The Debt

by Sara Hubbard

  He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “He dies. You take care of him and make sure his body is found so I can see he’s actually dead. And you have a deal.”

  He runs a finger along his jaw. “You hate him that much? Or is it because he hates the girl?”

  Since Luna’s dad killed Trevor’s sister, he’s the only other person who’ll keep digging into this if Andrei lets it go. I roll my head. “Deal or not?”

  His smile grows so wide it consumes his face. Trevor is probably one of Andrei’s closest friends and supporters, and he’s giving him up so easily. In fact, he almost seems excited about it.

  My brother holds out his hand and lets it linger in the air. I glance at Lois from my peripheral, see her wipe a tear from those pretty eyes, and all I see is Luna. I take my brother’s hand and shake much firmer than I would normally.

  As an adult, I can’t think of a decision I’ve regretted. Yes, I regretted letting Luna live in the beginning, but not now. Killing her would have been the biggest regret of my life. But this decision right here? This one will haunt me. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but it will come back to bite me. Of that, I’m sure.

  Chapter 15

  Luna: I brought my book to the kitchen table, but the rain distracts me. It’s been raining since I woke up this morning, and the splashes on the window and the accompanying pitter patter is mesmerizing. There is something about the rain. Something soothing. At the counter, Yara sings a song in Russian, occasionally reverting to humming.

  I miss my life, my mom and my job, and in some ways, my father, too. I still grieve for the man he once was, but I grieved for the real him so long ago that it almost numbs the pain. Today, sitting here with Yara close by is helpful, too. Today is the first day I’ve felt a touch of peace. My life isn’t ideal. It isn’t what I wanted or asked for, but here I am. I suppose I need to make the most of it. I can fight and rage against my loss of freedom, but it won’t help me. And I don’t want to be angry with Maxim anymore.

  “What are you making?” I ask Yara.

  She says something in Russian.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She chuckles. “It’s a casserole. Nothing special.”

  “Well, it smells divine.”

  “Of course, it does. I cook it.”

  I laugh at her.

  “What are you reading about now? Haven’t you finished that book already?”

  “Skin disorders.”

  She makes a face.

  “There’s lots of pictures if you want a peek.”

  “No, thank you,” she says decisively. She walks over to the table and grabs a chair. I go back to reading, but the sound of the chair legs dragging across the tile makes me cringe.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “The breadcrumbs are on the top shelf.”

  Maxim’s cupboards go all the way up the wall to meet the ceiling, and the ceiling height on his first floor has to be about eleven feet tall. Yara puts the chair by the lower cupboards and stands on the chair.

  “Yara, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why would you put things up so high? Isn’t there a step ladder or something?”

  She waves off my concern. “I am a strong, sturdy woman. I can reach.”

  I watch her, nervous, as she stretches up on her tip toes. She’s about the same height as me so I wouldn’t be much help, but I worry for her. “Here, let me,” I say, getting up.

  “No, I’ll do it. You sit back down and read your book.”

  “Yara,” I say, refusing to listen.

  She curses at me in Russian, but I ignore her. I round the table as she stretches higher. Her arms reaching just beyond their limit. When I get to the island, the world slows as the chair slides out from under her. “Yara!” I scream.

  With the island in my way, I sprint around it, but I can’t get to her in time to save her. She falls to the floor, smashing her head on the marble countertop on the way down. There is a sickening crunch that makes my stomach turn. “Yara!” I drop to the ground next to her lifeless body. She’s breathing but unconscious. I swallow hard. “Are with you me? Yara, please say something.” Oh my god. There’s a massive bump already forming on her forehead with an abrasion over top of it. Blood pours from it and runs down over her eyes and her cheek. I hold her head still, more worried for her neck than her bleeding.

  My first response is to call 911. I can’t do a thing for her. Not like this. But where are the phones? There are no phones! I have no way to call for help, let alone call Maxim. I search her pockets quickly, knowing she calls Maxim at the end of the day to let her out of the house. It’s locked, but it has a button at the bottom for a fingerprint. I take one of her fingers and press it down and her phone lights up.

