaving without saying a word. I’m not a coward, but I acted like one for sure.”

“You’re not?—”

“Nevaeh,” he groans. “If you keep defending me when I clearly don’t deserve it, I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

“Are you going to punish me?” I ask, biting my bottom lip.

He picks up his glass from the table and presses it to his lips, holding my gaze. “Maybe,” he murmurs, before sipping his juice.

I beam at him, glancing at Happy, who’s on his back, quietly whimpering in his sleep. Bending down, I pet his belly, butterflies fluttering their wings in my stomach. Around Roman, they’re never calm. They fly around and make me all giddy and hopeful. And maybe horny. Definitely horny, based on the wetness between my thighs.

“My brother…Maksim died in a car crash.” I sit up straighter, my eyes glued to his. The pain in his gaze is evident, shuttering all my giddiness and horniness at once. “He got in the car with our friend Kirill, who was so drunk he lost control of the car.”

Roman pauses, and I notice his knuckles turning white, tightly wrapped around the glass. Holding my breath, I wait, my heart pumping nervously in my chest.

“Kirill only broke his leg, but Maks died on the spot. His side of the car struck a traffic pole and got wrapped around it.” His voice is monotone and emotionless. His glassy stare focused on the wall behind me. “At least he didn’t suffer. No pain. No agony. He probably didn’t even realize he was about to die.”

“I’m so sorry, Roman.” I cover my mouth with my palm.

He meets my gaze, and I feel like I’m drowning in his sorrow. His blue eyes remind me of the deepest ocean, one full of pain and hurt. His grief knots my stomach; my heart aches, and his pain makes it bleed. For him. “Kirill was sentenced to five years in jail, even though my mom and I were asking for less. Maksknew he was getting in the car with a drunk driver. He knew and still asked our friend to give him a ride. All because of her.”

I frown, eyebrows pierced together as I lower my hand. “Her?”

“Alisa. My brother’s girlfriend,” he hisses. His lips purse into a tight line, and his jaw ticks. “Our teammate saw her with her ex, and told Maksim. My brother got in Kirill’s car that night because he was worried the girl he loved was cheating on him. It wasn’t anything new, unfortunately. She’d been leading both guys on for months, playing both of them. It was all a game to her, and Maks paid for it with his life.”

The air is stuck in my lungs; my heart constricts painfully. I press my palm to my chest, tears filling my eyes. “Oh my God…I’m so very sorry. That’s horrible.”

“After his funeral, I promised myself I’d never get involved with anyone if they were in a relationship. That I wouldn’t even look twice at a girl who wasn’t over her ex or was keeping him close,” Roman says. “Taken girls and ‘it’s complicated’ girls are off-limits for me.”

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