Chapter 63

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For over a month, the failed massacre within the Goodnight family had sent shock waves across the United States.

The repercussions were particularly severe in Boston, where the Goodnights had long been established as the city’s most prominent residents. The faces of Joseph Goodnight and his father, Jackson Goodnight, haunted the news cycle every day. They had hired a criminal syndicate to slaughter their own blood, desperate to emerge from the tragedy as the sole survivors.

Social media was a relentless stream of condemnation.

True-crime outlets promised to announce the trial date the moment it was set, appeasing a rabid public eager to see the vicious father and son face their fate. The story had spread just as widely through Canada. Cherriot Goodnight, the beloved captain of the Red Maple, had taken the season off in the wake of the incident, and the public learned that he had very nearly perished. While a few focused on the staggering wealth of the trust revealed during the investigation, most simply prayed that their captain would recover from the trauma and return to the ice.

In reality, Cherriot had not suffered any serious physical injuries.

Thanks to the individual who had uncovered Jackson and Joseph’s conspiracy and devised a counter-plan, only a handful of people had been harmed that day.

In truth, only one person had been injured.

Cherriot slowly opened the window, his pale face utterly blank. The two-story house sat on the coast outside Boston, once his parents’ first home as newlyweds. From its windows, the vast blue sea stretched unobstructed into the distance.

Salt-laced wind bit sharply into his cheeks.

Autumn was creeping closer, cooling the temperature with each passing day. Soon, it would be too cold to surf. Boston winters were never brutally harsh, yet they carried a chill that settled deep into the marrow.

After airing out the room, Cherriot turned slowly toward the bed. His long, lifeless shadow fell across the man lying there. He stood, motionless, gazing endlessly at the sleeping figure.

The beautiful man who showed no sign of waking was named Yuri Kiselyov. He was thirty-two. His parents had immigrated to the United States from the Soviet Union, and he had barely managed to finish elementary school before circumstances halted his education, leaving him uncertain in both English and Russian. That was why Cherriot had promised to read books aloud to him.

“Wolfie.”

Cherriot called to him softly, his voice nearly withered away. All its usual vitality was gone, replaced by a deep, despairing sorrow. For more than a month, not a single day had passed without Cherriot whispering Yuri’s name. From the moment he opened his eyes, whether it was morning, afternoon, or deep into the night, he looked for Yuri.

Terrified that Yuri might wake in his absence, Cherriot slept in brief, agonizing snatches in this room instead of his own. Even then, he never allowed himself to drift into true sleep; whenever his consciousness began to slip, he would jerk awake in a cold sweat of terror. The people around him watched with pity, but Cherriot did not want their sympathy. He was the reason Yuri had ended up in this state.

The thought had barely formed before a tear tracked down Cherriot’s dry, gaunt cheek. Perhaps because he had wept so much, even his tears felt parched. Three or four more followed, pooling on the hardwood floor. Cherriot stepped through them as he moved to the bed, smearing them into dark, rhythmic stains beneath his feet.

“Wolfie…”

He lowered himself carefully into the chair beside the bed and took Yuri’s left hand.

Yuri had lost so much weight over the past month that the bones stood out sharply beneath his skin. The beautiful muscles of his body—muscles where Cherriot had once left countless marks—had lost their vitality and wasted away. Even so, Yuri remained as beautiful as he had been the first moment Cherriot saw him.

Except for one thing.

Cherriot could no longer see the deep-blue eyes into which he had fallen the moment they met. He stared at the closed lids that showed no sign of opening. His mouth parted soundlessly, then his eyes squeezed shut as he clutched Yuri’s hand.

“Is it because you hate the nickname? Is that why you won’t wake up? I won’t call you that anymore. I’ll never do anything Wolfie hates.”

His fingers trembled as he slipped one hand beneath Yuri’s palm. One by one, he folded Yuri’s limp fingers through his own until their hands were intertwined just as they had been before. Yuri’s cool body sometimes felt like a corpse, terrifying Cherriot so badly that he held his hand every single day.

“I’m sorry, Yuri.”

I never should have given you a nickname without asking.

Muttering the words, Cherriot buried his forehead against their joined hands. He knew he looked insane, but he could not stop. In truth, Cherriot believed he was already halfway to madness. Every day, he remembered another detail he regretted failing to do for Yuri. He spoke to him in the silence, apologized, and begged for forgiveness. There were dozens of things for which he was sorry.

But there was one he regretted above all else.

“I regret not telling you immediately that I wanted to be your boyfriend. I regret it so much I could die.”

Fresh tears rolled from his swollen, reddened eyes.

A deep ache spread behind them, and Cherriot wanted to die exactly as he had said. Yuri had gone to such lengths to save his life, so Cherriot tried not to think that way. Yet whenever the fear arose that he might never see Yuri’s blue eyes again, dark thoughts followed before he could stop them.

