• PROLOGUE
    I sat in the hospital, my head propped against my brothers chest, my body slumping over as I listened to his shallow heartbeat. Stable, they said, that means he's alive but it doesn't mean I'm going to get my brother back. I listened to his breath, echoing against the mask strapped firmly over his mouth and nose.
    I grasped his clammy hand and whispered in his ear, “Come home, Andrei – please come home.”
    A soft knock on the doorway and I saw my brother's nurse. A nice lady, maybe in her early-fifties with warm chocolate colored eyes and stringy brown hair pulled back messily into a bun behind her head. I didn't need to be told. Rising from the floor – I walked to her and was grateful for her tender hug. She always gave me a hug.
    “Tempie,” she whispered, “be easy on yourself – it's not your fault.” She gave me compassionate smile and gripped my shoulders lightly. “I love you, okay?” I nodded and gave her my best smile.
    “See you tomorrow.”
    I started my lonely descent down the stairs and dragged my body
    through the cold parking lot into my homely Bug. My good ol' Sasha.
    The only comfort I had now.



    CHAPTER ONE
    When I opened my door at ungodly in the morning, the last person I'd expected to see was Yuri Yggdrasil or, in other words – my father. He had a black-colored backpack that was stuffed to the brim slung over his strong shoulder and his stiff, tough-looking frame seemed playful today. He looked a lot like me, but buffer. I suddenly got that nervous tug in my stomach.
    “Hey, Kid.” He greeted me and pushed me aside, walking into my apartment. “You got coffee?”
    I closed my door and rested my head against the door frame, anticipating a headache. “Not at six in the morning, there might be left over tea in the pot though.”
    Even though I wasn't looking towards him, I could practically feel his disapproving and skeptical look. “You drink that s**t, Tempie? You broke?”
    “If you wanted coffee, you could have stayed in Siberia.” I muttered under my breath, brushing down my messy hair with my hand. Six in the morning or not, I was going to look presentable for my dad.
    “Hm?” My dad hummed, “what was that?”
    “Nothing,” I replied, switching on the coffee-maker and shoving some grounds into it. My dad settled down at my kitchen table and fiddled with the weird spherical knick-knacks I had decorated it with. “Don't. They're glass.” I said warningly. He shrugged.
    “Breakfast.” He demanded. I rolled my eyes and then relented, grabbing some eggs, milk, and of course – butter, then heated a pan.“How you doin'?” He asked, looking straight into my eyes.
    “Fine.” I said, whisking the eggs and milk together as the pan melted the dab of butter I'd applied. I spread it around the pan with the wooden spoon that'd at one point in time belonged to my mother.
    “I haven't heard of any new project you've been doing, if you don't work you're going to lose this fancy-a** apartment.” It was true. I lived in an upscale apartment community in Moscow, full of the rich and famous, and had a great view of St. Basil's. Yeah, I know. I had a pretty fat wallet. When I worked that is.
    “Haven't really thought of anything to make.” I tried to reply as emotionless as I could. I've been told I'm far too emotional anyway.
    “It's not your fault.” He told me, all seriousness in his light gray eyes, much like mine, glaring at me.
    I gripped the spoon tightly and a unpleasant scowl marked my face. “Why does everyone keep saying that!? I know it's not my fault!”
    My father stood and gave me the look that used to terrify me as a child. He spoke in his deathly calm voice and I cringed, “Because we all know you blame yourself.”
    I stormed out of the kitchen and shoved the spoon into my dad's hands, the egg spilling slightly onto his shirt. “Make your own breakfast.”

