13 to Life (28 page)

“Not really. Got up once and got thrown right off. Not the sort of ride I was expecting,” he admitted wryly.

“I promise this one won’t be so shocking.”

He wrapped his arms around me as I slipped my feet back into the stirrups and whispered into Rio’s ear.

She took off like a rocket, tearing around their house and only pausing in the backyard when I tugged faintly on the reins. Pietr’s arms were so tight around me I had to focus to breathe.

His breath skimmed my ear, “You lied,” he reprimanded teasingly. His grip relaxed and I was able to laugh.

I patted Rio’s neck. “I just like to show her off a little.”

“Don’t do that again,” he insisted.

“What? Race her around your house?” I quipped.

“No,” he murmured. “Lie,” his tone changed. Went serious.

I turned a little in the saddle to look at him. “I won’t lie to you,” I breathed.

He just stared at me. Nodded.

“Is there an easier descent to the woodlot?”

“Mmm.
Da,
” he said, relaxing against me once more. It was weird, reading both Rio and Pietr’s bodies at the same time, feeling the interplay of muscle tightening and loosening. It was one of the reasons I liked to ride bareback at home.

You really knew your horse and its moods once you understood the subtle twitches just below its skin. There was no subtext, no lying, not with my horses. Pietr pointed around me and I guided Rio down a much more gentle path than the one we’d descended on the ATVs.

I looked up once, amazed at how much light pierced the ragged tree branches. “So what is it?” I asked, pointing to the moon with a quick motion of my head. “Waxing or waning?”

“Definitely waxing,” he confided.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” I felt him shift, shrugging, I guessed.

“I don’t look up at the sky that often,” I admitted.

“You should. Life’s short.”

I sensed an urgency in his voice and felt a slight tightening of his muscles. “Yeah. Is that why you skipped off to Europe last year? Because life’s short?”

He sighed, and although he was behind me, I knew he was smiling. “
Da.
We saw and did just about everything over there.”

There was an odd note to his description. I let the reins go lax in my hands, allowing Rio to pick her own way around the woodlot.

“Just about
everything?
” I asked. “Define.” It was even easier to be tough with him when I wasn’t looking at him. When he couldn’t see my face.

He sighed again, but this time it was the sound of someone caught red-handed. Someone who knows he’ll be held accountable. “Um.” He paused, surely gathering his thoughts. I tried to keep the tension from straightening my spine to the
point he’d notice. I knew what
everything
meant to me, and I was hoping . . .

“I’ve done a lot in my life,” he said finally. “Remember how I said we Rusakovas don’t tend to live very long?”

I nodded, mute.

“Well, because of that, we try to pack a whole lifetime of experiences into a few brief years. We try everything once—some smart stuff, some pretty stupid.”

“So is it the chicken or the egg?” I asked.

“What?”

“You said Rusakovas tend to die early. And that you all do some pretty stupid things. So which came first? The dying young, or the stupid behaviors that get you killed? Young,” I emphasized.

He chuckled. “I never thought about that. Huh. I don’t know.”

“You might want to think about that before you whack your head into a branch again.”

He groaned.

“Wait. You said you did just about
everything
?” I asked, wondering if I’d used the right inflection.

“
Da
. Everything. Oh.” I felt his body tense in realization. “You’re asking about sex.”

“Sure. Sex,” I responded casually, heart wedged in my throat. “If that’s what
you
want to talk about.” I tried to sound uninterested. And totally nonjudgmental. It was way tougher than I’d thought.

“Wow. Okay. Let me explain.”

I waved my hand in the air over my shoulder. “No. If you don’t want to—”

“Wait, Jess. You’re getting the wrong idea. I’ve done a lot of other stuff.” He paused. “But I haven’t done
that,
” he clarified.

I tried not to let out a sigh of relief, but my backbone relaxed against him, betraying me. “And why not?” I asked before I could shut up.
Dammit.
What if I didn’t want to know? What if it was just lack of opportunity? I was momentarily tempted to cover my ears with my hands and begin to sing.

“I know people who have seriously done everything.
Seriously,
” he reinforced. “They actually seem less happy.”