Benji said Cherriot’s grief was merely guilt. He claimed Cherriot could not possibly feel anything deeper for someone he had known only a few days, and he tried to comfort him by saying time would make it easier. That day, Cherriot became angry with his beloved cousin for the first time. He cried so violently that he could not calm himself, and eventually Benji apologized almost as though he were begging for mercy.

None of them understand. I fell so deeply for this man that I would make any kind of fool of myself if only he would look at me.

The day Cherriot first saw Yuri… it had been evening.

Startled by the men who had suddenly broken into the apartment, Cherriot had hurriedly dressed and fled outside. The instant he saw the man walking along the road, his gaze was stolen before he even realized it. Nothing like that had ever happened to him. He had met beautiful and handsome people of every kind—men and women, Alphas and Omegas alike. Yet that had been the only time in his life he was drawn helplessly toward someone’s presence.

The man had pale skin. The sharp bridge of his nose and strong, masculine jaw should have made him look exceptionally cold. Yet as he passed Cherriot, a faint smile rested at the corner of his mouth. The tiny, gentle smile contrasted so vividly with his cool appearance that Cherriot could not help staring. He smiles beautifully. It seemed astonishing that such a lovely expression could exist when the man’s eyes were not smiling at all.

Cherriot followed him.

An impulse rose to stop that unwavering stride, which never once turned back. A powerful need drove Cherriot onward. Somehow, he wanted that man to look at him just once.

The truth was that Cherriot had not needed to borrow any money. There was a hundred-dollar bill in his pocket, brought along in case of emergency, and a debit card tucked into the MagSafe wallet attached to his phone. Cherriot might have looked careless, the sort of person who simply let life carry him wherever it pleased, but in reality, he was remarkably prepared. He did not forget things casually or leave important details unattended. Only his teammates, who played beside him, knew that less obvious side of him.

Cherriot also possessed an exceptional memory. He remembered events from when he was very young: his mother and father kissing deeply after placing him in his cradle; the first time he stepped onto the ice in skates; every happy day spent with his parents; and the night his father died so horribly. Despite how frivolous he sometimes appeared, Cherriot was a man who noticed and remembered a great deal. He was not someone who walked out of an apartment and immediately forgot what he had brought.

He genuinely disliked owing anyone a favor. Before doing anything reckless, he usually calculated whether he could afford the consequences. Yet merely because he wanted to stop Yuri, Cherriot did something rude. Even as a child, he had never grabbed a stranger passing on the street. But driven by the single thought that he had to catch the man somehow, Cherriot seized his wrist.

In the blink of an eye, terrible pain twisted through his left hand. He had experienced worse while trading blows on the hockey rink, but he was unprepared for the pain that followed after he reached toward something beautiful as though entranced. He screamed dramatically at the sudden agony and thought, I knew he was frightening. Even so, he wanted one proper look at the man’s face.

When Cherriot opened his eyes… he felt as though he had fallen into a river.

The man was staring directly down at him with dark-blue eyes. Bent awkwardly at the waist, Cherriot lost the ability to speak beneath the gaze that seemed to see through him. Even now, it was difficult to describe what he had felt. The man possessed the most honest, unwavering eyes Cherriot had ever seen. Although Cherriot was practically a celebrity in Vancouver, the man did not appear to recognize him. He showed neither surprise nor admiration. Instead, he looked irritated, as though Cherriot were the rudest bastard alive.

His mouth had gone so rigid that the smile Cherriot had seen earlier seemed like a hallucination. He also spoke remarkably little. For every ten things Cherriot said, the man offered nothing in return. For one moment, Cherriot wondered whether he could not speak. In that case, he could have used sign language to tell Cherriot to fuck off, or at least raised his middle finger. Instead, he listened silently until Cherriot finished, then turned away and resumed walking.

He left.

I must have offended him badly. Of course he would run away if a stranger suddenly behaved like this. Mm. I should let him go. That would be right. It would, but… I want to see his eyes just one more time. They looked like a river.

Cherriot had always loved blue rivers.

The lake in Big Fox, where his parents met, had originally been part of a river. A dam built nearby altered the landscape, separating the water and creating the lake. Cherriot had grown up beside that beautiful river and learned to swim there from his father. The moment he saw Yuri’s eyes, he remembered the lake in Big Fox that he loved so dearly.

They were that deep.

That blue.

All the memories of the childhood he had cherished overlapped inside them, making Cherriot want to see the man again.

Cherriot followed him once more, this stranger who had suddenly reminded him of the father he could no longer see, no matter how desperately he missed him. He said anything he could think of, trying to provoke some kind of reaction. Nonsense poured from his mouth until even Cherriot felt like an idiot.