  Weeks ago, had I been put in the situation, I would have helped Yara, but I also would have helped myself. After calling 911, I would have called the police. I would have gotten out of this place and made damn sure everyone who had a part in my father’s death would be brought to justice. Now? My only concern is Yara.

  My heart thunders in my chest. I’m good in emergencies, but not when I care for the person who’s hurt. Then I’m just a ball of nerves. Think, Luna, think. Pretend you’re in the hospital. Pretend she’s a stranger.

  If the ambulance comes, they won’t be able to get in here. I scroll through her contacts and find Maxim’s name. The phone rings once, twice, and then a third time. I curse out loud as my heart races even faster. What if he’s unavailable or if he won’t do what he needs to do to help her?

  Finally, the ringing stops, and Maxim says something short and in Russian.

  “Max?”

  The phone line grows quiet. There is a muffling noise before I hear him tell someone to, “Excuse me.” Then his attention returns to me and it’s low and menacing. “Luna, where the fuck is Yara.”

  I talk quickly, needing him to swallow his anger right now. “She fell and she’s unconscious. I have to call the ambulance, but they won’t be able to come in. I don’t want to call the police.”

  “If you’re lying…”

  “Not now,” I say angrily. “She’s unconscious and needs medical attention. Do you hear me?”

  “Then help her.”

  “I can’t! She hit her head hard. She needs imaging. Listen, you don’t trust me, fine. But don’t you dare let her suffer. She’s a good woman and you love her. I—care for her, too.”

  He hangs up the phone. I stare at it wide-eyed, unwilling to believe the man I care for is really this cold. “Yara, can you hear me?” I say. I take her hand and am about to call 911 with the other. I believe it’s dangerous for me outside, and for my mother, but I will not let her suffer, even if Maxim’s perfectly willing to do that. I press the number nine, and am about to press one, when a loud beep sounds in the hallway. Maybe from the front door.

  “Alarm disabled,” a voice says.

  I heave a sigh of relief.

  “Emergency services have been contacted,” the robotic voice says.

  I stroke Yara’s salt and pepper hair. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell her.

  * * *

  Before the ambulance arrives, I grab a ball cap and one of Maxim’s thin jackets from the hall closet. Considering I work at the hospital, I fear I’ll be noticed, but at least I try to stay invisible. The rain still pours as she’s loaded into the back of the truck. As we sway back and forth, racing to the hospital, the jacket is soaked through, even from the small walk from the house. I lick the rain from my lips as I watch the paramedics work. I hold my hands together and say a prayer for her. I need her to be okay.

  “Which hospital are we going to?” I ask

  “Frankford,” the medic says.

  I let out a breath. Thank God. I work at Queens. While I know people who work at Frankford, there are definitely less than I would know at Queens. There’s a glimmer of hope that I’ll go unnoticed. I hope this will satisfy Maxim, but I’m not optimistic. Regardless
, he’s going to be mad at me. It’s like I can feel it already.

  I sit in the emergency room, cap pulled low, while she gets a neck and head CT. She regained consciousness in the truck, but she was confused and not quite herself. She was also in a considerable amount of pain, though she wouldn’t own to it.

  An hour later, I haven’t heard from Maxim, and I still hold Yara’s phone in my hand—not that I can use it still. Though I could ask one of the nurses to use one of their landlines. I shake my head. No, I won’t put her at risk. And right now I want to keep my focus on Yara. I want to know if she’s okay, but the doctors won’t tell me anything because I’m not her next of kin, and she hasn’t yet given permission—if she will at all. Maybe she won’t want me to know anything.

  I sit in the chair by where her stretcher was, and I bite my nails. Sometimes I chew on them, but I haven’t really bitten them until they bleed since I was a child. When I taste blood, I move on to another nail.

  This is the best place for her. I know this, but it doesn’t make me feel better. She hit that counter so damn hard it could have killed her. Maxim would have been devastated—and so would I.

