Exposed (2 page)

June sagged under the bulk of Ivan’s silent judgment. She’d fled her mother only to run right into this trap. Dealing with sharp-tongued Ivan Sokolov was the last thing she wanted to do in this moment. She couldn’t keep it up—the work of always being pleasing, of always doing what was expected of her. It was exhausting.

Annoyance burned up the last vestiges of a smile. Anger made her bold.

June stalked closer, her own lips grim and her eyes narrowed. Pine boughs drooped around them under the weight of the storm, but all June could see was Ivan standing there. His arms crossed, a jacket slung over one arm, and his feet planted wide on the needle-strewn ground.

“There is no reason to be so awful,” June snapped. 

She was close enough to notice the way Ivan’s shoulders heaved with each breath. At a trickle of rainwater that traced the side of his sharp cheekbone and dripped down his neck. Stubble shadowed his jaw, and his dark hair curled around his ear, unfashionably long. That hair was the softest thing about him. And June imagined even that was coarse to the touch.

“We can’t all spend every moment worrying what others think, trying to make everyone happy,” Ivan hissed back. “It’s a sham.”

June ground her molars together. “It’s a damn sight better than trying to make everyone around you miserable.” Anger balled her hands into fists. She remembered Ivan from school, always with something sharp to say, always the first to point out when someone was wrong. Or perceived wrong.

June was shivering badly, from the cold or the anger, she didn’t quite know. She suspected it was a bit of both. Her teeth chattered together and she rubbed roughly at her bare arms. Ivan watched her through half-lidded eyes.

“I’m soaking wet and tired and cold,” June snapped. “You could show a bit of kindness.”

His eyes blinked wide for a second, and he sucked in a sharp breath. A frown wriggled between his brows. “I—” 

Then very suddenly, he thrust his peacoat out to June, the motion choppy. June nearly jumped back.

“Take it.”

June shook her head. “No.” That just made her shiver worse. She was utterly freezing, but she just wanted to get away from Ivan.

“June,” Ivan said, his voice a low rumble. “Take my damned jacket. You’re not getting pneumonia and telling everyone it was because of the Soviet.”

Stubbornness made June stand tall, but she didn’t miss the way her wet shirt pulled tight against her breasts and puckered over her nipples. She didn’t miss the way Ivan’s eyes flicked down from her face for a moment either. June snatched the jacket out of his hands and flung it over her shoulders. She nearly sighed, but stopped herself. 

Delicious warmth seeped into her skin. And there was something else there, a rich sent of greenery and earth clung to the thick jacket. It made her want to burrow deep and close her eyes.

Instead, she held Ivan’s gaze and wouldn’t look down. “I guess someone who grows the most beautiful flowers in town can’t be
entirely
rotten.”

And Ivan—usually so grim, so reserved—laughed. June startled at the sound. Ivan’s mouth opened wide and he laughed deep and loud, the sound disappearing into the thick pines and driving rain. He smiled, a smile that creased dimples into his cheeks and crinkled his eyes. It was … it was so surprising June just stared. 

The smile transformed Ivan’s face. Softened the angles and dulled the sharpness. It made his steel gray eyes spark ocean blue. It was only for a second, a moment where Ivan’s scowling mask dropped and June felt certain she’d witnessed the man behind the glare.

Ivan shook his head—whether at June standing up to him or his own folly—and uncrossed his arms. There was a flower in his hand, though June had no idea from where it’d come. He held the bloom out, and it took June a second to realize he was holding it out to her. With a faltering step, June reached out, pushing her hand through the too-long sleeve of Ivan’s jacket.

June’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown and she cocked her head to the side. She took a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of turned earth and growing things floating off Ivan’s rain-wet skin. In the low light, June could just see a half-moon of dirt under his nails. The flower in his hand was small and delicate, with a clutch of blossoms and two deep green leaves. The petals were round and honey yellow—they looked sweet to the touch.

“It’s lovely,” June said, and she meant it. It wasn’t any sort of flower she recognized, but it seemed perfect. And so discordant coming from someone like Ivan. 

