Page 32 of Nathan
River’s face stiffened into a grimace of a smile. “I feel fine. What Nathan does is none of my business.”
“But what if they decided to have a relationship, and you and Serena became sisters-in-law?”
River tugged at my elbow and moved me forward while answering the question over her shoulder: “That would never happen. See you, Prisha.”
“Yes, I’ll see you, and thank you.”
River walked fast on her high heels as we left the café. A few people turned their heads and pointed when they recognized her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Wait up,” I said and jogged to catch up to River. “Why are you walking like you have a stalker on your heels? I thought the interview went well.”
River stopped and faced me. “We’ve said what we needed to say, but that doesn’t mean the press won’t twist it into something awful. Her question about Storm being a danger to you worries me.”
“Why? I’m not afraid of him.”
“I know, but…” River walked on with long strides.
“But what? Will you stop walking away from me when I’m talking to you?”
River came back and linked her arm under my elbow before we moved again. “What I’m trying to warn you about is that the press might pit you and Storm against each other in some fabricated confrontation.”
“If they do, they’d better write that I kicked his ass.”
“I doubt it. He’s the big action hero, after all.”
In an attempt to be funny, I laughed softly. “I could always give him that beating I owe him for hurting you. Then the press will see what a fraud he is. He would never win a fight unless it was choreographed to make him look good.”
“That’s not funny, Nathan. The first time you laid a hand on Storm, he would unleash his lawyers on you. Do you really want to go there again?”
I was quiet the rest of the way to my flat, and when River called a taxi and left for London, it left me alone with too much time to think.
I sat on my sofa and thought back to one of the darkest days of my life.
Two years ago
The office had a silent, tomb-like quality to it – the relics on the wall showcasing the highlights of the general’s long career in the military, the two family photos on his desk to give the impression that he had a heart. I wasn’t fooled.
The general wore a grave expression like it was fucking tattooed on his face. His tactic was to let me sit in silence while he pretended to read through my file as if seeing it for the first time. It gave me time to count the seven long, deep-cut frown lines on his forehead, and the triple row of lines running under his eyelids. His beard hid the amount of wrinkles that I was sure I could have counted on his chin.
“Captain Robertson.”
My name hung in the air, pushed out from the general’s old lungs as a sigh of disappointment.
I kept seated with my head held high, my elbows on the armrest, and my legs spread just a little. It was the closest to a power pose I could do in this chair.
“Captain Robertson,” he repeated and put down my file.
“Yes, sir?” My pulse was high, my mouth set in a single line, and my nostrils inhaling and exhaling.
“What a fucking mess!”
I met his stare and was surprised that it wasn’t as cold as I’d expected. For a second, some of the frown lines on the old man’s face softened as a ghost of pity flashed in eyes that sat deep under bushy gray eyebrows.
“I had high hopes for you. Ever since you joined six years ago, you’ve excelled and drawn positive attention from your superiors. Why the hell did you have to throw it all away?”
My jaw hardened, but I kept my head high.
“I wasn’t the one who escalated the situation, sir.”