“Oh. So you’re waiting.”

“Yeah.”

“Until what?”

He laughed. “I have
never
had this conversation before. . . .”

“Until marriage?”

“Maybe.”

“Until—” I pried.

“The right person.”

“And what if
she’s
not ready?”

He shrugged. “Then I wait some more.”

“And what if she’s not so—innocent?” I nearly squeaked.

“Oh. If she’s not—like a virgin?”

“Touched for the very first time,” I stated.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Eighties music thing.” I blushed till my bones went red.

“I think she’s innocent,” he stated. “I don’t know about the virginity thing, though. It doesn’t matter, anyhow. Innocence has almost nothing to do with virginity.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Huh.” I stretched in the saddle, yawning. “Ready to head back to the house?”

“Sure. But Alexi’s bound to be home, so let’s park the horse out back.”

“No problem.” I giggled, setting Rio into a jog.

Catherine evidently had the same idea. The water bucket was out back and the house was quiet, nearly completely dark as we climbed the stairs once more to Pietr’s room.

“You know,” he started. “She would have liked you.” He looked at me with measuring eyes. “My mom,” he clarified.

“Oh.” I took a seat on the bed again and he grabbed a chair snuggled under his desk.

He straddled it, arms stacked on its back, and rested his chin there. “She was strong. Like you.”

“I’m not strong,” I protested.

He snorted. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Tell me about her,” I urged.

“My dad—he was more like me. Always doing something stupid.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head.

“He’d rush into a situation to help and when he’d made a royal mess of it, Mom would get things fixed. She insisted he blame her for things so his reputation was never dirtied.” He sighed. “She said, ‘The man’s name goes on—it should be clean.’ ”

“Then I guess she did a good job. I’ve never heard anything bad about the Rusakovas—”

He quirked an eyebrow at me and I sighed, hands in the air. “Okay, okay, I’ve never heard
anything
about the Rusakovas.”

He chuckled and then went solemn again, but gently. “Did you think at all about today’s date?”

“No,” I admitted. “Why?”

“I would have thought with your fascination about the Phantom Wolf of Farthington story you’d have instantly realized today was the day all that came to a head.”

“Wait. What?” And I thought about it. “Crap! You’re right!”

“Of course,” he said.

“So they died the same night?”

“
Da
. No obituaries in the papers, either.”

My mouth gaped.

“The staff apologized for misplacing them,” he mentioned as if it were enough.

“Wow. So how . . .”

“My father was—I don’t know—drunk? He was acting very strange. He got into a fight, Mom stepped between them and . . . they were dead.”

“Murdered,” I suggested.

He shook his head. “Supposedly self-defense.”

“No trial?” I whispered.

He smiled so sadly I felt as if someone were wringing out my heart. “Our family is only recently legal here. The people who killed them probably came over on the
Mayflower
. The U.S. does better than many countries with its trials, but justice isn’t blind, and people are still judged for being different.”

I nodded.

He turned in the chair, pulling open a desk drawer and producing two candles and a book of matches. “I’m told that in Russia, most of our people don’t spend much time in church, but they do light candles and pray.” He looked at me, seemingly embarrassed. “Do you pray?”

“Before every math test,” I assured.

He laughed again. “I thought I might light these and just say some words. . . .”

“Go for it. As long as you’re not sacrificing animals, I’m cool.”

He struck the match and lit the first candle before tilting the second to share the first’s flame. He blew out the match and simply said, “Mother. Father. I miss you every day. I try to live as you wanted and follow the rules you taught. And I know you are not far from here or now.”

Behind him, my hands settled on his shoulders. “Well done,” I said. Because it was well done. And I had nothing worth adding.

He snuffed the candles, rolled down the covers on the bed for me, and took a pillow and blanket before curling up on the floor to sleep. Like the most faithful of hounds.

________

That night, sleeping in Pietr’s room—on Pietr’s bed—there was no nightmare. But there were no dreams for me, either.

At 4
A.M.
the alarm went off and I hopped off the bed and bent over, kissing Pietr’s forehead as he rose from the floor. “I’ve got to go,” I reminded him. “My dad’ll kill us both if he learns I slept over.”