    I slipped out of my sweatpants and T-s**t and stepped into my shower. As the warm water washed over my body, I sunk to the floor – hands over my eyes and allowed the memories to take over my mind.
    My heart thumped wildly in my chest, swelling with hope and excitement. The placement laps were done and Andrei had, obviously, placed beautifully. We were in the first starting place. I heard engines start to roar to life.
    “Doing okay?” I said through the radio connection I had with my brother. He had one in his helmet and me on my headset. Built by your's truly.
    “Awesome – hardest part now.” He replied and I saw the starting lights begin to activate. I bit my lip in anticipation. I felt a quaking fear rip through my body at the prospect of all those motors behind my brother.
    “Yup; 5, 4, 3,” I started our countdown. We did it every time.
    “2,1,” My brother continued, revving his engine for the crowds amusement and to start warming it up.
    “Go.”
    43 engines roared to life and my brother's bike zipped off the starting line. I smiled. That bike was my baby – I'd made from scratch myself. Me and Andrei were undefeated. Now it was time for the nationals. The big show. No one's gonna beat us.
    Andrei gently touched his knee to the ground of the track – testing to see where the floor was on the first turn. Corners always gave me a heart attack, but my brother was a pro – I didn't need to be worried. I took a couple breaths to calm my nerves. I wasn't even the one driving.
    “Andrei, it's gonna bend the other way real sharp next.” I said, standing on my tip-toes – eyes flickering over the track.
    “Gotcha, Temps.” He replied in his total concentration mode. I gulped as he nearly went parallel to the road; I couldn't believe he could get that low on that corner.
    “God, that was a fast corner.” I whispered to him through the radio.
    “Heh,” Was his reply.
    “Final stretch here.” I warned, my eyes glued to the screen.
    “Hm...” On the monitor, I saw his hand twist, and the bike zoomed along the last of the course. I grinned despite myself. There was no one within sight near him, all of them lightyears behind – my brother was going to win! We were going to win the nati- oh God.
    I was speechless as the tires on my baby locked. My brother's shocked face mirrored mine. The only difference was my brother was flying through the air, on a crash course to the ground. I nearly screamed as I saw my brother's head forced against his chest as he landed on his neck. A loud, sickening, crack! sounded. The once cheering crowd was now silenced. The announcers finally had nothing to say. My brother was still. Unmoving. Bloody.
    Very, very bloody.
    My whole body shook, tears left eyes and silently sobs left my mouth. I didn't have the power to stand any longer. The next moments were a blur – I was told later I'd gone into shock – I think someone gave me some water. They'd told me the bike's brakes had locked, or, or had done something crazy.
    I built that bike.
    I built those brakes.
    I'd just killed my own brother.
    My heart pounded as I was jarred out of my thoughts by the shower curtain sliding back. I covered my body as quickly as I could.
    My dad gave me a hard look, his eyebrow raised in question.“Tempie, you've been in here for an hour. Hurry up and get out here; I made breakfast.” I nodded and my face flushed a dark red color.
    “I'll be out in two minutes.” I promised and my dad nodded in agreement.
    “Tempie,” he started, his back to me, “It's not your fault.” He closed the door gently on his way out of my bathroom.
    Tears forced their way to my eyes. “I don't care any more.”
    I said, scrubbing my skin until it was raw and red and stung.
    “ I just want my brother back.”






    CHAPTER 2
    I sat down to a breakfast of scrabbled eggs, salmon, cream cheese, capers and big glass of orange juice. A favorite from my childhood in Siberia.
    “Thank you.” I said softly to my father, stuffing my face with the warm goodness. My dad had probably reheated it for me. I ran my fingers through my damp blond hair, trying to neaten the disaster.
    “Nervous about something? Stressed?” My dad asked, staring at me intently and absentmindedly sipping on his cup of coffee. I was startled, sometimes I underestimated how well he knew me.
    “Nah, I'm fine.” I fidgeted in my seat, having finished my delightful breakfast in record time. I gulped my juice down.
    We sat there in an awkward silence. My dad smiling and I continued to shift in my seat. I let my eyes flicker around the familiar setting of my kitchen. Warm, cozy washed-out white with a scattering of blue tiles and the dark wooden floor covered in fancy carpets from the flea market. “I need to get going.” I blurted finally after my eyes had settled on the digital clock on the oven panel.
    “Where?” Dad asked after another large sip of his coffee. He mixed in another spoonful of sugar and another slosh of cream.
    I rose from my chair and went for the door, snatching up my car keys from the key-bowl on the way, “Flower shop.”

    I'd picked up some Stargazers, which had been my brother's favorite. Their smell was sweet and strong and as I drove to the hospital, they created a comfortable aroma that soothed me inside Sasha. I took a couple deep breathes of it. I pulled into the mildly crowded parking lot then stepped out, my boots crunching in the thin layer of snow. When the hospital doors opened, the warm air that rushed against my face was a very welcome change from the sharp cold of winter.
    I walked silently down the faux-cheerful hall, the only thing to be heard was the quiet chattering of the nurses and dull thud of my boots against the slick white and black speckled linoleum floor.
    I sat, waiting for eleven O'clock to hit – the visiting hours – with the Stargazers wound tightly in my arms, the smell nearly over-powering me. I was truly glad when Andrei's nurse opened the door and let me in.
    As usual, the first thing I did was remove the old flowers as I did every Sunday and place the fresh new, flowers in the vase beside the bed. I knelt down next to my brother, and rested my arms and head on his chest.
    “I miss you.” I told him, once again holding his cold hand and trying to ignore his bruised form.
    It was two hours before the nurse came again, gave me my loving hug and sent me on my way.
    I sat in Sasha, my forehead resting against the dashboard and my hands were gripping the steering wheel as though it were a life line. I revealed in the remaining scent from the flowers. After a while, I rose my head and spared a glance at the clock.
    3:15; It told me in big, blocky red letters. I took a shaky breath, turned the ignition key and started on my way home.

