Until the End

by London Miller

  “That’s why you were so angry at Thanksgiving, wasn’t it?”

  Sometimes, Lauren couldn’t believe how blind she had been. All the signs of who Mishca was were there for her to see, yet she was still surprised when Ross had revealed the truth to her.

  When Susan had come to New York for Thanksgiving, Lauren should have suspected something then. It was their awkward demeanor around each other that was a clue, and then there was the fact that Susan had called Mishca by his name before Lauren had even introduced them.

  “Yes. It was the first time I had seen a Volkov since the day I learned what your father really did when he went out of town. It brought it all back up again.”

  “And now? You act as though you don’t blame them anymore.”

  What Lauren wasn’t saying was that much of her anger stemmed from the loss that Susan had suffered as well.

  “I can’t blame your father,” Susan said, but it was what she said next that made Lauren stiffen. “It isn’t Mishca’s fault either.”

  “Yes, it is,” Lauren said nodding, staring down at a nick in the floor. “He’s a part of it.”

  Sighing, Susan folded her hands. “I do not want you to blame him because you think I want you to.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You think Mishca is responsible.”

  “Well, of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Lauren asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

  “Because he was only a child,” Susan replied reasonably. “It took me a long time to come to terms with that fact. I don’t want you harboring that same anger. If you want someone to be angry with, be angry with Viktor.”

  “Why are you advocating for Mish? You don’t even like him.”

  “I may not agree with his lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I dislike him.”

  Blowing out a breath, Lauren stood, going over to stand by the window, watching the cherry blossoms billow outside in the wind.

  “What does it matter now anyway?” She asked.

  She thought of what Mishca had said in the hotel room, how angry he was when he learned the truth behind the lies his family kept, and how her revelations had affected his sister. She could still see the fire in his eyes when she thought back on that day.

  “Lauren, you’ve been in this room for nearly a month and a half. The only time you leave is to eat. It matters because Ross and I are watching you slip away a little bit more every day.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that. How should I be acting? First, I find out that my boyfriend is in the Mob, not just an errand boy, but a high-ranking member, then I find out that his uncle is the one that facilitated my father’s murder. I’m a little proud that I’m doing this well.”

  “If I thought it was just about your father, I wouldn’t bring it up.”

  “What do you want me to say, mom?” She asked looking back at Susan, annoyed with herself because it felt like the only thing she knew how to do anymore was cry. “Even without everything that’s happened. We could never be together.”

  “Come back and sit down,” Susan said patting the spot next to her. “I want to tell you a story.”

  Lauren did as she commanded, folding her legs beneath her as she faced her mother.

  “This was your father’s ring,” Susan said wistfully, holding it out for Lauren to take. “Before the wedding, he had both of our rings engraved with a saying. Until the end. It was Cameron’s promise. No matter what situation we may have found ourselves in, we promised to stick by each other—”

  “Until the end,” Lauren finished for her.

  Seeming satisfied, though Lauren didn’t grasp what she was trying to tell her, Susan stood, pressing the necklace into Lauren’s hand, going over to stand by the door.

  Lauren clutched it, looking to Susan. “What are you saying?”

  “We can’t help who we fall for and sometimes it may seem like they’re the worst possible choice, but even I can’t deny what I saw between you and Mishca.”

  “But he lied to me, about everything,” she whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

  “Then be angry with him for what he did do, not for what he had no control over.”

  Lauren didn’t get a chance to respond to that as the front door open and shut, Ross announcing his arrival with a call up to them. Susan went down first, Lauren promising to be down in a minute.

  She needed a moment to think.

  Lauren could deal with the anger, it was the easiest to feel, but the rest of it was what she couldn’t make sense of. It seemed like Susan wanted her to forgive Mishca, but there was so much that was said and done that she couldn’t just let it go over night.

  Putting it out of her mind for the time being, Lauren traveled downstairs, seeing the new building supplies near the door to the basement. Ross hadn’t gotten the boat they’d talked about, instead he chose to build one from scratch.

  She really had to talk him out of watching Crime TV with Susan.

  The back door was open, the smell of burning charcoal carrying through the door. The unnecessarily large grill that Ross was manning took up nearly the entire deck, smoke billowing up into the air.

  He held a fork in one hand, flipping steaks as he tipped his beer up, taking a few long swallows before wiping his brow with his forearm. He was off his crutches though one foot was still in a brace. He had even begun growing his hair out, finally letting go of the strict cut he had been wearing since his time in the army.

  Looking over his shoulder, Ross flashed his crooked grin. “Returning to the land of the living?”

  Laughing, Lauren grabbed one of the chairs, moving it over to the shade. “Your one to talk. If you’re not sawing away at that boat, I don’t see you.”

  “Touché.”

  While Ross readied the steaks, Susan made potato salad in the kitchen, both keeping Lauren far from any of the food. They talked, steering clear of any tough subject—one tough subject.

  When the food was ready, they set out plates on the table. Since the sun was setting, the temperature had decreased enough for them to sit outside. After saying Grace, Susan looked to Lauren.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do once you go back?”

