Perrot pockets his cell and high-tails his ass to the door. “I’ll be a few minutes. I need you to stay here. Do you understand?” His words almost slur together; he speaks that fast.
“Yeah, sure.” I’m being honest. I won’t leave.
Perrot is out the door in a snap-second.
Alone for the first time, I unearth my phone from my pocket and FaceTime Katya. I mutter beneath my breath, “Please don’t ice me out. Please don’t ice me out.”
It rings and rings.
I stare fixatedly at the screen, not blinking. “Come on.” I hunch forward, forearms on my thighs and phone cupped in my hand. “Come on, Kat.”
The call rings out. She doesn’t answer.
I inhale a sharp breath and run my hand through my hair. Okay, I’ll try Timo. I click into my favorites and find his name near hers. I press FaceTime and the ringing begins. And my apprehension elevates.
My hand is on my mouth, waiting. Waiting.
Timo answers.
A ceiling pops up, and I hear Kat say, “Turn the camera around.” She’s with him? I’m unable to move, like if I do they’ll disappear.
The camera spins. On screen, Timo and Katya sit side-by-side on her top bunk, an orange Noctis poster behind them. I don’t pretend that they’re emotionless beings who can accept what I did with a full-blown smile. I planned to leave without telling them, and they knew that.
They know everything now, and if I could do anything differently, it’d be saving them from the pain I caused.
Katya has dark circles beneath her eyes, and Timo wants to glare, a look he used to give Nik. Not me.
“Uh…” I start, lost for words for a second. I put my hand to my mouth, then my eyes. I break down, crying silently. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry.”
Katya sniffs. “How could you do that?”
I shake my head, and I drop my hand, my throat closed. I struggle to look at the screen.
Sounding wounded, Timo says, “We didn’t even earn a goodbye from you? Nikolai was that high on your list, but you couldn’t tell us or even leave a note. Would you’ve liked a note, Kat?”
“Yeah,” she sniffs again. “I would’ve loved a note.”
I stare off at the wall, dazed. Could I’ve written a note and changed this outcome? Probably not. We’d still be here, right now. Feeling each other’s pain.
“And you lied over and over again,” Katya cries. “I asked you about Baylee point-blank, and you told me…” She growls in frustration at her tears. “I really hate…what you did.”
“I know.” I shut my eyes closed. “I couldn’t tell you though.”
“Why?” Timo asks. “That’s what I want to know. We trust each other with everything. So what if the company told you not to, we’d never let it slip, man.”
My eyelids flit open, and I meet their hurt straight-on. “I couldn’t put this on either of you. It seems easy, okay? One secret, but it’s not like the time you two snuck out to a salsa club and I had to lie for you. It’s not like when I broke curfew to eat pizza on the subway and you made a pillow dummy on my bed for Nik to find. It’s bigger than that.” I sit up more, chest on fire. “It’s five years of holding your breath every time you see Bay in proximity to me. It’s five years of checking over your shoulder to see if Corporate is breathing down your neck. It’s five years of feeling like—if I say the wrong thing, I screw everyone over. And it’s not just our lives at stake. You ruin children across oceans, across the world.” I take the biggest breath of my life. “That’s why I didn’t put this on you.”
That’s why.
Slowly, they both begin to nod.
Understanding.
Timo combs longer strands of hair out of his eyes. “We should’ve been the first to know you were quitting.”
“I love you two the most, that’s why you were the last.”
Katya huffs. “That makes zero sense. You know that?”
Timo’s eyes soften and sweep me. “It makes some sense.”
Katya frowns at our brother. “If he loved us the most, he’d tell us first.”
“Not if it hurt him to say goodbye,” Timo says. “It hurt that badly?”
My eyes burn, welling up again. “Dude, I don’t want to do that again. Ever.”
“You won’t have to.” Timo sits up straighter too, the bunk bed creaking, but my unknown fate strains the air.
This morning, I sent in a termination email. They could still fire me, even if I sent another that said: Disregard the last email. I do not want to quit Aerial Ethereal.
It’s all up in the air.
“Will you promise something?” Katya asks, still sniffling. “That you’ll tell us things in the future. I’d want to know if Geoffrey confronts you again.”
“Aye aye.” Timo nods. “Nik is the one who keeps us out of the loop in fear of hurting our childish sensibilities. We don’t do that to each other.”
Katya makes a circular motion, tying us all together.
“I won’t block you out,” I promise. “I’m not ditching you two for Nik or Serg or even Dimitri. It’s us three.”
“Until the end,” Timo says theatrically, fist to his heart.
“Until the end,” Kat smiles.
I smile back. “Until the—” The door whips open, and Perrot motions me forward, his face somber.
“Luka?” Katya says.
“Are you okay?” Timo asks.
“It’s, uh, Perrot. I have to go.” I stand up. “I’ll see you.” I end the call and pocket my phone. Perrot looks more uneasy than he did when Nova Vega’s show tonight got cancelled.
The blinds smack the door as he shuts it behind him. Before he speaks to me, his cell rings. “Perrot,” he greets, phone to his ear. “No, Marc just cancelled all three Vegas shows. It’s madness.” He sighs. “AE is telling the press it’s for stage maintenance…I hope so. We’ll see.” His gaze flits to me. “He’s here with me. I’m about to do it now.” He pauses. “No. No. Marc is stuck in Seoul. His flight won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
After a few more words, he hangs up, and then his hand is on my shoulder. He steers me out the door.
I glance back as we walk, caught off guard. “We’re leaving your office?” We’re already out of his office. Into the hallway.
“Marc made a decision,” Perrot says. “I’m about to tell everyone, and you’re coming with me.”
*
One thing I’ve always had in common with Baylee Wright: neither of us prefers the spotlight. We will gladly pass the sweltering attention onto someone else.
I stand beside Perrot in a seated crowd of over a hundred, and I’d rather be on the blue mats next to Baylee and my family. Eating popcorn and smiling at the person who’d take my place.
Perrot canvasses the artists with a single glance. “I represent Marc today. He apologizes for not being here in person, but he’s across the country at the moment. He’s heard your concerns and your pleas, and he’s taken this matter very seriously.”
Eyes dart to me. Like I have the answers.
At this point, I have nothing but hope. And aren’t most battles won with just that? Hope. I smile weakly to myself and look up at Baylee.
Her arms are loosely around her bent leg, and her uneasy gaze stays on Perrot. Until she feels me staring. Then she looks my way.
Our chests rise at the same time, and in a crowd full of people, with eyes all on me, I mouth, I love you.
Tears brim and she brushes them quickly. She nods repeatedly, expressing the same sentiment. She presses her forehead to her knee, trying to hide her sorrow.
Bay thinks it’s over.
The worst has come.
My heart is in my throat, but I lift my gaze to the eighty-foot ceiling. I listen and wait for Marc’s decision to either capsize the lives of hundreds or make it better.
Perrot clears his throat and reads a checklist off his phone. “I’ll begin with the easiest point of contention.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “Luka Kotova will still remain employed by Aerial Ethereal—”
Clapping from my cousins and siblings cuts into Perrot’s speech.
It feels too bittersweet to smile. I stuff my hands in my sweatpants, my fingers skimming wrapped peppermints and keys to nowhere.