Eventually, his pathetic efforts were rewarded.

“What do you want?”

The quiet baritone, obtained only after so much struggle, scraped across Cherriot’s ears. A shiver followed. Powerful emotion seemed to run down his spine. Oh. How can even his voice be perfect? Was this what it meant to be bewitched by a ghost? Cherriot could only stare at the man whose appearance and voice pleased him to the point of madness. He became equally curious about why someone so taciturn and severe had smiled so gently before.

What makes him smile? How can I see that expression again? Could I make him smile that way?

But the man gave Cherriot no opportunity.

With that frightening face, he agreed to lend Cherriot money and sent his heart racing, only to leave without looking back. When Cherriot asked for his number, he was ignored completely.

In the taxi afterward, Cherriot wondered endlessly whether he would ever see the man again. He searched whether falling in love at first sight was truly possible. Scientists said it was. Apparently, seven seconds were enough to fall genuinely in love with someone.

Even then, Cherriot possessed enough self-control not to turn around and retrace the road. He might never again meet a handsome man with that atmosphere and those blue eyes, but at the time, he still believed his father’s trust was more important. He should have abandoned that pathetic belief the moment he arrived at the house where he intended to request help and realized it belonged to the man who had captivated him at first sight. Instead, because of the obligation he had carried all his life, Cherriot admitted the truth far too late.

Looking back now, his father’s inheritance was not something he had truly needed. Protecting it also meant carrying the responsibility of fulfilling everyone’s expectations. At some point, all of that had become exhausting. Whenever he remembered the duty attached to it, his heart tightened as though he had swallowed something he could not digest. The discomfort never vanished, not through sex and not at parties. I wish no one expected anything from me. I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me. Cherriot had thought that way for years.

Yet he feared that losing his father’s trust would disappoint his mother more than anything else, so he continued forcing his heart under control. Whenever he began developing even the smallest affection for someone, he reminded himself not to create another risk. Then he offered only his body. After living that way for so long, Cherriot heard Yuri admit with his own mouth that he had a criminal record and condemned him cruelly. In truth, Cherriot had been speaking to himself.

Do not like that man. You fell for him at first sight, but you still aren’t allowed to love him.

Yet his heart kept slipping beyond its restraints and reaching for Yuri.

No matter how irritating Cherriot’s endless talking must have been, Yuri always listened to every word. He never interrupted him. Despite his dry manner, Yuri was surprisingly considerate. Once Cherriot admitted that he was frightened, Yuri avoided leaving him alone for long. It was true that criminals frightened Cherriot. It was also true that blood sometimes made him feel as though he were losing his mind. But Cherriot had lied pathetically because he wanted to touch Yuri. He claimed he was naturally physically affectionate.

After hiding behind lies for so long, Cherriot missed the moment Yuri approached him sincerely. They spent nights together as intoxicating as a midsummer dream. Then, terrified that he alone had enjoyed it, worried that his rut had driven him mad and made him hurt Yuri, Cherriot disguised his anxiety behind shameless confidence and went to see him. That was when Yuri looked at him with the expression Cherriot had seen on the street.

No.

It was far more beautiful than that.

Yuri had looked at Cherriot with the expression he had yearned so desperately to see.

He gave me the moment I wanted most. And I missed it like an idiot. It was in my hands. He was looking at me with those eyes I loved, clearly asking what he could become to me… And I pushed him away over something that did not matter.

Throughout the weeks Yuri lay unconscious, Cherriot relived that morning countless times. The answer had been decided from the beginning. But he had been frightened and acted in the exact opposite way from what his heart wanted.

Of course the trust matters. But more than that, I’m terrified that you’ll keep being hurt because of me. So later. When the painful, sharp things clinging to me can no longer injure you, I’ll tell you then. I can’t yet.

Would Cherriot have felt better if he had at least said that? If he had explained that the timing was wrong, rather than letting Yuri believe he did not want him, would things have ended differently?

Probably not.

He should have embraced Yuri then and kissed him. He should have told him honestly that he wanted to come looking for him as Yuri’s boyfriend. If he had, Yuri might have returned to Vancouver and waited. Even if he still came to Boston, he would have remained beside Cherriot from the beginning. He would never have needed to enter that dangerous place alone, searching for Cherriot after he was foolish enough to walk into a trap.

I hate myself so much for not doing that… I could kill myself.

Cherriot understood that he did not truly want to die. He hated himself enough to want to kill the person he had been. At the same time, he began to understand, at least faintly, what had driven his mother to make the choice she once had. There were two reasons Cherriot could not bear to look properly at another person’s injuries. One was his father’s death. The other was what happened to his mother.