  Lauren glanced quickly at Ross before answering. “Same thing I was doing when I first got there. Concentrating on school and work.”

  Ross nodded. “Good. I’ve talked to Rodriguez. He’s promised to look out for you if you ever need anything. Mishca won’t be bothering you.”

  In a quiet voice, Lauren said, “Mishca.”

  Ross grunted, focusing solely on his plate as he pushed his food around. It was no secret that there was no love lost between him and Mishca, especially with the events that transpired a few months ago.

  And that was another thing that Lauren thought about constantly. Even if she did think about trying for something with Mishca—not that she did—there were so many obstacles standing between them. Their families would never accept them together.

  “Whatever his name is.”

  For some reason, though she had just voiced her doubts with Susan, Lauren spoke up for him. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

  Narrowing his eyes on her, Ross got that scrutinizing look on his face. “Don’t even think about it. He’s not who you thought he was.”

  “Thomas—”

  “No, Susan, she needs to understand. This isn’t one of those romance books where everything gets wrapped up nicely in the end.” He dropped his fork on the plate, sitting back to look at Lauren. “I thought that by giving you space, it would help, but you’ve been locked away in that room and I can only imagine what ideas you might have come up with. I know these type of men, I’ve dealt with them before. They’re killers with zero remorse.”

  “The hour I spent talking to Mikhail was enough to convince me of the type of men they are,” Lauren said bitterly, making them fall silent.

  Lauren was staring down at the table, tears of frustration blurring her vision. Ross r
eached out, laying his hand over hers.

  “I just want what’s best for you,” he said gently. “Even if you can’t see that yet.”

  Pushing back from the table, Lauren extracted her hand. “I’m going to go check on my registration date.”

  They didn’t stop her from leaving though she had barely touched her food. Even as she walked away, she heard Susan whispering quietly.

  At six a.m., while the house still slept, Lauren silently dressed, grabbing the keys to the tiny Kia outside. Susan and Ross had gotten together to buy her the car, giving her a means of transportation to get around, and for when she wanted to come home.

  She headed into town, stopping by the local florists’ shop, run by an elderly couple. After a few pleasantries, they put together an arrangement of white tulips and an assortment of other flowers, ones that conveyed exactly how Lauren was feeling. As she was leaving, they both gave her sympathetic smiles.

  By the time she got to the cemetery, it was still dark out, a bank of fog making it hard to make out any of the gravestone, but Lauren knew the route like the back of her hand.

  Two aisles down, four rows up, second to the left.

  Her father didn’t have a headstone, rather a ledger stone, one that was set into the ground. Lauren knew what it said, had read the words plenty of times over the years, but every single time since she realized how final those words were, tears formed in her eyes. It never got easier, but while there was residual pain, there was still a level of comfort that being here brought.

  Setting the flowers on the ground for the moment, she took the time to take out the older ones since they looked like they’d been there for a few weeks, and brushed away a few stray leaves. Placing her own arrangement into the pot, she fanned them out, twisting them in every direction until she was satisfied.

  But no matter how long she tried to hold off, she knew she would have to face it.

  The grass was slightly damp, wetting the knees of her jeans as she tucked her legs beneath her. Finally, when she couldn’t wait any longer, she read the words.

  CAMERON ISAAC THOMPSON

  JUNE 1, 1962 - NOVEMBER 15, 1997

  LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER

  Even still, the numbness she had grown accustomed to was cracking again, the fissure growing so large that it took everything within her not to breakdown.

  The guilt was too much.

  It felt wrong, being here, knowing that she had consorted with the very men that stole his life. Coming here hadn’t just been for sentimental reasons, but because she wanted a reminder why she should stay away from Mishca, what his life would lead her to, but no matter how hard she tried, she found an excuse.

  The biggest one of all?

  At the time of her father’s death, Mishca had only been nine years old, a child himself.

  The only thing she knew for sure was that he knew her father had died, but he looked just as surprised that day she told Mikhail that she believed he hadn’t known—and there was no doubt Mikhail didn’t.

  If she wanted to blame Mishca, why not blame herself? While he had been hundreds of miles away, she had been in the closet mere feet away. She could have done something, anything to stop Viktor and his men.

  Susan’s words came back to her then.

  It was no one’s fault but the person that took his life.

  She wished she could believe that.

  “I wish we’d had more time,” Lauren whispered touching the sides of the stone. “I don’t…I don’t blame you. I just want to know why. Why would you work for people like them?”

  No matter how long she sat there, she knew she would never get an answer, but it felt good to ask the question anyway.

  “I moved to New York,” she said suddenly. “I guess you know that, but I feel like I haven’t really moved forward. What would you say if you knew I’m still undeclared?”

  She laughed, tracing the letters of his name. “I did pretty well with my volunteer work at the hospital.”

  A sudden breeze blew, ruffling Lauren’s hair. It was only for a second, just enough to make her smile.

