“There’s no getting better for you!” Adam yells. He grips the bow tightly.
And, right in front of my eyes, he snaps it in half.
I cry out, reaching for it even as he drops the pieces to the floor. “Adam!” I get down on the floor onto my knees, grabbing the bow. It’s useless, of course. There’s no fixing it, and Adam won’t buy me another one. “Why?” I ask, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.
“Christ. I have a shit day at work, go home early to relax, and find you not even started with your one fucking job.” Adamslams his hand against the wall, making me flinch. “All my hard work, fuckingruinedbecause of the address on the warrant. You should have mentioned the gambling hall wasn’t part of the restaurant!”
“What?” I whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t even know there was a gambling hall.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Adam sneers. “I heard you, Micah. You told him you hadn’t snitched on him. Which means you know things. Things that would have prevented me from being reamed out by everybody!”
I can’t breathe. “I didn’t— It wasn’t—” I stumble over my words, trying to think. “It wasn’t anything that was relevant. I promise, Adam. It was… He told me something about something that happened in Russia.”
I know it’s the wrong thing to say even as the words leave my mouth.
He grabs me by the hair and yanks me up to my feet.
“Yeah? And what happened in Russia?” he snarls.
“You’re hurting me,” I say desperately. “Adam, please. It doesn’t have anything to do with anything here. I’d have told you if it had.”
“Yeah, right.” Adam shoves me away from him, straight into my cello.
I yelp and try to steady myself, but it’s too late. The cello topples over, landing hard onto the floor.
At least it’s carpet, I tell myself.
It’ll be fine. Just a few dings. After some tuning, it’ll be fine.
“So,” Adam says, crossing his arms. “What happened in Russia?” He places a booted foot on the waist of the cello.
I swallow hard, staring down at the cello. It’s so personal, too personal, and I don’t know if I can say the words aloud.
Why does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to see Ilya again.
But the idea of Adam going after Ilya again and having that information hurts, too. What if he uses it against Ilya?
“I can’t,” I tell him desperately. “I can’t, Adam. I?—”
My phone rings, and I startle. I grab it, and even though it says it’s from an unknown number, I know it’s from Ilya.
No one else would be calling me.
I shouldn’t answer it.
I do it anyway.
“I can’t talk right now,” I say.
“Who the fuck is that?” Adam demands. He reaches out to grab the phone from me. I duck down and run, clutching the phone close to my chest.
A deep voice rumbles on the other end, muffled by my body. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I need to hear his voice more than anything right now.
I’m with Adam.
I’m done with Ilya.
I have to be.
