Page 21 of The Primary Pest
“What are you, twelve?” Dmytro asked.
“Zhenya is my godfather. Did you know that? He and his first partner, Anton, used to trade off going with my family whenever we had to leave the country. But Anton was killed in a plane crash.”
“I know.”
“Did you ever meet Anton?”
There seemed to be some hesitation on Dmytro’s part. Ajax caught a fleeting look of unhappiness. “Yes.”
“You look like him.”
“He was”—Dmytro frowned—“from Ukraine. Like me.”
“I loved Anton for real.” The heat on Ajax’s face had nothing to do with the spa. “His death was devastating for everyone in my family, but especially for me.”
“Me too.”
“His eyes were darker blue than yours, but other than that, you could be brothers.”
“Our mother used to call his ultramarine. She painted. She”—a sad smile appeared on Dmytro’s lips—“She called mine cerulean.”
“You werebrothers?” Ajax couldn’t help the burst of shock and sorrow. “God, I’m sorry I even mentioned him. Nobody told me. You losttwopeople you were close to. I am horrible at small talk.”
“Wearebrothers,” Dmytro said quietly. “There’s nothing death can take away from us.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Ajax wanted to drown. “I just saw the resemblance—”
“There were six of us, but the others were years older.” Dmytro shrugged. “Anton was born when my mother was forty-five. I came eight years later. A surprise, as you can imagine. Anton and I didn’t have a lot in common since he moved to America when I was ten. But I miss him every day.”
Me too, thought Ajax. Of all his bodyguards, he’d liked Anton best. “What does that make you now? Thirty-five?”
“Thirty-six.” Dmytro seemed far away. “Just last week.”
“Happy birthday.” Ajax swam to the side of the hot tub to rest his arms on the concrete deck.
“Thank you.”
He was hungry and dehydrated, but he didn’t want to leave the magical no-man’s-land he’d created here—the ceasefire—where he could ask questions and Dmytro answered.
“Did your daughters throw you a birthday party?”
“Yulia’s sister helped them make me breakfast in bed.” Even though Ajax had brought up his dead brother, the idea of those girls made Dmytro smile.
“That’s cool. I cook for my mom when she visits. I make her diner food like patty melts and Monte Cristo sandwiches. She never eats stuff like that when I’m not around.”
“Maybe there’s a reason she doesn’t order those. Does she even like them?”
“Nah, she likes those foods, but they’re not very healthy. It’s a special occasion thing between us.”
“I haven’t met your parents yet.” Dmytro deflected away from himself. “Tell me all about them.”
“I really can’t.” They valued their privacy. The fact he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life was a sore point between them.
The problem was, Ajax actually liked his parents aspeople. He was proud of them. They did interesting, important things, even if they mostly put him in a comfy box somewhere safe while they did them. That was why the whole misguided Ajax Freedom adventure was so painful for everyone. He’d been playing the part of the entitled, privileged asshat, which wasn’t his story. Well, not his whole story, anyway.
It hurt his parents to hear that people thought they’d done a terrible job raising him. His entire family—especially his parents—was disappointed in him, and anyone who believed in them now believed they’d raised a monster.
Iphicles—Dmytro and Bartosz and no more liberty for the foreseeable future—was the price he was going to have to pay for his stupidity.