  In that moment, she knew how to move forward.

  August

  A couple days later, Lauren was packing the last of her things in the car when she felt a sense of déjà vu. After all this time, it was getting ridiculous.

  “If I promise to call whenever I make a stop, will you stop crying?” Lauren asked trying not to smile.

  Susan and Ross were standing next to the car, the former sniffling as Ross kept a comforting hand around her shoulders. Lauren would think that Susan would be done crying at this point.

  “Every hour,” Susan amended looking far too serious.

  “Okay, let’s just stick to whenever she’s stopped,” Ross butted in, kissing Susan’s forehead.

  Shutting the trunk, Lauren hugged Susan first, accepting the bawling and the kisses until she finally let go. Ross was next, his arms like bands around her.

  “I’m sorry about what I said,” he whispered in her ear. “I just want you to be safe.”

  She nodded against his chest. She knew he meant well, even if she wasn’t ready to hear it yet…just like he’d said

  “Do you still have that gun I gave you?”

  “Ross.”

  He held his hands up innocently. “Just making sure you’re safe.”

  Funny thing was, the gun was still tucked away in her desk.

  Waving goodbye, she climbed into the car. As she started the engine, and the view of Susan and Ross faded in the rearview mirror as she pulled away, she had no idea what to expect when she got home, but she was ready for anything.

  Several hours later, Lauren climbed out of her car, staring up at the familiar brownstone just outside of the city. Almost a year ago, she had relocated here to escape small town living, moving in with Amber who was more of a best friend rather than a roommate.

  She couldn’t wait—

  “You fucking asshole!”

  She swung around at the sound of Amber’s angry voice, spotting her barreling down the stairs towards her, but she wasn’t alone. Rob was hurrying behind her looking sheepish. For a moment, Lauren stood in dazed confusion, wondering why Amber would be upset with her, but she wasn’t the target of Amber’s rage.

  Pulling up, Lauren hadn’t noticed Rob’s shiny black BMW parked a few blocks down, but now that she had, she could see Piper in the passenger seat, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes, but judging from the way her mouth was set, she appeared smug.

  Amber reached the passenger side, yanking at the door handle as Piper lurched back, trying to get as far away as possible in the confined space. Foregoing her bags—and hoping to stop Amber from doing anything she might regret—Lauren hurried over.

  Rob had the nerve to look relieved as he tried unsuccessfully to calm Amber down. “Lauren, please. Can you talk to her?”

  “I don’t really know what’s going on,” Lauren said looking between the two of them.

  Then suddenly, Amber took a deep breath, letting go of the door handle, holding her hands up. “I’ll explain. Robin decided that because I didn’t have a real ‘job,’”—she air-quoted the last bit—“he needed to take my cousin, the conniving bitch,”—this screamed at the car—“to the office party at his law firm. Then, because I was out of town visiting my sick father, he brought her back to my apartment and fucked her in my bed!”

  And there went the calm before the storm. Drawing her arm back, Amber slugged him in the nether regions, dropping him to his knees. Deciding it was a good time to intervene, Lauren grabbed Amber by the back of her shirt, pulling her away. Amber didn’t struggle much, though she did hurl insults as they stumbled backwards towards their building.

  Rob eventually struggled to his feet, climbing into his car and driving off, not doing less than ninety miles per hour.

  “I’m fine,” Amber said again and again as they climbed the stairs to their apartment.

  But she wasn’t and Lauren knew th
at. Amber was a beautiful girl, with extremely curly blonde and brown hair that now fell just past her shoulders since the last time Lauren had seen her. She also had wide expressive brown eyes that were currently brimming with tears.

  Amber went in the apartment first, easily stepping over all the little, white fluff that seemed to cover the majority of the floor. Actually, it was everywhere. On the counters, all over the couch, some floating through the open window where one of Amber’s paintings was sitting on an easel waiting to dry.

  “What did you do?” Lauren asked looking around in wonder.

  “I murdered a mattress.”

  Sure enough, inside Amber’s bedroom, her once queen sized mattress was ripped to shreds, long gouges down the center of it, the springs sticking out.

  “Oh,” Amber said snapping her fingers. “We should go mattress hunting sometime today now that you’re back. Speaking of, does he know?”

  He meaning Mishca, Mishca Volkov. There were no words to describe how she felt about him adequately, it was too complicated.

  “No, I haven’t talked to him yet.” Not that she planned to talk to him at all.

  Amber blinked, hearing what Lauren wasn’t saying. Good friend that she was, she didn’t question it.

  “Mattress first, then margaritas.”

  Four hours later, Amber had a new bed set, and they were well on their way to being beyond drunk—at least Amber was. Lauren was still working on her second margarita while Amber was raising her hand for another Long Island iced tea.

  “Piper, of all people?” Amber said as she pulled the pineapple from the other drink she had yet to finish, nibbling a piece of it. “I really shouldn’t be surprised though. She has a habit of going after other people’s boyfriends.”

  “Don’t let them get you down. They’re not worth it.”