  I feel his presence before I see him. It’s like something inside of me awakens when he’s near. Some instinctual emotion that he draws out of me. When I look over my shoulder at the door to the room, he stands tall, dressed down in sweats and his hair messy. I want to be so angry with him right now for how he treated me when I called him. It hurt that he thought I would lie about something like that. But I can’t be angry with him because, no matter how murderous the look on his face, I know underneath he’s hurting.

  “Hello,” I say softly.

  He stalks toward me, refusing to take his eyes off of mine. I don’t look away. I'm not afraid of him right now, though I likely should be. He’ll thank me for what I did eventually—maybe just not today.

  “Where is she?” he demands.

  “CT. She’ll be back shortly.”

  “Is she awake?”

  “She came to in the ambulance. Maxim, I—”

  He holds up a hand. His voice is low and dark. “Not now and certainly not here. The damage is done.”

  “It’s not.”

  The silence between us is deafening as we wait for her to return. A nurse wheels her in, and to my surprise, she’s smiling. Her eye has already started to blacken and the bump on her head has since grown. It’s nearly the size of a golf ball.

  “Oh, Yara,” I say softly. “How are you?”

  She speaks in Russian. I frown, unsure.

  “She says she’s fine. No pain,” Maxim says angrily.

  “She just had some pain meds,” the young nurse says, touching Yara’s shoulder. “But she’s a trooper. No matter how many times I asked, she just kept saying she was fine. It took some convincing, but she finally agreed to let me give her some.”

  “She’s stubborn,” Maxim says.

  Yara blows a raspberry at him. “He should talk. He’s the most stubborn man I know. And I know lots.”

  “I’ll give you a minute,” the nurse says after hooking her back up to the monitors. “The doctor should be by soon.”

  For the next five minutes, I witness a very terse and low argument in Russian. Yara, fully content with her pain meds, gives it back. I wonder if that’s normal for her. I’m not sure Maxim is used to people fighting with him like this. I almost find it entertaining when they finish with Yara blowing him another raspberry.

  “You’re acting like a child,” he says, his anger somehow gone. Now he just sounds exasperated.

  She giggles. I’ve heard her laugh, but not like this. I find myself biting my lip to stop myself from giggling, too. She’s just a little out of it. Maxim glares at me, and I suck in my lips to remove the smile from my lips.

  “Yara Petrov?” A man in a white coat and a pair of blue scrubs says from the doorway. I stare at his oval face and long nose, trying to place him. I’m pretty sure I’ve worked with him before. I tip my head down, hiding my face with the beak of my hat.

  Yara raises her hand like a schoolgirl, and Maxim shakes his head.

  “Are you family?” the man asks.

  “Yes,” Maxim says.

  “And you?”

  I peek up at him. He looks right at me with this head tipped to the side. Oh, god. He recognizes me.

  “Yes,” I say finally.

  “Do I know you?”

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I shake my head.

  “Hmm.” He flips through her chart. “The CT looks okay. I don’t see anything overly concerning right now. You got a good bump on the head and a concussion, but I think you’re going to be fine. We’ll just keep you overnight for monitoring.”

  “Is that necessary?” Maxim asks.

  “Because she lost consciousness, I think it’d be best. Just as a precaution. How does that sound Ms. Petrov?”

  She holds up her hand and makes an ‘okay’ sign.

  “Someone should be by shortly to take you upstairs,” he says. “Do you have any questions?”

  He looks around the room, his gaze lingering on me again. Maxim, standing to my right, takes a step closer, blocking the doctor’s view.

  “Feel better, Ms. Petrov,” he says before leaving the room.

  “How do you feel now?” Maxim says, his voice softer than I’ve heard it so far since he arrived.

  She shrugs. “Don’t worry, my boy. I’ll be fine. You heard the doctor. It’s a good thing Luna was there when I fell. Otherwise, who knows how long I would have been laying there.” She closes her eyes.

