Page 74 of Breakaway

NEVAEH

Roman’s armsare wrapped tightly around me, my head resting on his chest. The pounding of his heart resonates with mine. My eyes are tearful, and I bite my bottom lip hard, hoping to stifle my sobs. Him telling me about his last conversation with his brother broke my heart. Bearing that much guilt is unimaginable. It’s self-destructive and gut-wrenching. Even just the thought of him walking away from Maksim, not realizing that it would be the last time he’d see his brother alive, makes me want to cry. All over again.

I understand him better now.

“I know that no matter what I say, it won’t be enough. Losing someone you love is always hard, but the guilt you carry is even more devastating. I wish I could do something to help you.”

“You’re already helping me,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the top of my head. “I haven’t talked about my past so openly with anyone before. Just you.”

“That makes me so sad,” I confess, sniffing. “We all need someone in our corner. Someone who will guide us and help us overcome our problems when we’re struggling to do it on our own. Your mom could’ve been that for you, and you could’ve been her safe place too. Your trauma is?—”

“If she knew what I said, how I turned my back on my twin, she’d never forgive me.”

His words register in my head. Their meaning sinks in, and I abruptly sit up. “Your twin?”

Roman nods, his red-rimmed eyes focused on me. “I’m the older…Iwasthe older one. Just three minutes older, so that’s the reason for our numbers on our jerseys. I was born at 3:21 p.m., and Maks at 3:24. I always joked about it, about him being my little brother. As if he were someone who needed my support and protection, while in reality he was the mature one. More reasonable and a thousand times nicer than me. People loved him, Nevaeh, and they all have been left with me.”

I scoff. “Don’t say that. You make it sound as if everyone wanted you dead instead of Maksim.”

“My father did.” He shrugs. My jaw drops, and I don’t even know what to say. “He told me it should’ve been me.”

“What kind of father says that to their child?”

“Mine.” Roman turns his head and stares at the wall, his eyes veiled with unshed tears. “Some parents love their children the same; they don’t favor one over the other. My mom is like that, but my father wasn’t. I was a mama’s boy, and Maks was our father’s son. We were fucking twins, but my dad treated me like I wasn’t his. Always nitpicking. Always criticizing. The comparison game? It was the worst. By the time I was a teenager, I believed my brother was a trueborn talent, while everything I had was the result of hard work, nothing else. Our father always said Maks would be the one to make him proud. That he would be an NHL legend, while I would be lucky if any KHL?1 team would want me.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Nothing I wasn’t used to.”

“But it’s still terrible! I know people can get used to absolute shit if it happens to them constantly, but that doesn’t make itfucking right. You wouldn’t say ‘nothing she isn’t used to’ about a woman suffering from physical abuse, would you? Why are you trying to justify it?” I’m fuming. My neck feels hot, and I ball my fists tighter. “What about your mom? Did she think it was okay?”

Roman peers at me. The corner of his mouth lifts; his signature crooked smile plays on his lips. He slips his hand around my waist and makes me straddle his legs. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.” His eyes slide to my chest in my new pink PJs and down to my cotton shorts. “And I’m happy to see you going back to your roots and adding more color to your wardrobe. It suits you.”

I smile and tuck my hair behind my ears. “Thank you, Roman.” Then I narrow my eyes and lower my face to his. “But you’re changing the subject, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“My mom was always arguing with my father, always telling him how unfair he was to me. She filed for divorce a few months before Maks’s death, and my brother and I both supported her. He didn’t like how our father treated me either.” His gaze becomes distant. He’s looking at me, but I know he doesn’t really see me. “He was a good guy, Malyshka. In every sense of the word…He was agoodone, and he died.”

“If bad things only happened to awful people, life would be so much easier,” I whisper, caressing his cheek with my fingertips. “I know it doesn’t feel fair, and I know it’s hard for you. But you’re destroying yourself, and?—”

“And you sound just like my mom.Ne nado?2.” Roman winces, clicking his tongue loudly. He frowns and gazes at me from under furrowed brows. “You can’t fix me. The sooner you understand that, Nevaeh, the better.”

Let me help you.The words are tethered to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down and force a fake smile onto my face. “I understand,” I say. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

His pupils dilate, and his jaw hangs open. We sit here in the quiet of his room, our eyes trained on each other. I want to say so many things to him, but I know now is not the time. He’s not ready to listen. I don’t think he’s ever going to let himself heal unless he finally understands that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting his brother.

“My father hated me so much that he drank himself to death. He couldn’t stand that I was still living, breathing…fucking existing. I was in a dark vortex after Maks’s death. It was just a black hole, with no hope. No happiness. And no love. This thing”—Roman takes my hand in his and places it over his heart—“is broken. There’s nothing left except grief and hate. Whatever you’re trying to pour into it will leak out instantly.”

I bite my bottom lip, my tears threatening to spill. “You’re letting your father win.”

“I’m not.” He groans and hides his face in his hands. When he looks at me again, I see agony lurking behind the mask he’s trying to wear. Why can’t he just stop pretending with me? “I don’t want to argue with you, Nevaeh. That’s who I am, and who I always will be. Not every broken piece is meant to be mended.”

Nodding, I slide off of his legs and plop onto my right side, hiding my hands under my pillow. I close my eyes, begging myself to stay indifferent. Reading between the lines, I know what he’s been trying to tell me. He’ll never love me because he’s incapable of love. He will never give me what I want, will never be the man I need.

The most ridiculous thing? I don’t believe him.

“Malyshka,” Roman murmurs, his voice sending shivers down my spine. His hand lands on my hip as he inches closer to me, pressing his chest to my back. He hugs me tight from behind and hides his nose in my hair, nuzzling my neck. “Don’t be angry with me. I hate it.”

“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”

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