Page 3 of Breakdown
UNDER THE HARSH LIGHTfrom the flashing camera, the pool of blood was a shiny black void on the pavement. The gruesome tableau had been tidied as best as possible before the reporter took the picture—the neat lines of police tape hung, the photo evidence markers tented, and the bodies bagged, as though attaching a sense of order to the scene could mitigate the horror. Bullet holes pockmarked the stucco exterior of Club Hestia, and the blood told the rest of the tale.
The kill was as impersonal and cold as the article’s headline: “Organized Criminal Violence Escalates in LA.” Not particularly inspired, but a wave of nausea turned Peter’s stomach all the same. He was insulated from it out here in Northridge, but it seemed like every other day there was some fresh story about bodies piling up in every neighborhood of the city proper.
Peter scanned the page, the names of the victims registering with sickening familiarity. Stav’s crew weren’t the first people to end up dead as a result of LA’s newly minted gang war, but they were the first Peter had shared a drink with. Most of them had allied with Adara during the great Giannopoulos split. Apparently, they’d picked the wrong side.
“Good morning!” Mia said chipperly.
Peter startled. He hadn’t heard Mia entering the kitchen. Hell, he hadn’t even realized it was morning already. He’d stayed up all night, sifting through the articles, trying to find the parts of the story that Liv wasn’t telling him hiding between the lines.
“Morning, kiddo,” he replied mechanically. Peter rolled his shoulders a few times. They ached from three days spent on the unforgiving courtroom bench and a night spent hunched over the kitchen table.
“Peter?” Mia asked.
“Hrm?” He was only half-listening to her. The TV babbled on low from the living room, nearly drowned out by the heavy drone of Nik’s snoring. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for Peter to go up to bed with him. Guilt chewed at him; Nik could’ve used a good night’s sleep and Peter should’ve made sure of that. He was scheduled to testify today, and Stavros’ trial had been hell enough on him already.
Liv knew the trial was happening this week, but he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from her; it wasn’t like her to not call, even when they were on the outs. He glanced anxiously at his phone, willing some sort of message from her to be there.
He hadn’t seen her since Echo Park, and her communication had grown vague and infrequent. Like she was purposely trying to make him worry. Something ugly and black wrapped its tentacles around Peter’s chest, choking out anything that wasn’t impotent rage. He spent the last few months sick from dread, but the anger was new. He was angry at Liv. At himself. At their piece-of-shit father for not giving them a single fucking chance for normalcy.
“Peter?” Mia said again, more insistently. She tugged his sleeve and her eyes roved up to the grisly image on his screen.
“Don’t,” Peter snapped, knocking her hand away and slamming the laptop shut before she saw too much.
“I’m sorry.” Her brief shock gave way to a swell of fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “I was just...I just wanted some water, please,” she said miserably.
The misdirected fury evaporated. Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with him?
She was a kid. She was a little fucking kid who didn’t even have enough autonomy to pour herself a glass of water when she was thirsty. She needed him and Peter had just jumped down her throat like a goddamn monster.
“Sorry.” He tried to offer a reassuring smile. He felt like crying himself.
Her sniffling abated but her bottom lip trembled unchecked. “It’s okay,” she said warily, like she was afraid of upsetting him. Like she was afraid ofhim.
Shame clawed at Peter’s guts. He couldn’t even meet Mia’s eye when he handed her the glass of water. “Your dad’s in the living room,” he mumbled, like that had anything to do with anything.
Peter retreated, taking the steps two at a time to the upstairs bathroom and locking the door behind him. He sat on the rim of the tub, his head in his hands. He was losing control. Fuck, maybe he was just fooling himself into thinking he had it in the first place. He’d been on a knife’s edge for weeks. And of course the first person he’d taken it out on was a little girl. Dad would be so proud.
God, he couldn’t stand how weak he was. Desperate. Damaged in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe. And, worst of all, unforgivably lacking: as a brother, as a partner, as a stand-in parent. Liv already knew, but it was only a matter of time until Nik wised up to how thoroughly he’d been conned. Peter was losing his ability to hide. He turned on the shower because he wasn’t sure when he’d started, but he was sobbing now, messy, hitching, painful noises that he didn’t want anyone to hear.
He didn’t know how long he stayed up there for. Too long, apparently, because Nik came after a while and knocked softly at the door. “Peter?”
“Yeah, just give me a sec,” he called, sounding raw and wretched.
But Peter couldn’t open the door; he couldn’t face Nik after what he’d just done. Eventually he saw Nik’s shadow walk away. One of these days he wasn’t going to come back. He’d come to his senses and realize that Peter’s love was only good for getting people hurt. Peter gripped hard onto the edge of the tub, a fresh wave of self-loathing breaking over him.
Then he would be alone like he deserved.
“Peter, please, you are worrying me.” This time Nikhadcome back, if only because it was his house too and Peter had locked himself in their bathroom like a goddamn lunatic.
Peter’s throat was hot and tight and he couldn’t reply. The gentle whir of a cordless drill filled the silence. The doorknob on Peter’s side dropped off and hit the floor, and then Nik pushed open the door. He looked ridiculous, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose around his neck as he tucked the drill into the back of his dress pants. The whole thing was so incrediblyNikthat it made Peter’s heart clench up again at the thought of losing him.
Nik’s bare feet made sucking sounds as he crossed the damp ceramic tile. It was as muggy as a sauna in here and he was going to ruin his new suit. Nik didn’t seem to care. He sat on the lid of the toilet seat opposite Peter, waiting for him to explain.
Peter wasn’t sure he could. He drew in a wet, shaky breath. “You could’ve picked that lock with a butter knife,” he said finally, his voice quivering. “You didn’t have to take the whole thing off.”
Nik shrugged. He shifted to seat himself beside Peter on the edge of the tub. “That is your area of expertise, not mine.” He thumbed along Peter’s jawline, and then reached behind him to turn off the running shower. “Besides, it is not the first time. Mia has accidentally trapped herself in the bathroom before.”
Peter tore off a hank of toilet paper and blew his nose messily, hiding his face. “She okay?”
