Strong Enough

“You are.”

He shrugged. “I’m learning to adapt.”

“So what are Russians really like?”

“Hmmm. Warm after we know you. Generous. Resilient and resourceful, because we’ve had to be. Oh, and we are totally superstitious.”

I liked the way he said “totally.” He pronounced the second t the same as the first one, whereas an American would turn it into a d. “Yeah? About what?”

“Pretty much everything. For instance, I realized I forgot my phone charger on the way to the airport in Kiev, but going back for it would have been bad luck. Russians believe you should never return home for forgotten items.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, and if you do go back for something, you have to look in a mirror before you go out again.”

I shook my head, but I was laughing. “That i

s fucking absurd.”

“Here’s another one,” he said. “You should never use hand gestures on yourself or anyone else when describing something negative. Like if you were talking about a terrible scar on someone’s face, never gesture toward your own face as the example. And if you do it by accident, you need to wipe the bad energy off your face and throw it away.”

“Ridiculous. My God, no wonder you and Ellen clicked. You’re both crazy.” But they both made me laugh, too. And they were both fearless and spontaneous and completely confident that no matter what life threw at them, they could handle it. Deep down, I envied that. I had strength and tenacity, but sometimes I wondered if I’d have made different choices if I’d had some of Ellen’s free spiritedness. Or cared less what other people thought of me.

“Your sister was telling me last night about twelve-year life cycles,” Maxim went on, “and how every cycle should start in a new place so it’s good thing I came here right after turning twenty-four.”

“Be careful. Next thing you know, she’ll have you at one of her crazy dream analysis sessions or take you to get a psychic reading. Total bullshit.”

He studied me. “You really don’t believe in anything you can’t see?”

I thought about it. “It’s not that so much. I mean, I believe in God. I guess I just believe in free will over fate. I don’t think anything is inevitable—you always have choices, and your beliefs guide those choices. If you don’t want something to happen, you don’t let it happen. And if you want something badly enough, you go after it.”

“I definitely agree with that,” Maxim said. “That’s why I came here. But I also like believing that some things are meant to be. That some things are bound to happen because a force beyond our control is at work. Even feelings are sometimes beyond our control.”

Fuck yes, they are. “But our actions aren’t,” I argued. “Feeling something doesn’t mean you should act on it. If everybody went around doing what they felt, we’d live in complete chaos.”

“And chaos is messy.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t like things that are messy.”

I glanced at him sideways and then stared straight ahead. For someone I’d met less than twenty-four hours ago, that was pretty damn intuitive. It kind of annoyed me. “No. I don’t.”

“I understand.” He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. “I admire your discipline and self-control. I could probably use some of it. And I didn’t like paying for the apartment without seeing it, but what choice did I have? I wanted to come here more than anything. I was willing to risk it.”

I softened a little. Maxim was young—I had to remember that. Some of that fearlessness I envied was simply not knowing better. Someone his age needed to make mistakes in order to learn—I certainly had. And I couldn’t fault him for going after something he wanted. “I get that. You just have to think things through a little more. Be practical. Plan ahead. Consider all the possible consequences before you take a risk.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “I really want to make my life here work.”

And before I knew what I was saying, the words were out of my mouth. “I’ll help you. I can help you.”

As soon as I said it, I was sorry, not because I didn’t like him or want him to succeed, but because I wasn’t comfortable with the way he made me feel. I’d thought showing him kindness today would make me feel less distressed about last night, but it wasn’t. Even being in the car with him had me on edge—the interior of the Range Rover had felt perfectly spacious yesterday, but with Maxim in the passenger seat it felt snug. I was constantly aware of how close he was. My skin hummed with it.

All I wanted was to get him to his apartment, wish him well, and put him out of my head.

The address Maxim had given me was an old two-story building a couple blocks from the Hollywood freeway. I frowned as we pulled up. No self-respecting Angeleno would want to live in this area. It was nothing but traffic, tourists, and homeless people. The building itself looked like a World War II bunker, complete with crumbling facade and scorched lawn in front.“You’re sure this is it?” I asked him.

“Yes. It looks nice, doesn’t it?”