The rain pattered gently against the thick pine boughs overhead, and droplets of water winnowed through the needles on a cool breeze that kissed June’s cheek. But she didn’t quite notice in that moment.

June reached out and touched the flower still held in Ivan’s hand. She ran a finger down one petal and along the edges of a leaf. The very tip of her finger slipped against the edge of Ivan’s hand, and June pulled back. But not before something shifted deep inside of her. June took the flower from him, their hands whispering together. It unnerved her more than that smile. How could her body wake to that hint of touch from a man she barely knew?

And certainly didn’t like. 

She cast her gaze behind him, searching for something to say. “I’ll, um, I’ll get your peacoat back to you,” she finally said. 

June realized she had never really spoken to Ivan, not really. The whispers about his family—that they were Communist, or worse, spies—had followed him all through school and made him someone to steer clear of. Was that where the glare and scowl had been born? 

Ivan shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was gentle as the rain, soft as the distant thunder. This peek into a version of Ivan she didn’t know existed made June unsteady on her feet, unsure of where to look. 

June fumbled with the flower, looking anywhere but up at Ivan’s clear blue eyes and disarming smile. Outside their little shelter, the rain had disappeared, the clouds scuttling away over the mountains. She could hear couples out on the sidewalk laughing. But something else bit at the back of her mind. The whispers about his family weren’t old history. In the last weeks the whispers had grown louder, insisted that his
people
were behind the sickness that had gripped the town. If someone saw her out here with him, out here and looking so …
intimate
…

June pressed her lips together and took a step back, her feet crunching over the pine needles. The noise crackled like a snare drum after the softness of the rain and Ivan’s voice. 

“I should … go.” She backed away more. “It’s late. But,” she tucked the flower into the change purse hanging across her body under Ivan’s jacket. “Thank you, Ivan.”

June turned and left Ivan standing still as a statue under the pines.

What had just happened back there, under the shelter of the trees? She’d felt, in that moment, that she’d fallen into a different world. A world where Ivan Sokolov smiled and gave women flowers. June nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. 

She half-lifted her hand to wave at her friends across the street calling to her, but stopped. It was more than absurdity. It’d been freeing to stand under those trees, hiding from the rain and the world with Ivan. She’d let her smiling mask fall away, let herself not care. Not care about what others thought, not care about her mother and this draining party. It was liberating, not caring.

Suddenly, the prospect of forcing a smile was insurmountable. She didn’t need to be around people right now, she needed a moment alone. Truly alone.

Besides, she was still wearing Ivan’s peacoat. And she had no desire to take it off.

June waved at her friends—Will Briggs had joined Meg and Lucy—but turned away and started walking. The rain had washed the world fresh, and the evening air smelled cool and clean. She kept walking, past the fountain, past the statue of Mamie Watkins at the far north end of the square. She wandered in the shadows close to the buildings, skirted the small crowd of people heading into the single-screen movie theater for the late show. 

June cut through a small alley between the library and theater, and soon the rush of the river washed against her ears. She found a narrow path down to the banks and gathered her full skirt against her legs to keep it free from the tangled undergrowth. The way was rocky and gnarled with roots, but she wanted to see the water, feel the cold flowing from the mountains. It was a constant that could ease the jumble of thoughts and worries that warred within her—her mother, her desire to get away, her questions about Ivan. 

The river washed away all thought. June could just see it through the trees, a shining ribbon wending through their mountains. 

The trees parted and gave way to a tumble of boulders cascading down to the swift river. Waves of chill followed the water and crashed against June’s exposed legs and arms. She rubbed one leg against the other to warm them and burrowed deeper into Ivan’s jacket. The cold made her catch her breath, but is also left her feeling clean and alert.

Alert enough that her head snapped to the side when she noticed movement to her right. Just inside the shadow of the pines, someone moved. A voice floated above the roar of the river. June cocked her head. It was a deep timbre that tickled at recognition. She knew that voice. June pressed her lips together, paused for a second. Then she tiptoed a bit closer, toward the shadow just inside the trees.

