Page 55 of Maksim

“That boy has a name. His name is Tanner, and neither of you even know him. You’re both judgmental pricks, and I fucking hate you. Just…” Her hands fly up as she growls and prepares to storm away again.

Even as my stomach twists, I nod. “You’re right.”

That surprises her. And Maksim.

“What?” he snaps while Anya gives me a skeptical glare, her arms crossing as she turns to face me.

I show her my palms. “Neither of us know Tanner. Why don’t you invite him inside so we can get to know him a little better?” I smile and gesture to the TV. “Maybe we could all finish the movie?”

She blinks at me then shakes her head in disbelief before striding to the back door.

“Anya!” Maksim yells, storming her way.

I rush to get in front of him and put a hand on his arm.

“Get out of my way,” he snarls.

“Stop. Just let her go.”

“Anya, I swear to God—” The sound of the sliding door slamming cuts him off, and when he turns to head for the front door, I grab his arm and pull.

“Maksim, stop it. That’s enough.”

He jerks out of my hold. “You don’t even know her.”

“You don’t even know her,” I counter. When he makes it to the front door, I let out a frustrated groan. “You’re her blood. She’ll forgive many things, but if you hurt that boy, you’ll never stand a chance of earning her trust.”

With his hand on the knob, he fumes. The truck rumbles away without him moving, and as soon as the sound ceases, he roars and barrels his fist into a wall, caving in the sheetrock and making me flinch.

Closing my eyes, I count to five, then I slowly make my way to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He stands unmoving.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he says, his voice low, defeated. “I’m not her blood.”

I stare at him questioningly, but he gives no sign of explaining further, so I don’t press for details. “You’re her brother. Blood or not.”

When he turns to me, I see pain I didn’t know he was capable of. I find myself nudging closer, moving my touch to his arm. The warmth of his skin on my hand feels oddly pleasant.

He sighs. “What do I do now?”

I frown, thinking about him being on his own raising Anya all these years, clueless and helpless. When did their—or her—mother die exactly?

“Now you wait. You check in. You show her you’re here for her whenever she needs you, without judgment.”

He rubs the back of his neck, pulling away from me in the process, and it gives me a feeling of loss that I try to immediately shut down.

“What if she doesn’t come back?” he asks.

“She will.”

He slowly lowers his hand, asking the question without words. How do you know?

“Text her. Tell her you love her and to be safe. Don’t shut off her phone or do anything that would push her away, and she’ll come back. I promise.”

He nods, accepting the suggestion. “Okay.”

His eyes lower to the little space between us, and we look away like we just realized how close we’re standing. I feel my face get hot as I take a step back.

“So what now?” he asks.