Page 114 of The Wrong Brother
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the back of a black SUV heading into the darkness beyond the city. This isn’t one of Rus’ cars, which means he’s going out of his way not to be seen or tracked.
The city lights gradually disappear behind us.
At first, I try to be patient.
Then I try glaring.
Then I spend ten minutes convincing myself not to demand answers every thirty seconds. Rus remains infuriatingly calm through all of it.
Finally, when we’re well outside the city and surrounded by dark forests and winding mountain roads, I cross my arms and turn toward him.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
His gaze shifts from the window to me.
“We’re safe.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Rus,” I groan, exhaustion suddenly setting in and making my temper shorten.
His expression softens slightly. “We’re going to my father’s cabin.”
The answer catches me completely off guard.
“Your father’s?”
He nods. Both of us are aware of the questions I have, but I’m not sure I should ask. Not sure I’ve earned the right. His father, who died decades ago. We’re going to his cabin?
The SUV rounds a curve, headlights illuminating towering pines.
“It’s a hunting property.”
“You own it?”
“Several, technically. But this one...” His voice trails off briefly. “This one was my father’s.”
I study him more carefully. The profile visible in the passing light seems tighter somehow. Older.
“Do you…? Have you been there?”
I’m not sure what I’m trying to ask, and Rus looks away, his jaw clenched.
“Not since I was a teenager. It was sold, then sold again. I bought it before I left Colorado.”
Something in my chest aches unexpectedly. Because I know what happened after that. He was pushed out, pushed away, from everything he’d ever known. The family he’d had left.
The silence that follows feels heavy.
Eventually, he looks back toward the darkness outside.
“I pay someone to maintain it.”
I don’t press further. Some memories deserve respect and space.
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