After enduring the devastating murder of the husband she loved, his mother spoke far less. For Cherriot’s sake, however, she never allowed herself to cry excessively or reveal how deeply she suffered. Then one day, the grief surfaced in an extreme form. Cherriot had just returned from school when he heard water running in the bathroom. Assuming his mother was showering, he ate a bowl of cereal. When he returned later, the water was still running.

A terrible instinct struck him.

Cherriot rushed to the bathroom and opened the door.

The bathtub was filled with blood.

Everything was fine now. Yes. His mother was all right now. Even so, Cherriot often wondered whether the pressure of believing she had to protect him was what had finally broken her. Often was too mild a word. He thought about it frequently. Constantly. In truth, always. That was when he began wishing not to burden anyone. Expecting too much from another person became frightening. He worried that his own weight might drag them under.

While Cherriot wasted time on every useless and unnecessary thought, believing he was being considerate, Yuri had been the one truly sinking. Cherriot had stepped away without ever realizing it. If he could turn back time only once, he would tell Yuri every true thought the instant it arose. But Cherriot was not a wise man. He realized important truths only after it was too late. That his mother’s choice had arisen because she could no longer endure her own guilt. That consideration offered without understanding the other person’s heart could become poison instead. All those revelations were useless now that Yuri lay this way.

“So, Yuri… please. Just wake up.”

After holding Yuri’s hand and speaking for so long, Cherriot slowly rose. Today, he intended to finish the next chapter of the book he had stopped reading the day before. He turned toward the study, and Yuri disappeared from his field of vision. Panic struck instantly. Cherriot spun back toward the bed. Yuri’s eyes remained closed.

“I’ll be right back. It won’t even take five minutes.”

He was leaving only briefly, for the shortest moment, yet it felt like a separation. The sensation nearly drove Cherriot mad. Still, he worried Yuri might become bored if Cherriot continued telling him nothing but dull stories. Swallowing his reluctance, he forced himself to open the door and step into the hallway. He encountered Dolly, who happened to be passing. Perhaps Cherriot’s mother, staying downstairs, had asked her to bring it. Dolly carried a sandwich on a tray.

“Cherry, are you refusing to eat again today?”

She held out the tray. Concern filled her voice, asking despite already knowing he would refuse. As Dolly expected, Cherriot was in no condition to eat.

“I’ll eat later. I don’t have an appetite right now.”

Dolly’s blue eyes curved with pain.

Cherriot was sorry to worry her, but his heart was so completely filled with Yuri that no room remained to consider anyone else. To be honest, there had been times when he resented Dolly for deciding to separate Yuri from him. He knew she had made the best choice available at the time. Even so, Cherriot couldn’t stop thinking that if Yuri had remained beside him, none of this would have happened. But he didn’t want to become ugly enough to blame someone who had done nothing wrong. Yuri wouldn’t want him behaving that way. Cherriot knew that for certain. Yuri had willingly thrown himself into danger for Cherriot, who had given him nothing.

I miss you, Yuri. You’re right beside me, yet you feel impossibly far away.

Cherriot superimposed Yuri’s blue over Dolly’s eyes, believing that nowhere in the world possessed the same blue as Yuri. Deep sorrow settled over his face once more. Just as he returned to the lifeless stillness of a dying tree, Dolly tilted her head slightly. Cherriot followed her gaze and turned quickly. But the miracle he had longed for had not yet occurred. Together, they silently gazed at the handsome man lying motionless like a sculpture.

Several minutes passed.

Dolly entered the room first and walked toward the window.

Cherriot followed.

He abandoned the idea of retrieving the book and returned to Yuri’s side as though drawn by a magnet. The sky, overcast for so long, slowly shifted, and soft sunlight entered the room. Since Yuri collapsed, Cherriot had felt nothing in response to anything. Yet the light filling the room abruptly caught his attention. For reasons he could not understand, the warm yellow glow seemed heartbreakingly beautiful. It resembled the sunlight that had once rested across Yuri’s face as he approached Cherriot at the lake.

Then, the light touched Yuri’s pale hand. Cherriot felt as though something had returned.

“…Wolfie?”

Or had he imagined it?

He had been so certain something came back.

“Call him again.” Dolly spoke suddenly from beside the window. “They say a living person’s voice can bring back someone already halfway to death.”

Cherriot listened in a daze. Then he called Yuri’s name once more, slowly and with every feeling inside him.

“Yuri.”

The wavering sunlight slowly spread across the back of Yuri’s hand. His fingers, rigid and unmoving for so long, began to move.

They moved.

There was no mistaking it.

Dolly had turned her gaze back outside and failed to see, but Cherriot witnessed it clearly. He sprang to his feet, lost for words, and clutched Yuri’s hand with desperate force. Then, the blue river Cherriot had longed to see again so fiercely he could have died for it reflected in his eyes once more.

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[END of VOLUME 3]