I wake with a wet patch in my sleep shorts. I’d been dreaming about Catrin. Dreaming we were playing. She was here in the Colorado mountains with me. I tied her up then took a flogger to her, and she’d begged me for more. I told her no, that she was attempting to top from the bottom. She was my submissive pain-slut then, giving herself up to me in divine surrender.

God, how I’d loved her for it.

We lay in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours. It had felt so right… even though I was half-aware it was only a dream.

I knuckle the sleep from my eyes and reach for my phone on the bedside table to scroll through the pictures I took of her, staring at them from under my hot gummy lashes.

God, she’s beautiful.

So sexy and sweet.

I focus on the photo of her making dinner for us; she’s stirring a pot of something, probably one of her delicious stews, and has turned toward me, a smile shaping her lovely mouth.

My dick misses Cat so fucking much, but it’s more than that… I miss her company, our daily lunches, doing things as a family.

I miss her beautiful soul.

I close my eyes as misery makes my heart lurch; I haven’t seen her since the day I stormed out of the Aldridge House kitchen.

Six months have now gone by. I should delete the pictures, we are definitely over, but I can’t bring myself to fucking do it.

With heavy steps I make my way to the bathroom. I stand under the shower and soap myself, the warm water running through my long, unkempt hair. I towel myself dry, and my bloodshot eyes stare back at me in the mirror… too much Vodka last night after Ben had fallen asleep. I don’t habitually get drunk, but I’m never close to being sober most evenings either.

I drag my fingers through my beard and bare my teeth at my reflection, snarling at myself.

Brute.

Back in the bedroom, I shuffle into a pair of jeans and pull on a sweater. The dream is still with me, however, and I think back to what happened six months ago.

Pride stopped me from pleading with Catrin further; she’d made it clear where she stood. It hurt like a bitch, but I accepted her decision. There’s a hollow sensation in my chest as I think about it.

She wanted nothing more to do with me.

Gleb helped me move out of the cottage within twenty-four hours. I didn’t have much stuff, so it was easy to pack. He arranged for my unsold paintings to be shipped here. We left the furniture, and just took Ben’s toys and my personal effects. Luke said he would notify the school for me and assured us that if anyone came asking he and Gabe would tell them they didn’t know where we’d gone.

Before we left, Ben snuck next door to say goodbye to Becca. I have no clue what went on between them; he clammed up on me afterwards. We had an all-out argument; he begged me not to make him leave his home. He kicked off big-time, yelling and screaming that I was about to ruin his life by taking him away from Catrin and Becca. I put it down to post-traumatic stress from the kidnapping and tried to comfort him as best I could.

I turned around as Gleb had driven us down the road, staring at Catrin’s cottage, at the garden we’d worked so hard on together. That mutt of hers set off a plaintive howling, as if he knew what was going on. I had to hide from both my son and my brother the fact I was crying silent tears.

I fulfilled my promise to Diana and took Ben to visit her in London before we got on the plane. He was excited to see his granny, even if he had no memory of her, and it distracted him slightly from the ordeal of leaving Northamptonshire. She passed away three months later, peacefully in a hospice, and I’m glad I was able to fulfill her last wish.

When we arrived in Denver, at first Ben had been enthusiastic. The drive north, then west into the mountains, had thrilled him; he’d loved the small lake in front of our log cabin style house, the aspen covered hills and the freedom. Gleb had already handed the property over to me, and I owned everything we could see.

I knew we’d be safe here… and I’d hoped we’d be happy here as well. As happy as we could be in the circumstances.

But that was not to be.

I make my way slowly down to the kitchen. I didn’t sleep well last night… nothing different there, I don’t sleep well most nights… and I’m exhausted even before the day has begun.

Ben is still in his pajamas and gives me a surly glance. “Don’t wanna go to school today,” he mutters. “I hate it there.”

I force a smile. “Come on, buddy. You’ve got to get an education. School can’t be as bad as you make out.”

“Don’t call me buddy.” He scowls. “You’ve only called me that since we came to America. You used to call me son.”

I lift my hands defensively. “Sorry. But you know I’m right.”

“You could home-school me.” He sticks out his lower lip. “There was a girl in my class who left to be home-schooled.”

Ben has a point; except that wouldn’t be good for him. I’ve reverted to being a reclusive artist. My default mode. If he didn’t go to school, he’d become a complete savage, never socializing with anyone, never experiencing life outside the confines of this place.