  Maxim holds a hand to his head, and deep lines of worry mar his beautiful face. I feel an intense need to comfort him, though I know he wouldn’t want it. Especially not from me.

  “Get some sleep, Yara,” Maxim says. “We’ll stay until they come for you.” He lowers his voice. “And then I have to get her out of here.”

  “Don’t be angry, Maxim. She did the right thing.”

  He glares at me, and it’s so intense I flinch.

  She reaches for his hand and takes it firmly in hers. I get up and walk around the bed to stand on the other side of Yara. Maxim won’t look my way. He seems to only want to look at me this evening when he wants to communicate his hate and displeasure.

  “You can go,” Yara mumbles. “I don’t want anyone to fuss over me. And I know you were putting in some extra training this evening. You have your big fight tomorrow.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “It is to you. Please just take Luna home.”

  He glances up at me and then back to her. “I’ll be back tonight to check on you.”

  “I’m sure you will.” She pats his hand and lets it go. “Okay, leave me. I need to sleep now.”

  I smile at her and gently squeeze her arm. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Yara. It won’t be the same at the house without you.”

  “Oh, I’ll be back at it tomorrow.”

  “Net,” Maxim says firmly. “You’ll be in bed, resting. And don’t argue with me, because you know you won’t win.”

  She opens a single eye and closes it. “We shall see.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  I’m nervous to be alone with Maxim when he’s so angry. I thought he would never hurt me, but then he was able to the first night I spent at his house. It’s in him to give in to his rage, and I worry one day he might try to hurt me again. Maybe this time he won’t be able to stop.

  He grips my arm as he leads me out of the emergency room. His hold is resolute and tight enough that his short fingernails dig into my skin through his jacket and my sweater. I keep at his side, my head down. He quietly swears at me in Russian. I mean, I don’t know if he’s swearing at me, but it sure feels that way. In fact, I’ve never heard him have so much to say. I really wish he’d just say it in English.

  I want to shrug him off of me, but I wait. The walk seems like it will never end. When we finally get to the parkade, I twist my arm free and glare at
him. “You’re hurting me,” I say.

  He faces me, looking down at me from under those long lashes with those dark, menacing eyes of his.

  I gulp but stare back at him.

  The muscles in his jaw tense and relax, over and over again. He leans in, just slightly, and then curses at me again before spinning away and storming off, still yelling at me.

  I follow him to the SUV where he’s already inside, gripping the steering wheel and wringing it like he might break it in half. After I put my seatbelt on, I tense all over. I tell myself he cares for me, but I’m still worried he might hurt me. I can justify in my mind that he only tried to hurt me because I pulled the trigger when he forced me to point a gun at him. But if a friend said that to me, I would stare at them in wide-eyed horror. Yet, this is the man I crave and can’t force out of my mind.

  As a peace offering, I put my hand in my pocket and pull out Yara’s phone. I should have given it to her before we left, but I honestly forgot. Instead, I was consumed with what Maxim was going to say and do to me. I place the phone on the dash and stare out of the window.

  He says nothing. For minutes, he says not a single word. My heart climbs into my throat, and I try to swallow it back down. It doesn’t help. His silence is so much worse than him yelling at me because, at least, if he’s yelling, he’s getting his anger out. I worry what happens when a silent Maxim explodes.

  “What would you have done?” I ask him.

  He starts the car, and the sound of the engine turning is deafening. Slowly, he reverses out of his parking space and moves down the three stories in the parking lot until we’re through the gate and out onto the street.

  “I can’t trust you,” he says finally.

  “What?”

  “Look what you did.”

  “Maxim, she needed a hospital. You unlocked the doors.”

  “You should have let her go and stayed at home. You put yourself at risk!”

  “No one recognized me.”

  “Bullshit. Who was the doctor making eyes at you?”

  “What? He wasn’t making eyes at me.” Does he think the doctor was hitting on me? With everything going on, how could he even think about that? He’s crazy. I swear to God he’s fucking crazy.