Page 82 of Unbroken

And yeah, Zoya’s right—we’re different. On paper, maybe even wrong for each other. But when people say I don’t belong in the Kopolov Bratva… why does that hurt?

Maybe because here—here with him—I feel close to her. Maybe because part of me believes she’d want me to have this… if this is something real.

So I went to work. No warning. No long goodbye. Zoya said they could’ve talked for hours, and I didn’t have that kind of time to waste.

I strapped on the walking boot they gave me, had my ankle wrapped, took my over-the-counter meds, and got my ass behind the wheel. All I wanted was the comfort of routine. Familiar faces. The rhythm of my world.

But none of it helps. Everything reminds me of him. I want security and comfort, and I have none of it.

I double-checked security like I always do, but this time, I had three uniformed men with me. I don’t usually need that. But today? I do.

Seeing the regulars helps.

Faces light up at the sight of me, their warmth, their familiarity. It's easy to smile, to exchange pleasantries, to be part of the laughter that fills the room. The chatter is light, the air thick with laughter. I can pretend to be okay, pretend I’m fine as I sip my drink, my smile perfectly placed.

But the longer I stand here, the more my ankle protests. It started as a dull throb, just a mild annoyance, but now it's a sharp pain, biting through my every step. I wince, trying to hide it, trying to focus on the faces around me, but the pain is insistent, crawling up my leg with each movement.

“Ruthie, you okay?” The voice is familiar, soft, a friend, and I nod, forcing a smile. But the ache is there, pulling at my attention, twisting in my gut.

"Yeah, just tired," I lie, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, trying to alleviate the pressure on my ankle. "It’s been a long day."

"Do you need a seat?" she asks, concern edging her tone. She’s seen me like this before when the exhaustion starts to show but tonight is different. The pain is worse than usual, sharp and relentless.

“No, I’m fine.” I try to wave it off, but the moment the words leave my mouth, my ankle screams in protest.

I suck in a breath, trying not to make a scene.

A couple of hours pass, but the ache is only growing. The room feels smaller with each minute, the laughter and warmth now distant as the throb in my ankle grows more unbearable.

By the end of the night, my body is screaming for relief. The nausea from the pain crawls up my throat, and my exhaustionweighs heavily on me. I glance around at the faces, the smiles, but they feel like they’re from a world I no longer want to be part of.

I can’t go back to that empty, hollow apartment. It’s quiet there—too quiet. Cold, with nothing to fill it—just walls that feel like they’re closing in on me. No laughter. No warmth. Just silence.

I start to gather my things, my energy for small talk completely drained. I hear someone mention driving me home, but I quickly shake my head. “I’m good,” I say, trying to force some semblance of normalcy into my voice. “I just need to get home.”

But I don't want to go to my apartment.

I wanthishome. I want the sounds of Luka’s laughter echoing in the halls, filling every room with a kind of warmth I haven’t felt in so long. His joy is unguarded, pure. It’s the kind of noise that brings life to a space and makes it feel full. His tiny hands clapping, his giggles bubbling up like a song, even when he's getting into trouble. That chaos, that beautiful mess… it’s everything I want in my life right now.

But more than anything, I want him.

I wantVadka.

The thought of him, of his presence, settles like a weight in my chest. He’s not just a man; he’s stability. He’s the kind of person who makes everything feel like it’s okay, like it’s safe. I think about the way he moves in a room—quiet, controlled, yet there’s an intensity to him that makes it hard to ignore. But it’s not just his strength that calls to me. It’s themoments when he’s vulnerable, when the sharp edges soften, even just for a second. When he looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes that’s raw and unspoken.

I miss him.

I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until my friend’s voice breaks the silence. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“No,” I mutter, louder than I meant. “I’m fine. Really.” But it’s a lie. It’s always a lie.

I can’t shake the ache in my chest—the deep, almost aching desire to be with him. To be in his presence again.

I don’t want to be alone tonight. Not in my apartment. Not with this pain.

“I’ll be okay,” I force out, offering another weak smile before I turn, my steps slow and deliberate, but with each one, the weight of my wanting for him grows heavier. I want Vadka’s home, I want Luka’s laughter, and above all, I wanthim.

But the road home feels too long tonight.

---