“Go and get dressed, son,” I say, in a no-argument tone of voice. I tap my watch. “Be down here in ten minutes.”

I grab a cup of coffee, too tired to even think about making myself any breakfast. If it wasn’t for Ben, I’d probably stay in bed all day. Although whether I’d get any sleep is debatable…

* * *

I take Ben to school then go into my studio. The past six months have been successful for me as far as my painting career is concerned. Art has kept me semi-sane and, despite my constant exhaustion, my style has developed from the violent phase following Victoria’s murder, past the sweet phase of my love affair with Catrin, to a combination of the two. Bitter-sweet, critics are describing it. At least I don’t need to hide my creations from Ben anymore. And I don’t need a fucking agent… Gleb handles my marketing for me now.

I work in fits and starts through the morning until midday. I’m about to force myself to make a sandwich lunch when the ringtone on my phone chimes.

Fuck, it’s the elementary school.

My pulse catches in my throat.

“Mr. Collins,” I hear the principal’s voice. “Please come and pick up Ben. He’s been fighting again.”

Jesus.

I grab my keys and get into the truck. Is my son doing this deliberately to get himself kicked out? I tug at my tangled hair.

Ben is not responding to my parenting methods.

Not by any stretch of the imagination.

And it all started when we left Catrin and Becca.

Half an hour later, I’m sitting in Mr. Ward’s office. Ben is positioned on the chair next to me.

“We’d like you to take your boy home, Mr. Collins, so that he can reflect on his behaviour.”

I ask for details of the incident and learn that Ben had been calling another boy ‘a plonker’… in retaliation for being teased about his British accent. When the ‘plonker’, in turn, retaliated by calling Ben an asshole, he threw a punch at him which culminated in a fistfight. They’d had to be separated by two teachers.

There’s nothing I can do except comply. “Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

Ben smirks, and I can see he’s repressing an air punch.

Jesus Christ.

“Your uncle won’t be pleased about this,” I say to him as I drive towards the cabin. Ben hero-worships Gleb. “Don’t forget he’s coming to visit this weekend.”

“Aw, do you have to tell him?”

I focus on the winding mountain road and ignore his question.

My son is turning into a mini-Gleb, badass personified. Who’d have thought it? Except, maybe I’m more like my brother than I realized. Neither of us suffer fools gladly, and Ben is the same.

* * *

“I’m worried about you, bro’.” Gleb’s lightning eyes bore into me. We’re sitting out on the deck by the fire pit on Saturday evening, beers in our hands. “Looks like you’ve lost weight. And, judging by the empty bottles of vodka in your trash can, you’re drinking too much.” His stare intensifies. “To be honest, you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say between gritted teeth. “You’d probably look even worse than me if you’d been through what I’ve been through.”

He reaches across and clasps my shoulder. “Isn’t it time you moved on?”

I shake my head. “Can’t. I keep thinking about her. I miss her so damned much.”

“Have you tried contacting her?” he asks, staring across the deck towards the lake. Moonlight shimmers across the still waters. The ice of winter has melted, and there’s a whisper of spring in the air.

“Catrin wouldn’t want that. I deceived her and she’ll never forgive me.” I rub the back of my neck.

“She made the decision to start a relationship with you, even though she knew you were hiding something.” Gleb’s gaze darts back to me.

“That’s part of the problem, I think.”

“Problem?” He tilts his head.

“Yeah. She’s drowning in guilt for putting her feelings for me before her daughter.”

“Hmm. I don’t get women. Never have and probably never will.” His smirk is so like Ben’s it pangs in my gut.

“Still the Beast from the East?” I smirk back at him.

He lifts a brow. “Konechno…”

Of course.

“Ben worships you,” I say, changing the subject. “I can’t get through to him about what’s been going on at school.” I clear my throat. “Could you talk to him tomorrow, find out if there’s anything I need to be worried about?”

Gleb’s smile is warm. “It would be an honour.” He digs me in the ribs. “He’s already told me that the dickhead who got him excluded is a plonker.” He laughs. “Gotta love Ben. He’s one in a million.”

So are you, Gleb Sokolov, I want to say.

But I don’t.

Smartass Gleb’s head is already big enough.

I’m just fucking glad he’s back in my life. It helps, in a small way, to fill a part of the hole in my existence that opened up when the shit hit the fan in England.