“H-hello?” June called, but her voice was snatched away by the river and pulled along on its cold currents. She tiptoed closer. 

The shadow stepped from the trees and coalesced into someone solid and male. And he pulled another shadow with him, a woman who leaned against his chest and pulled him close for a deep kiss.

June gasped. Clayton Briggs and Cora Murphy were smiling at each other between kisses, their bodies molded together and silhouetted against the moonlight. They didn’t seem to notice June at all. June blushed deep red and tried to melt back into the trees. She didn’t want to spy on her friends and their intimate moment.

But before she could move even a step, Cora had disentangled her arms from Clayton, flicked her hands through the air. And the rushing river swirled and churned up into a waterspout. June’s eyes went wide and her heart hammered in her chest. What was happening? It was almost like ….

Cora flicked her hand again and the water crashed against the rocks in a spray that flecked against June’s cheeks, so cold it stung.

June’s hands flew to her wet cheeks. What Cora was doing was impossible. June stumbled backward and ran. 

Ran away from the voices shouting after her. Ran away from the water. Had Cora been controlling it? How was that possible?
It wasn’t.
June’s ankle scraped against a rock and the brambles caught at her skirt, but she tugged free and ran faster.

“June! Wait!”

June wrenched her head around to see Cora and Clayton close behind. The fear etched on their faces matched her own. She slapped away a low-hanging pine bough and stumbled over roots snaking across the path.

Her feet caught and she pitched forward. She tried to catch at the closest tree, but her arms just pinwheeled madly. She stumbled, clawing for any purchase. Yet it was like the pine boughs parted under her grasping hand. Like they became nothing but smoke and air.

She yelped as she tumbled. Her body smacked against something as she fell forward, but it wasn’t solid, more like sand or molasses. It slowed her for a moment, but then she was falling, falling. She landed hard on her hands and knees with a groan and collapsed over to her side. 

She looked up. Looked up
at
a tree. She’d fallen, but not through sand or molasses. She’d fallen
through
a tree. June’s heart was in her throat and her stomach twisted with fear and shock and something else. Something almost like exhilaration. She struggled forward. It hurt a bit to move, her skin tender. But she gritted her teeth and pushed her fingertips against the tree trunk. It was solid under her fingers. June frowned and pursed her lips together.

“June?”

June looked up to see Cora and Clayton standing over her, wide-eyed.

Clayton crouched down, a crease between his eyes. He looked from the tree back to June. “Did you just…?”

Cora placed a hand on Clayton’s arm and blinked at June, wonder in her face.

“You’re like us,” she whispered. “We’re not alone.”

CHAPTER TWO

Ivan

Ivan awoke to sunshine and birdsong. He threw a scowl out the open window beside his bed and rolled onto his side, jamming a pillow over his head.

But the muffled silence just left room for thoughts of June. June Powell, of all people. The woman was everything he hated—the false, perpetual smile, the need to please. Ivan groaned in embarrassment. Last night had been such a mistake, from the moment he’d driven away from the Sokolov farm on a foolish whim to the flower he’d given to June.

The flower! She’d made him laugh with that moment of truth—shocked him with it, more like—and his power had taken hold. Yet now, in the clear light of morning, the gift made Ivan embarrassed. 

And a little nervous. How ridiculous a gesture, and how dangerous. What if she’d asked where he’d gotten it? What if she discovered his secret? 

That was the last thing Ivan needed—he was already an outcast because of his name. He knew all too well that some in town believed his family was somehow responsible for the sickness. Or maybe simply being Soviet was enough to draw their suspicion.

But to add this newfound ability …. The insults and accusations he’d lived with practically his entire life would grow into something new—something dangerous—if the small-minded townspeople discovered his power. He wouldn’t be safe even out here at the edge of civilization, as close to the wild mountains as he could push himself. And more than that—it could endanger his family too. 

No. No one could learn of his power.