Page 42 of Playing with Fire

Xander shrugged. "Same difference."

Leo shifted against me, subtly pressing closer.

"Want to grab a beer and check out the backyard?" I asked. "Escape the interrogation squad for a bit?"

Relief washed over his face. "God, yes. Please."

The soft gratitude in his voice made me want to wrap him up and carry him somewhere quiet, where it was just the two of us again. Instead, I carefully helped him up, my hand finding the small of his back as I guided him through the crowd.

"We're heading outside," I announced to no one in particular, already steering Leo toward the back door.

I kept a careful eye on Leo as we navigated through the kitchen, where Mom and Tatty were engaged in their usual choreographed chaos of meal preparation. Lettie was perched on a counter, supposedly helping but mostly stealing tastes of whatever was within reach.

"Just getting some air," I explained as Mom gave us a glance.

She smiled knowingly, already reaching for a small plate. "Take these out to your father and Nikita," she said, loading it with appetizers. "And tell them thirty minutes until dinner."

The backyard was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the oak trees along the fence line casting long shadows across the freshly mown grass. Dad and Nikita stood by the massive grill, chatting in Russian. The picnic tables were already set with Mom's mismatched collection of outdoor dishes, plastic cups with cartoon characters for the kids, and folding chairs that had seen too many summers.

Charlie was chasing Dani's kid Noah around the yard. He darted back and forth on wobbly toddler legs while Charlie giggled and prowled after him, pretending to be a monster. They fell into a pile of leaves, giggles carrying through the yard.

Boone and Xion sat at one of the tables, a good three feet of space between them. Anyone who didn't know them might think they were barely acquainted, let alone married. That was their way though—existing in parallel, comfortable in shared silence, their connection evident only in the occasional glance or the way Boone subtly adjusted his position whenever Xion shifted. No touching, no overt affection, just the quiet certainty of two people who didn't need physical contact to confirm what they already knew.

"Appetizer delivery," I called as we approached Dad and Nikita, setting down the plate of food. "Mom says thirty minutes."

"Which means forty-five," Dad said with a knowing grin, accepting the beer with a nod of thanks. His eyes moved to Leo, who was trying and failing to look comfortable. "How are you holding up? Getting settled in okay?"

"Yeah, so far," Leo said, falling back on politeness. "And thanks for having me over, Mr. Laskin. I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

"Just Yuri," Dad corrected automatically. "Mr. Laskin makes me feel old enough to be in one of our coffins."

Nikita turned from the grill and took in the way my hand rested on Leo's lower back, the slight tension in Leo's posture, the subtle protective angle of my body toward his. A slight smile that didn't reach his eyes curved his lips, but he said nothing.

I scanned the yard, noticing Misha sitting alone under the old oak tree, knees pulled up to his chest as he watched the chaos from a distance. He'd positioned himself with his back against the solid trunk and a clear view of both the gate and back door, the same tactical awareness I'd seen in soldiers and survivors. His eyes constantly scanned the yard, never resting on one spot for long. Despite our shopping trip the other day, he still kept to himself at family gatherings, his body language unmistakably tense beneath the oversized sweater that seemed to swallow his frame.

"Let's go check on Misha," I said to Leo, nodding toward the solitary figure. "He seems like he could use some familiar faces right now."

As we walked toward where Misha sat under the oak tree, I felt Leo's gaze on me, thoughtful and searching.

"What?" I asked, catching his look.

"It's just..." He hesitated. "Your family is so accepting. I wasn't expecting that after—well, after my own experience."

Something in his voice made me stop, turning to face him fully. "Did you think they wouldn't be?"

He shrugged, looking smaller in my oversized hoodie. "I guess I thought there'd be more questions about what happens after. When this is all over."

The idea that he saw this—us—as temporary hit like a physical blow. "Is that what you're thinking about? What comes after?"

"No," he said quickly, meeting my eyes with unexpected directness. "I'm just trying to understand what this is to you. If it matters beyond the moment."

I bristled, defensive in the face of vulnerability. But the open honesty in his expression disarmed me. Leo wasn't challenging me; he was asking for reassurance I'd never thought to offer.

"It's not temporary," I said roughly, the words feeling inadequate for what I meant. "I wouldn't have brought you here if it was."

He took my hand, fingers sliding between mine.

Misha looked up as we approached, his eyes wary but curious. His gaze flickered over our shoulders, checking for anyone who might be following, before returning to us. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands in a gesture that reminded me so much of Leo that I almost laughed. His knuckles were white where they gripped the fabric, betraying the tension his carefully blank expression tried to hide.

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