He grunted and helped me gather my stuff and go downstairs. As the door closed quietly behind me, I saw Max step over behind Pietr and snarl, “Alexi noticed something was up, so I covered your ass. But don’t let it happen again. You’ll make liars of us all—and for what?”

Without another word, Rio and I headed home.

As we entered the barn, my father’s voice boomed, “So. Got somethin’ to tell me?” I jumped. Rio snorted. Like she knew we’d be caught in a lie eventually. Damned horse sense. Dad stood, stoic and shadowed, under the hayloft, staring at us.

“Dad, I—”

“Where were you?” He folded his arms. “I called Amy. She tried to cover for you. I told her I wasn’t happy she was lyin’, either.”

I focused on stripping Rio and brushing her mane. Finally I stepped out and closed her stall door.

“I know you weren’t at Sarah’s. You never go there without backup. I can’t blame you for that.” His jaw worked as he considered what to say next. “Sophia’s not really an option anymore, either, is she? Darn near mute most o’ the time.”

I still refused to look up.

“Just say it, Jessie.”

“I was at Pietr’s,” I whispered.

“God
damm it
!” he shouted, hurling tack off the wall and
onto the barn’s floor. “Don’t you know what sleeping with some boy—”

“Dad! D
ad!
”

He kicked over a bucket, cursing nonstop.

I grabbed at his flailing arms and nearly got knocked to the floor. He caught me just before I totally lost my balance.

The rage in his eyes was replaced with heartbreak. “Jessie, what would your mama say?”

“She’d ask what happened at his place, Dad.” I trembled, but knew I was right.

He groaned and sat down heavily on a hay bale. “What
did
happen, Jessie?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me now.” He refused to meet my eyes. “I knew I shoulda never hired that boy. Probably connected to the wrong sorts . . . dammit, this is my fault, too. If he hadn’t been round you so much . . .” He shook his head, glaring at his boots as he berated himself. “You spent the night with a boy who looks at you like you’re his world. That’s
everything
a father worries about.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I tried to explain.

“Then what’s it like, Jessie?”

“We rode Rio. We talked for hours. He fell asleep on the floor. I fell asleep on his bed.
Nothing
happened.”

“Why, Jessie? Why’d you sneak out?”

“He needed me, Dad.”

“The wrong ones always say that, baby,” he whispered. He rubbed his forehead, trying to paw away wrinkles. “It’s like a lure to y’all. A big tough guy sayin’ he needs you—you think you can help him work through somethin’—like you have some power—and then what? You wind up pregnant. No reputation
left. No future of just your own. You’re stuck in Junction with a guy who gets a job at one of the only two factories still runnin’.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Your mama wouldn’t want the same thing for you.”

My mind reeled. “Dad—nothing happened.”

He
wouldn’t look at me now.

“Dad. Mom
loved
you,” I stormed, realizing this was as much about him and Mom as it could ever be about me.

“Yeah. We got lucky with that at least.”

“She
wasn’t
stuck here,” I insisted.

He stood suddenly. Brushed off his jeans. “Don’t do somethin’ stupid with that boy of yours, Jessie. Boys like that—they don’t have a future. I want you out of Junction as soon as graduation’s over. And no lookin’ back.”

“You look like you were put through the same hellish blender I was,” Pietr greeted me as I slumped into the bus seat beside him.

“Nice. Again with the compliments.” I rolled my eyes, forcing a smile, and looked over his shoulder and out the window. The bus sputtered and limped forward. Trees bumped past, a few farms, and then we edged into suburbia. “Yeah. Dad caught me coming back in.”

“It was bad.”

My throat tightened. “Yeah. You?”

Even looking past him, I noticed the way his knuckles whitened on the seat back in front of him. “Alexi says nothing good will come from my involvement with you.”

“Oh. He prefers Sarah.” It wasn’t difficult to imagine. Sarah was beautiful, bubbly . . .

“Nyet.”
Now it seemed it was Pietr’s turn to look past me. “But—with Sarah, things are simpler. She and I . . .”

Just the conjunction linking them stung.

His brow creased. “I don’t want the same things from her that I want from you.”