    When I'd gotten home, my dad had already prepared and eaten lunch and moved into my apartment. In other words, my kitchen was a disaster of uncleaned pots and silverware and my guest room was a fortress of magazines and beer bottles. I sighed.
    “Dad!” I called out after I'd found my guest room in tatters.
    “Here!” He replied from my living room and as I walked toward him, I could begin to hear my TV blasting some news program.
    “Really?” I asked, “you watch the news?”
    My dad laughed, a deep grumbling sound. “No, course not! I'm watching the weather lady; she's hot.”
    I rolled my eyes and sat beside him on my plush and comfy dark blue couch. I pulled my knees to my chest and resting my head on them.
    Sunny tomorrow morning and dull gray clouds in the afternoon. But I honestly couldn't care.
    “She's hot yeah, Tempie?” My dad asked, nudging my shoulder and chuckling as he took a swig of his beer.
    “I'm gay, dad.” I reminded him, slightly annoyed. I'd told him when I was fifteen, a good eight years ago, and though he seemed to not care at all, he still pointed out all the hot chicks he found on television.
    “So? Doesn't mean you can't appreciate.” He mumbled. I rolled my eyes.
    “Fine.”
    “Did you want some lunch?” He asked, rising from the couch to throw away his bottle.
    I laid my head on the couch and closed my eyes. “No, not really.

    My heart thumped and I drove like a madman. I was on a course I knew very well, and I was on a mission to get there. Now.
    I spun the wheel sharply, speeding through a red light. I was riding Sasha for all he was worth.
    I nearly crashed into a doctor, who clambered out the way in a rush, as I pulled into a parking spot and ran like a bat out of hell into the hospital. Two security men grasped at my shoulders as I ran threw the hospital at an alarming rate. They, needless to say, did not succeed in even slowing me.
    “Please, please let me threw!” I cried, and pushed threw them and then burst into my brother's room.
    He was laying there, his breath still shallow and his face still heavily bruised. But he was stronger.
    He was better.
    His eyes were open.
    “Hey, Temps.” He wheezed as I rushed to his side and held him in a bear hug. He coughed.
    “Whoa, Temps, you're heavy!” I was off him in a fraction of a second. He chuckled, a laugh much like our father's; deep and grumbling. “Help me up, Temps.”
    “I can't.” I replied. “You need to rest.”
    Andrei gave me a skeptical look, “The nurse told me I've been asleep for forever and a few days; the last thing I want to do now is sleep. Help me up.”
    I bit my lip, removed his breathing mask and offered him my arm. He grasped my arm and hoisted himself up into a sitting position. He swung one of his legs over the metal side-rail of the bed and twisted his body in the direction of his leg.
    “What am I wearing?” He asked me, looking down at his baby-blue checkered hospital gown.
    I giggled softly at him, “A dress.” He made a sour face.
    “Good for me.” He again reached for my arms and he pulled himself till he was standing.
    He was a little wobbly on his legs, but he wasn't bad. He gave me one of his killer smiles. I returned it, my heart full of joy and happiness.
    “You fix up our bike, Temps?” All the happiness that'd been building in my chest suddenly depleted.
    “You're not ridding a bike again, Andrei.”
    He looked shocked. “Are you crazy?”
    I returned the look and yelled, “Are you!? You were in a coma for months! You almost died! You are never riding a bike again!”
    My brother looked, well, like my brother – he hardly ever showed emotion; my dad said he gave it all to me, but he looked like he was about to say something until a voice sounded behind us.
    “Now Tempie, that's not for you to decide now is it?” My dad said, his voice calm and smooth and scary.
    My jaw tighten and my face contracted with pain. “You know what, if you two want to kill yourselves, fine! Knock yourself out! I'm going home!”
    I raced out of the door and could feel my brother following me.
    “Temps!” He called out to me from the doorway to his room, “come back!”
    But I was to angry to listen.