Isn't It Bromantic?

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  “You were speaking Russian,” Noah finally said.

  “Oh yes. We tend to do that.” They slipped in and out of it so naturally with each other that she hardly noticed. “Sorry. We will try to stick to English when you are around.”

  “I think it’s cute,” Andrea said.

  Claud muttered something under her breath, and Elena’s eye started to twitch. She turned to Vlad and switched back to Russian. “Did you hear that? By midnight, I’m going to break out in pulsing boils.”

  Vlad pressed his fist to his mouth to smother a laugh.

  Elena pointed to the platter of pancakes. “Who is hungry?”

  Colton rubbed his hands together. “Hot damn, I am.”

  “Everyone fix a plate,” she said. “I hope there is enough. I can make another batch if we need it. We also have the quiche that Andrea brought—”

  The feel of Vlad’s hand on her back brought an abrupt end to her nervous speech. She looked down at him, and his warm gaze melted her insides. “It’s enough, Lenochka. Get your food and eat.”

  She nodded because it was the safest thing she could think of in response, the only thing that wouldn’t reveal that the feel of his fingers on her spine had left her breathless. She quickly fixed his plate and set it in front of him with a fork.

  “This looks delicious,” he murmured in Russian. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I wasn’t sure if they’d still be good with the gluten-free flour.”

  “They look perfect.”

  “Sour cream or syrup?”

  He lifted a single eyebrow. Right. She knew the answer to that. She handed him the sour cream and waited for him to plop a large dollop on top of his pancakes. The room grew quiet again, and she looked up to find everyone eyeing them with disgust.

  “Did he just put sour cream on his pancakes?” Colton asked, fork paused halfway to his mouth.

  “Russians put sour cream on everything,” Vlad said, adding a handful of blueberries on top. “This is how we eat syrniki.”

  “It’s how we eat everything,” Elena said.

  Colton shoveled a huge bite into his mouth. “These are amazing.”

  Elena filled her own plate and sat down next to Vlad. “They’d be better with tvorog, but I couldn’t find any at the store.”

  “What’s tvorog?” Mack asked over a mouthful.

  “It’s a kind of Russian cheese. You can’t have real syrniki without it, so I had to use ricotta cheese instead.”

  “They don’t sell it in stores?” Andrea asked.

  “Not usually, at least not in America,” Elena answered. “Some international markets will have it, but that’s pretty rare. It has to be served fresh or it will spoil quickly.”

  “I might know a place that would have it,” Colton said.

  Vlad coughed, and Elena watched as he locked eyes with Colton and engaged in one of those silent conversations of his own. A moment passed in which Colton seemed to have been scolded, because he finally shrugged and looked away.

  Andrea suddenly sighed dramatically. “Anyway,” she said, “I need advice.”

  Claud rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

  “What? I need to talk about this. And that’s what we do in our morning coffee hours. We talk about things.”

  “I’m listening, darlin’,” Colton said.

  Andrea gave him a coy smile but then she sighed again. “I don’t know what to do about Jeffrey. He really wants to, you know, take things further. I just don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

  Claud snorted. “You mean you don’t know if you’re ready for him to know the truth about your boobs.”

  Mack coughed into his coffee, and Colton grinned. “I’m suddenly extremely interested in this conversation.”

  Andrea crossed her arms, probably to show off the very boobs they were discussing. “For the last time, there is absolutely nothing wrong with breast enhancement.”

  “Oh, I heartily agree,” Colton said.

  Elena snuck a glance at Vlad. He seemed as unfazed as he was unsurprised by their conversation. Apparently, Andrea’s boobs were a regular topic of conversation during morning coffee hours.

  “I just, I’m still so gun-shy from Neil,” she said. She looked at the Elena and the guys. “That’s my ex-husband.”

  “Ah,” Elena said.

  “I mean, I care about Jeffrey. I do,” Andrea continued. “But what if he’s just another Neil? We were so perfect together for so many years, and then . . . it just fizzled.”

  “Before or after he died?” Elena asked.

  Vlad snorted and then coughed to again cover up his laugh.

  “See, that’s your problem right there,” Claud said, pointing at Andrea. “You’re still waiting on your knight in shining armor who will make you all giddy and sparkly for the rest of your life. What you should be looking for is someone you’re still willing to have sex with after they make you look at pictures of their colonoscopy.”

  Malcolm spit out his coffee.

  “That’s what’s wrong with so many young people today,” Claud continued. “You think marriage is this grand romantic adventure that’s never going to end. That’s not what it is. It is a partnership. A legal agreement that makes it so damn annoying to get out of that you stick by each other even when you want to beat him with a giant zucchini—”

  Elena opened her mouth, but Linda waved her off. “Don’t ask.”

  “—because it’s just too much of a pain in the ass to break up.”

  Noah pounded his chest to clear the last of his choking fit. “Well, I’m excited to get married.”

  “You shouldn’t be excited to get married. You should be ready to get married. There’s a huge difference. Most people are excited for a wedding but never think about what happens after that or what marriage really means.” Claud leaned forward. “You know what my mother told me on my wedding day?”

