Page 85 of Unspoken

"Really?"

"Yeah." He thoroughly wipes his fingers and then goes into his backpack hanging on the corner of the chair. "It's not that great…" he mutters, handing me a neatly rolled-up piece of paper. "You kept on fidgeting, so–"

I take the roll from him and unfold it. Something in my chest tightens immediately. There's a meticulously detailed drawing, drawing of me, sitting in a chair in Vlad's mansion reading a newspaper. Every little line is so careful, so finely done.

"You can frame it." Sasha laughs nervously. "Or burn it."

"Burn it?" I say incredulously. "You're insane. This is amazing."

"You think?"

"Of course. I'm going to take good care of it."

After getting an eyeful of myself on paper, I carefully roll it back up and slide it into the pocket of my summer jacket.

Sasha falls silent, his gaze distant as he absently picks at the remnants of his taco. When he speaks again, his voice is a mutter and hard to make out among the racket of the patio. "You know most people back…home, back in Russia, they’re not like my father. They are good, kind folks with big hearts. Hardworking folks. They just don’t have the best of luck when it comes to those who run the country. They are born into this madness the same way I was and have no choice but to follow whatever they are told. And if they don’t, bad things happen to them and their families." Sasha pauses, his lips curving into something a lot like a smile. But it’s so sad. "My mother...she was different. Not like my father. Good. Too good for a man like him."

I lean in, my elbows resting on the table, giving him my full attention. I understand the need to talk about it more than he knows.

Sasha continues on. "I hardly remember her. I was so young when she... One day she was there, and the next...gone. Like she never existed at all."

My heart clenches at the pain in his words, the tragedy that’s still in his heart. Even all these years later. "I'm sorry, Sasha. That must have been awful."

He shrugs, but I can see the weight of it in the slump of his shoulders, the shadows that suddenly cloud his green eyes. "My aunt used to tell me that she was an angel, and that God needed her back in heaven. But I don't understand… How can a God who takes away someone so good, so pure...how can that be right?"

I swallow hard, my own grief rising up to choke me. Images of my mother flash through my mind—her warm smile, her gentle hands, the way she used to hum old lullabies when I couldn't sleep.

"Maybe..." I clear my throat, blinking back the unexpected sting of tears. "Maybe your mom and my mom are up theretogether, watching over us. Two angels, looking out for their sons."

Sasha's gaze snaps to mine. "You’re the cheesiest guy ever, Logan." He laughs softly. "But you may be right."

A flicker of understanding passes between us. For an instant, the walls crumble, and I see the lost, lonely boy beneath the hardened exterior. I see the real Alexander Solovey. A boy who likes to doodle on his iPad and on paper, a boy who likes the piano, a boy who likes to watch TV in bed while munching on chips. It's the cutest thing ever when he calls them crisps.

I don’t think I can part with him. I don’t think I can move on with my life if he’s not in it.

As we lapse into a comfortable silence, enjoying the last few bites of our meal, a familiar voice cuts through the chatter of the restaurant. "Logan? Is that you?"

My heart stutters in my chest as I lift my head to see Curtis weaving his way through the tables, a smile plastered across his face. Panic rises in my throat, and I shoot a quick glance at Sasha, who has gone still beside me.

"Curtis," I greet, forcing an answering smile as he stops at our table. "What brings you to this part of town?"

"Just grabbing some tacos for Connie and Aiden."

"Right." I nod. "Taco Tuesday tradition."

"Exactly. You still remember, buddy?"

"Of course." I nod again, not really wanting to go down memory lane when all of us used to hang out together. Now one of my best friends is married to a man who ruined my career.

Curtis’s eyes flick to Sasha. "Hey, how are you?" he greets him casually. "I’m Curtis. This big guy used to be my partner." Curtis claps my shoulder while his attention remains on Sasha.

Sasha tips his chin politely, but I can see the tension in his posture and the wariness in his gaze as he takes in Curtis's badge winking from under his jacket. Long gone are the days when we sported the blues. Curtis is now a detective, mostly in civvies.

"Nice to meet you, mate."

"You picked a great spot. The tacos here are killer."

I’m desperate to steer the conversation away from Sasha, but thankfully Curtis does it before I come up with a good punchline. He turns to me and says, "I take it you heard about the reunion date changing."

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