by Red Phoenix
“I’m more of a whiskey man, myself,” Anderson states. “Although, I never turn down a friend’s liquor.”
“Smart man,” I answer.
We pass the bottle back and forth between the three of us until it’s finished. By then I am experiencing a pleasant buzz. Taking in a deep breath, I let all the negativity out slowly.
For the time being, at least, I am okay.
“What about you, comrade? What are your plans for the summer?”
Thane glances at me with a hint of concern in his eyes. “My uncle invited me to join him and my aunt on a two month stint building houses for those affected by the Red River Flood.”
I nod, having heard of the river that crested at fifty-four feet in Grand Forks and displaced tens of thousands of people. “A worthy endeavor.”
“However, I don’t have to go,” he adds quickly. “It’s not like it’s set in stone.”
“It is important that you go.” I state, not wanting Thane to worry about me.
“My uncle would understand if I chose to stay—no explanation necessary.”
I shake my head. “If you have the opportunity to help others and connect with your own kin, do not pass it up.”
“But you are important to me.”
None of my four brothers has ever said that, much less my own father. I brush it off casually, not wanting either man to know about my difficult family history. “Appreciated, comrade. However, family should come first—always.”
Thane raises an eyebrow. “You are family to me.”
My heart constricts, his declaration hurting me with its sincerity. I struggle not to react and fight back tears of gratitude. “Still, to shun your uncle’s invitation would be a mistake, and it is for a good cause. I’ll be fine.”
Thane can’t hide his distress from me.
Anderson pipes up. “Why not head back to Russia for the summer?”
Ice runs through my veins. Russia is the last place I want to be. I’m too raw to be around my own kin, and Tatianna’s death is still too fresh. “Nyet. I have everything I need here. The sun, the ocean, and…”
I look down at my empty bottle of vodka with an exaggerated look of remorse.
Anderson takes the hint. “Hey, the least I can do is get you another one.”
He picks up the empty bottle and heads into the house.
I turn to Thane and tell him how I truly feel. “It will do my heart good, knowing you are following through with what you told me.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You said you are dedicated to making a difference in the future. I can’t think of a more appropriate summer endeavor for you.” I discourage any further discussion by crossing my arms behind my head and closing my eyes. I soak up the sun’s rays while I wait for Anderson to return with my vodka.
It takes Anderson far too long, but he eventually returns carrying a full bottle of vodka and three large coffee cups. “It’s the best I could do,” he apologizes as he hands each of us one of the mugs with a set of bamboo skewers with the ends cut off sticking out of each one. “I figured soup would be good here.”
Thane chuckles, using the skewers as chopsticks as he slurps up a mouthful of noodles.
I follow suit, finding it humorous that I’m sitting on an American beach, consuming Japanese noodles with grilling skewers, while drinking Russian vodka. I never would have conjured up such a crazy mix on my own.
And, yet, it is exactly what I need.
The next morning, I stand beside the large, panoramic window facing the beach as the sun comes up in the east, coloring the wisps of clouds with its muted colors. I stare at a completely naked Anderson out by the shore and shake my head.
Thane comes up behind me. I watch Anderson scoop sand up in a shovel and toss the contents back into the ocean. “What the hell is the cattleman doing?” I ask.
He chuckles. “I think he’s saving a starfish.”
“In the nude?”
Thane smiles at me. “That’s how the guy rolls.”
I shake my head, thoroughly amused as we watch him in silence for over fifteen minutes before he suddenly looks up. A jogger runs by and he waves before scooping up another starfish.
Thane and I laugh as the jogger does a double take before continuing on.
I like the man’s fearless confidence. Although there are nudity laws in California, the guy clearly doesn’t care.
He uses the shovel as a walking stick as he heads from the shore to the house, his impressive shaft swinging in the breeze.
“That’s twenty starfish that will live to see another day,” he announces proudly as he enters the house.
“And one traumatized jogger,” Thane jokes.
Anderson grins in response. “Anyone who can’t handle seeing a naked body needs to seriously look at themselves in the mirror.”
We all laugh.
“After I take a shower, I’m making coffee. Anyone want a cup?”
“I’ll take one,” Thane answers.
“I’ll stick to my vodka.”
Once we’re all seated at the kitchen table with our respective drinks, Anderson asks, “Do you mind if I am honest with you, Durov?”
“By all means. If I don’t like what you say, I’ll just punch you in the face.”
He chuckles. “Well, at least I’ve been warned.”
“Da, so ask away.” I smirk.
He stares at me for several moments, his expression suddenly becoming serious. “I want you to know I stand behind you.”
Tears unexpectedly come to my eyes. We’ve avoided the topic this entire time, and the first words out of his mouth on the subject completely undo me.
I sigh, saying nothing for several moments. I’m unable to speak, but nod my head.
“We both have your back,” Thane adds.
Rather than get emotional in front of them, I suddenly challenge Anderson to an arm wrestling match.