  “Double, double toil and trouble?” Elena said.

  Vlad grunted another laugh.

  “She said, ‘Claudia, I know you are so happy right now that it’s hard to imagine things will ever be bad. But there will come a day when you’ll be sitting across from him as he is eating his breakfast, and all you will think is why? And then you’ll get over it, and things will go back to normal.’ That is marriage. Security and stability with the occasional what the hell was I thinking?”

  Elena turned a pointed gaze at Vlad and whispered, “ ‘Thus heaven’s gift to us is this . . .’ ”

  His chuckle came out a surprised puff of air before he finished the couplet. “ ‘That habit takes the place of bliss.’ ”

  “Your mama was right. There is a Pushkin quote for everything.”

  “Who is Pushkin?” Colton asked.

  Vlad shook his head and wiped his mouth. “We are with heathens, Elena.”

  Elena sighed dramatically and plunked her elbow on the counter. “Now you’ve done it.”

  Vlad leaned back in his chair, still shaking his head. “Alexander Pushkin is only Russia’s most famous and important poet in all of history.”

  Elena adopted a theater whisper. “His mama is a literature professor at the university in Omsk and teaches a course on Pushkin.”

  “Who is Pushkin?” Vlad muttered again. “He is to Russia what Shakespeare is to Britain.”

  “Between the two of us, we’ve probably memorized every one of his poems. His mama used to make us sit for hours and analyze every word, every translation.” Elena adopted a matronly tone of voice. “ ‘Literature is life, and Pushkin is its beating heart.’ ”

  Vlad grinned, a wide, toothy thing that showed off the tiny gap between his two front incisors. “You sounded exactly like her.”

  “Damn, boys,” Mack said. “Been a long time since we’ve seen the Russian smile like that, huh?
”

  “Indeed,” Malcolm said, nodding with an almost Zen-like quality. “Indeed.”

  The guys did that talking-with-their-eyes thing again.

  “Well,” Linda suddenly said. “We’ve invaded your space long enough this morning. We should get going.”

  Claud scowled. “I’m not ready.”

  Linda grabbed her mother’s arm. “Yes, you are.”

  “Breakfast was incredible,” Andrea said. “Can we help clean up?”

  “No,” Elena said, waving her hand at the mess. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Before you go,” Colton said. “We have an idea that perhaps you ladies would like to help us with?”

  Vlad’s eyebrows tugged together, as if he didn’t quite trust whatever was going to come out of his friend’s mouth.

  “Since Vlad can’t be with his team during the Stanley Cup championship—”

  Elena snuck at a glance at Vlad to gauge his reaction. He had none. He’d gone impossibly still.

  “—I was thinking that we should throw him a party here on Saturday to watch the first of the Nashville games with him.”

  Vlad’s throat went taut with a hard swallow. Apparently, this was news to him. His fingers crumpled his napkin into a tight ball. Elena wasn’t even sure he knew he’d done it.

  “A party with Colton Wheeler?” Andrea gushed. “Count me in.”

  Colton winked. “Be sure to bring Jeffrey.”

  Andrea winked back. “Who?”

  “We were thinking that everyone can bring food to share,” Mack said. “I know Liv and Alexis are both hoping Elena will make some authentic Russian dishes.”

  Elena didn’t respond to Mack’s suggestion. She was too absorbed in watching Vlad’s reaction. She couldn’t tell if he was mad or . . . Oh, Vlad. His bottom lip swelled beyond the outline of his beard and trembled. He cleared his throat and reached for his crutches. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  Silence followed his retreat from the kitchen. The crutch-hop of his gait grew softer and softer as he headed down the hallway.

  “That man is too pure for this world,” Andrea said.

  “We’ll clean up,” Noah said to Elena, but his eyes were following his friend. “Go make sure he’s okay with this.”

  Elena found him leaning on his crutches and staring out the French doors in the dining room. Neighbor Cat wound around his good leg, purring up at him. At Elena’s appearance next to him, Vlad dipped his face to swipe one-handed at the wetness on his cheeks.

  “You have incredible friends,” she said quietly.

  “I know.”

  “It felt like a real Russian meal in there for a minute.”

  “Loud and chaotic?”

  “Exactly.” She tilted her head. “Are you okay with the party?”

  He bit his lip.

  “Hey.” Elena stepped closer and pressed her hand to the center of his chest. He looked down in surprise and . . . something else she would think about later. Something that made it difficult to form her next words. “You don’t have to do it. I’m sure they would understand.”

  “No, I—I want to do it. I need to.”

  “Good. I think it will be fun. I’ll make a ton of food, and we can all wear your jersey.”

  His bottom lip wobbled again, and it was like seeing her old friend after a long absence. Her gentle giant. Her hug in human form. The man she had never deserved and never would. This time, when the urge to hug him flared, she didn’t fight it. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. Within her embrace, his breath caught and his muscles stiffened.

  “It’s been a long time since you hugged me.” His voice was thick and gravelly.

  “You looked like you needed it.”

  He lowered his forehead to the crown of her hair and inhaled deeply. “I did.”

