Page 12 of Breakdown
Chapter Three
NIK’S SINGING DRIFTEDsoftly down the stairs, filling the house. Between the chant-like quality of the melody and some of the harsher corners on the Greek syllables, Peter had always thought Mia’s bedtime song sounded more like some ancient protection ward than a lullaby. They could certainly use all the help they could get tonight.
Peter paced the short distance between the fridge and the stove as he finished up the dinner dishes. He scrubbed at a stubborn bit of burnt rice clinging to the bottom of a pot with far more vigor than it required. Peter offered to prepare the meal, a celebratory dinner for the end of the trial, but the necessary focus eluded him and he’d ended up overcooking the rice and undercooking the chicken. In the end, he’d ordered a celebratory pizza instead. Even if his mood wasn’t particularly celebratory, they would be spared salmonella, at least.
He’d been thinking about it since Liv’s message this afternoon. Whatever shit his sister was about to drag them through, this was a Bauer problem, not a Nik problem. It wasn’t fair to get him or Mia involved.
Peter hadn’t replied to Liv’s text yet, composing half-a-dozen inadequate responses in his head. This kind of conversation had to happen in person. He should have pushed harder that day in Echo Park. He wasn’t blind to how she had withdrawn lately, fortifying herself. She was always brutally pragmatic in a crisis. It reminded him uncomfortably of his father, though Peter supposedhewasn’t one to talk after his outburst at Mia this morning.
As if on cue, his phone rang, and Peter jumped in spite of himself. He snagged it off the counter, frowning at the display.Unknown caller. Fucking typical. Peter stabbed at the answer button.
“Hello?” he said, bracing himself for the full brunt of Liv’s fury.
Instead, a toneless, robotic, obviously pre-recorded woman greeted him. “This is a prepaid Global-Tel Link call from—”
“Pete, please it’s Stav,” came Stavros’ tinny, desperate voice, cut short by the woman, “—an inmate at a California correctional facility. Press one to accept.”
Peter chewed his lower lip. The best possible version of Peter Bauer screamed at him to hang up. The current version hesitated. In the opening statement, that shit-bag of a lawyer had hammered home how hard Stav was working to get sober.
As long as Peter had known him, Stavros never once expressed a genuine desire to clean-up. But, then again, Stav would’ve probably said the same thing about him. If Stav was going through Narcotics Anonymous, he had possibly hit step nine, making amends. As much as Peter didn’t want to talk to his murderous ex right now, he wasn’t about to deny anyone their recovery. He remembered that little wave in the courtroom. He swore under his breath, and then he pressed one.
“This better be good,” Peter said shortly, watching the stairs for signs of Nik. It would be easier to not have to explain. Not right, but easier.
“Pete, hey, shit, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Peter wished he could say the same. Stavros sounded jittery and keyed up, and Peter was suddenly certain he wasn’t getting clean at all. He knew from experience that it was just as easy to stick to the program in jail as it was to get your hands on the junk that was smuggled in. The best version of himself rolled his eyes at his naivety. “What’s going on?” he asked carefully.
“I’m glad I got to see you today. Might be the last time in a long time, huh?” Stav said. There was a long, unfocussed pause. “You remember the first time we met? You were really something back then. Reeking of desperation, maybe, but still...something. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were this beautiful disaster. A Cadillac speeding down the highway with its roof on fire. Maybe that’s not right. Just something.”
He’d been something alright: glass brittle, half-alive and barely holding on to his sobriety from night to night. And yet his father still saw Peter fit enough to go into the Greek club to be dangled in front of Stavros Giannopolous like bait. It was no wonder he’d let himself get consumed.
“Yeah. Stav. Not really in the mood for a jaunt down memory lane tonight,” Peter said bluntly.
Stav seemed to pick up on his hostility quickly. “Look, you gotta watch your back,” he said with an edge to it that Peter didn’t like. It didn’t belong here, in the safety and sanctity of his and Nik’s home. This wasn’t supposed to be his life anymore.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.” Stavros exhaled shakily in his ear. “Shit, I’m trying to warn you, Pete.”
“Warn me about what?” Peter asked, his voice straining out of his tightening throat. The kitchen seemed to grow smaller around him, closing in. “Is it Matteo? Is your brother planning something?”