“You’re on!” he replies enthusiastically, ripping off his fresh t-shirt and getting into position with his elbow on the table.
I like his zeal and sit opposite him, smirking as I grasp his hand. “Are you ready to lose, cattleman?”
“I think the question is…are you?” he states with confidence.
I have no doubt we are evenly matched, and I trust he will not let me win because of my injuries. The last thing I need is anyone’s misplaced sympathy.
I squeeze his hand tight and tell Thane to count us down.
He stands beside us and calls out slowly, “Three…two…one.”
I stare at Anderson, looking for any weakness as I focus my energy into forcing his arm down on the table.
I can tell he’s as determined as I am, and it isn’t long before we are both sweating from the strain of our muscles. But there is no way I’m losing this match. So, I push harder.
Anderson grunts in response, lowering his head as he concentrates on matching my strength.
I feel him start to give and am certain the match is over. That’s when he lifts his head and meets my gaze, a twinkle in his eye.
Before I have time to react, the back of my hand slaps against the table.
I stare at him in shock, unable to believe he’s beaten me so soundly. With sweat pouring down my face, I sit back and huff. “I’m not used to being beaten.”
“Do you have something to say to me?” he asks with a grin.
I frown.
“Something like, ‘You, Brad Anderson, are the champion.’”
“Nyet.”
“Come on. Don’t be a sore loser,” he teases.
My lips twitch. “You do like to push my buttons, cattleman.”
“You know you love me for it.” His grin growing wider.
If the guy weren’t so amiable, I’d sock him in the jaw. Instead, I mutter under my breath, “Anderson, you are the champion.”
He chuckles. “See? That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
I shake my head and down some more vodka.
Anderson winks at me, confessing with pride, “What I failed to mention is that I was the champion arm wrestler amongst the bullriders I traveled with on the circuits. You never stood a chance.”
The guy has no shame, but he’s right. It’s part of the reason I like the fucker.
Anderson swipes the sweat from his brow and repositions himself. “Ready for another round?”
“I will decide when we have a rematch,” I insist.
Anderson shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He stands up, flexing to make his chest muscles dance.
I roll my eyes, turning to Thane. “Where did you find this misfit?”
“Same place I found you.”
I laugh, lightly slapping Thane’s left cheek in rapid succession for his insolence.
Wiping the sweat from my brow with my forearm, I smile with satisfaction, having enjoyed the excursion of the wrestling match. Turning to Anderson, I ask, “So, what are the plans for today?”
“I’ve got to head back to the dorm and start packing if I’m going to get out of here tomorrow.”
I glance at Thane. “And you, comrade?”
“Unfortunately, I need to pack, as well.”
I’m disheartened to learn neither of them is staying, but I take it all in stride. “That’s a pity as my only plans are to lounge on the beach and not pack a damn thing.” I take a swig of vodka. “Here’s to a productive summer for you both.”
“What are your plans?” Thane asks.
“Simple. Beach plus vodka equals one happy Russian.”
Blood Bond
Three weeks later, long after they’ve left, I’m now coming to realize I was only fooling myself.
I’m barely surviving.
Smothered in a fog of depression I can’t get past, I have lost all sense of who I am…
Afraid of nothing before, I now dread each night as I lay down to sleep, knowing that once I close my eyes, I will be ravaged by the demons in my nightmares.
They swirl around me, constantly calling out my name, beckoning me to follow them.
Thane insists the future is worth fighting for, but I disagree. Tatianna waits for me on the other side and I hunger to be with her again.
In an attempt to fight the insistent urge to end my life, I seek to escape, inviting my Russian friends to join me at the beach house. The more chaotic the gathering, the better for me—anything to distract me from the darkness consuming my thoughts.
But…
It isn’t working.
After trying to drink myself to oblivion every night, I find myself becoming immune to the effects of my beloved vodka.
I have no escape now.
Although I laugh louder than anyone else in the room, my soul is dying inside.
In the middle of one of these epic parties, my demons finally win. I slip pass my drunken friends and head down to the beach.
The waves call to me and I accept their invitation.
Completely dressed, I dive into the cold ocean water while the sounds of the party continue on behind me. Heading out to the open ocean, I swim until I have no strength left.
It’s then, floating on my back and being gently rocked by the waves, that I look up at the stars above me and wait to join my Tatianna.
Peace.
When an image of my dear mother waling over my grave unexpectedly clouds my vision, my heart begins to race. My mother has suffered unspeakable cruelty under the hands of my father, and she does not deserve to lose her son this way.
Mamulya will never forgive herself if I commit suicide—I know this.
I turn toward the shore and begin swimming, but panic sets in when it becomes obvious I can’t make it back on my own strength.
A tingling chill of fear courses through me at the realization that it’s too late…
Too tired to take another stroke, I tread water and look up at the stars, crying out, “I’m sorry, Mamulya. You deserved a stronger man for a son.”
Guilt washes over me as a deep sadness replaces my fight to survive. My mother will never know I died trying to live.
“Rytsar!”