  A moment later, the sound of someone clearing his throat extra loud brought them apart. Elena jumped back and found Vlad looking down at her, face unreadable.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Being here.”

  Colton appeared around the corner. “Okay, little butt. Let’s go. Time for your bath.”

  Elena watched him follow his friends upstairs, Neighbor Cat tagging along. As soon as he was out of earshot, she let out the heavy breath she’d been holding. He wasn’t the only one who’d needed that hug, but he at least was able to walk away from it without feeling the Earth tilt beneath his feet. She was suddenly tipsy, spinning in her own head.

  She couldn’t do that again. Not if she wanted to leave here with any piece of her heart intact.

  Promise Me

  The house was abandoned, as they all were. Empty, broken shells from the time before, when children huddled around dining tables and fireplaces with no idea of the hell that was to come.

  Anna had spent countless nights in houses like this. Places that once radiated warmth and light were now nothing but cold, dark stay-over shelters for the weary. At least this one had an actual bed. It had long since been raided for its blankets and pillows, but Anna wouldn’t complain. The mattress was soft, and it wasn’t the ground. She’d take it, even if she knew she wouldn’t actually sleep. She rarely did anymore. How could anyone sleep in a world like this?

  Two years. That’s how long she’d been in Europe. Her bosses at the Seattle Times wouldn’t even entertain her request to send her overseas as a correspondent after Pearl Harbor. You’re lucky to have a job at all, sweetheart. So when United Press Associations put out a call for Russian-speaking journalists, she applied using only her first initial. She wasn’t the only woman covering the war, but there were few enough of them that most men had no idea how to treat her. Only Tony had treated her like a real journalist.

  At first.

  His accusations, which were no different than a million others that had been hurled her way, hurt more than she could ever admit to him. Being paired with him now was only fitting. A soulless assignment alongside a man with no heart.

  Heavy footsteps outside her door made her breath catch in her throat. Not out of fear, but from tension. Two weeks on the road, and she and Tony had yet to reach a truce. She heard him breathe—a deep intake followed by a defeated exhale.

  Anna called out quietly, “I know you’re out there, Tony. What do you want?”

  The door slowly creaked open. She could barely make out his tall frame in the darkness. “Did I wake you?” he asked gruffly.

  “No.” She sighed and sat up. “I sleep about as much as you do.”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. “You need to rest, Anna. We’re leaving early.”

  It was the kind of everyday gallantry that men like him expressed without thinking, but it always made Anna feel weak. Like she needed to be protected. A woman like her couldn’t afford to be treated that way. Everyone in this war had made assumptions about her from the minute she landed in Europe, all of them wrong and all of them based on old notions of what a woman should or should not be, do, say. She was pretty, so they assumed she was a lightweight. She was flirtatious, so they accused her of sleeping around. She was brave, so they called her risky. “You’re not asleep,” she countered. “Do men need less rest than women?”

  Tony’s sigh was long and weary. “Not everything I say is a knock against you, Anna. I’m just trying to make sure you’re ready for what we’re likely to find tomorrow.”

  A hasty burial ditch. That’s what the villagers had told them. Remains of American and British POWs who’d tried to run but were caught and executed. “I’m well aware of it.”

  He hesitated, and she felt more than saw his gaze upon her. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was low and raspy. “I’m 4F.”

  A hot flush rose up her cheeks as shame turned her blood to sludge. The designation—4F—meant he’d be
en denied entry into the military on medical grounds.

  “A heart murmur,” he said. “I tried to enlist three times after Pearl Harbor. The last time, I got caught using a fake name. I was almost arrested, so that’s why . . .”

  Anna stood up. “Tony—”

  He pulled away from the doorframe. His boots scuffed against the floor as he turned to leave. Anna acted without thinking. She crossed the room. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “You know what. What I said to you back then was rude and ignorant and inconsiderate. I know as well as anyone that being a war correspondent is every bit as important to the effort as being a soldier on the field of battle, and I also know what it’s like to have people make the wrong assumption about you.”

  Tony turned around and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I overreacted. Let’s just forget it.”

  Frustration bubbled as he walked away from her toward the other bedroom. “Jack Armstrong,” she blurted.

  Tony turned around in the cramped hallway. “What?”

  “That’s his name, the man in the photo.”

  Tony approached her slowly. “He’s a pilot?”

  “Was.”

  Her quiet answer brought a curse under his breath. “I’m sorry, Anna.”

  She tried to shrug, but it was a weak effort. “That’s war, right?”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Technically, he’s missing in action. They said his B-24 went down over Frankfurt.”

  “He could have been taken prisoner,” he offered quietly.

  “I know.” She raised her chin. “I know more than anyone what we might find tomorrow, but I need you to know that’s not why I’m here, Tony. I am every bit the professional that you are. I am here to document this war in all its ugliness, just the same as you. When you questioned my motives before, it hurt. Especially coming from you.”

  They stood just inches apart now. “Especially from me?”

  “I’ve stopped caring what most people think of me, but I care what you think.”

  His eyes held hers, and she felt it—that quiver in her belly that she thought she’d never feel again, the low tug of awareness and need that only Jack had ever evoked inside her. Until she met Tony.