Page 108 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

Anton hugged him tight, and Petyr pressed a kiss to his temple.When Anton turned to me, I stood to shake his hand.The grip was firm, and his eyes were brimming with emotion, even if he tried to cover it.

“Thank you,” he whispered.“For everything.Papa missed you so much.”

Then he was gone, weaving through the crowd and out the door like he’d never been there at all.

And we were alone.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

The same mouth, and the same sharp cheekbones.His hair was grayer, his hands thinner, but it was still him.

Still the handsomest man I’d ever seen.

And I didn’t know what to do.

How do I react?I prayed for this moment my whole life, and now that it was here, I was afraid.

I clenched the edge of the bar, breath shallow.I was about to say something, anything, when he reached out, brushing the back of his fingers over mine.

His entire face was wet.

Without thinking, I pulled him into me.

He sobbed against my shoulder, all those years of silence and longing boiling over in an instant.I held on tight, tight enough to make up for lost decades.

And then I cried too.

Not quiet, dignified tears.Big, stupid, old-man tears.The kind I never let myself cry.Not after Finland, or after Afghanistan.Not after I lost Petyr.

The bartender came over, and we finally let go of each other like a pair of awkward teens caught necking behind the school gym.

I cleared my throat.“Another vodka,” I said, nodding to the empty glass in front of me, “and one for him.”

Petyr sat back down, wiping his face with both hands, as if that could do anything about how red and wet he was.I was no better.My eyes were puffy, and my throat raw.A mess, the both of us.But we were a beautiful mess.

We stared at each other, the drinks sweating between us.

“I don’t remember anything,” I said, finally.“After I lost consciousness in the boat.Just… waking up in Finland.And silence.Like I’d been ripped in half.”

Petyr looked down into his glass.Then he smiled.A soft, sad smile.

“After that man hit you in the back of the head, I jumped into the water,” he said.“I was determined to pull you back to shore.I thought I’d bring you back, whether you liked it or not.”

He laughed, but there wasn’t much joy in it.

“Your father stopped me.God, he was so angry.He shouted that I’d ruined everything.I screamed right back at him.Then you were too far offshore, and there was nothing I could do.I stood there, shaking, watching the boat disappear.”

I swallowed hard, the edges of the glass cold against my fingers.

“But what I remember most…” he said, tapping his chest lightly, “…was the music.It disappeared.”

I blinked at him.“Music?”

“You remember, Dimi,” he said, his voice gentler now.“I told you.Whenever you’re around… I hear music in my head.”

I couldn’t help it.I smiled.

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