I jerk my head around in the water, startled. I swear I’ve just heard a young woman cry my name right next to me. The clarity of her voice is just as real as my own.
The desperation in her voice fills me with a surge of energy that builds in the core of my being and I look toward the beach. Determined not to fail, I start swimming toward the shore again.
Stroke after painful stroke, my muscles raging with fire from the sheer effort while my lungs burn with each breath, I inch my way to safety.
Before I make it to land, my body finally gives out. Letting out a cry of frustration, I slowly sink under the water.
“Daddy, is he dead?”
I open my eyes slowly.
The sun blinds me as I look up at the shadowy forms standing over me. Blinking, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight.
The man bends down, laying a hand on me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard before answering. “Da…okay,” I assure him, my voice gruff after taking in so much salt water. I roll onto my stomach so I can slowly pull myself to my feet.
Apparently, my claim is not that convincing, because he immediately asks, “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“Nyet.”
He looks at me strangely. Realizing that he doesn’t understand Russian, I force a smirk as I lie, “Too much to drink.”
“Ah…” He steps back and wraps his arm around his son protectively. Glancing down at the boy, he adds, “You should drink more responsibly next time.”
Taking his child’s small hand, he gently scolds the kid for staring back at me when they turn to walk away.
I look up at the sky, grief ripping at my heart.
I am not dead.
Instead of release, I must endure another day among the living. I kiss two fingertips and hold them up to the sky. “Only for you, Mamulya.”
With a renewed sense of duty, I head back to the beach house, mentally preparing myself for the torture of a new day.
Adding insult to injury, I receive an impersonal letter at the end of the summer from my father, informing me that he has stopped payment on the beach rental and I must return to the campus dorm.
I refuse to return to the same room and momentarily consider returning to Russia, but I know my mother would sense there is something seriously wrong and she can never know what happened here.
Desperate to keep my sanity, I strike a deal with a college mate to switch rooms, exchanging my spacious one for his much smaller one. A fair trade, in my mind—anything to keep the memories of that night far from me.
I lock up the beach house for the last time, groaning as I turn the lock. It can no longer act as my refuge because of my father.
But it may be for the best, I concede. The call of the ocean has become far too enticing for me to trust myself here any longer.
Being back on campus means I have to actively avoid Thane. Just like my mother, I know he’ll sense the depth of my inner struggle.
It’s bad enough that he blames himself for bringing Samantha into my life, but if he were to discover how dark my thoughts go now, I’m unsure if he would be able to forgive himself. So, instead of causing him further pain, I avoid him at all costs for the first few weeks of the new school year, making excuses I know he will not question.
Despite my best efforts to elude him, however, Thane ambushes me while I’m heading to my economics class.
“We need to talk, Durov.”
I don’t even glance his way, purposely avoid eye contact with him, as grumble under my breath, “I’m late, comrade.”
Thane grabs my shoulder and whips me around, his gaze steady and unyielding. “I don’t care.”
Rather than make a scene, I smile and laugh it off. “What? Do you want me to skip class so I can drink you under the table?”
Thane cocks his head. “That might not be a bad idea.”
I laugh for real this time. “You drinking vodka with me in the middle of the day instead of going to class?”
He shrugs. “You know what they say. You only live once.”
I slap him on the back. I’m not in the mood to suffer through class, so I take him up on this rare offer to play hooky.
We head to my new dorm room and I usher him inside.
“I see you’ve downgraded,” he states offhandedly.
“My father cut off funding, but I’m finding that less is more.”
He looks at me with concern. “Is everything okay with your family?”
I shrug. “I suspect my father is simply asserting his power. So, da, everything is fine.”
As he glances around the room, I suspect Thane understands the real reason I could not return to my original dorm room. Rather than question me, however, he looks at his watch. “It may be ten in the morning here, but it’s six PM in London. Give me a shot.”
I like his tenacity and grab two shot glasses out of my cabinet, along with a bottle of my best vodka. If I’m going to drink him under the table, it has to be with the best Russia has to offer.
“You seem reckless today, comrade,” I comment, handing him one of the glasses.
He raises an eyebrow as he stares at it. “Isn’t that a heavy pour, even for a Russian?”
I smirk. “Nyet.”
I grab a jar of pickles from my stash and open the lid, holding the jar out to him. He gingerly takes one and stares at the pickle dripping with brine.
I grin as I pull one out for myself and set the jar on the table. “Here’s to my American friend getting his ass kicked in our first drinking challenge.”
Thane chuckles. “We’ll see about that…”
Throwing back the smooth fire, I groan with pleasure as the vodka goes down, enjoying a bite of the salty pickle afterward.
I watch in amusement as he chugs his own shot, coughing once before eating half his pickle. The guy doesn’t stand a chance against me.
I pour us another shot, snorting as I clink my glass against his and then down it, finishing off the pickle. “Keep up, comrade! We’re just getting started.”
He nods in acknowledgement, swallowing it all before quickly consuming the last of his pickle.