“Six years. He was gone for six years. When he got out, he was different. Standoffish.” His finger traces the face on the screen. “Four months later, he was dead. Gunshot to the head in his apartment bathroom. Coroner ruled it a suicide.” The mechanical, empty words belie the emotion burning behind his eyes.
I lean closer. “You don’t believe it.”
“No.” The raw pain in his eyes pierces my chest. “But I’ve spent the last two months investigating, and I can’t prove otherwise.” His hand tightens on the mouse, knuckles whitening. “Which means…”
He trails off, but I can fill in the rest.
If MJ wasn’t murdered, then his death was a direct result of the prison sentence he served for Alexei. Which means Alexei feels responsible, as if he’d looped the noose around his brother’s neck himself.
Tears come without warning, pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Not for myself, but for him. For the weight he carries. For the guilt that’s clearly eating him alive. Because I understand.
I know what it’s like to live with blood on your hands that never washes clean.
“I was nine when I killed my mother.” The words leave my lips before I can stop them.
Alexei’s head snaps toward me. “What?”
“We were driving home from the grocery store.” The memories flood back, vivid and brutal. “I saw a dog out the window and got so excited that I screamed and dropped my toy. I unbuckled my seat belt and lunged across the car, shouting for her to look.”
There’s no judgment in his eyes. No reproach.
My hands twist together in my lap as my stomach ties itself into a thousand little knots. “My mom tried to push me back into my seat. Her eyes left the road for just a second. A truck accelerated out of a cross street too quickly. She never saw it coming.”
The memories continue to assault me. My high-pitched, terrified screams as I tried to wake her. The vision of dark blood against her pale skin. The stillness of her chest that should have been rising, falling, rising, falling.
Recognition glimmers in the depths of his eyes. We’re two people crushed by the same weight. Different circumstances but identical pain.
“Your father?”
“Couldn’t bear to be near me.” Even after all these years, the admission stings. “I reminded him of her. And of what took her away. He left six months after the funeral. Just…disappeared one day while I was at school. My grandmother raised us after that. Until she died too. Now it’s just Samantha and me.”
Alexei’s hand hovers, then settles on mine. His palm is warm, the calluses rough against my skin. The touch isn’t all comfort or possession but something in between.
I swipe a tear from my cheek. “The pain never really goes away. It subsides sometimes. Becomes background noise. Then boom! It comes roaring back like that truck, hurtling out of nowhere and knocking everything to hell.”
I glance up at Alexei, noticing the shadows under his eyes and the tight line of his mouth. I rotate my hand under his, then squeeze.
He returns the gesture.
There’s nothing I can do to change my past. Nothing can erase the fact that I killed my mother, chased my father away, and ripped Samantha’s life wide open. But maybe I can help ease Alexei’s grief. Maybe I can help him find the answers he needs.
“Do you hurt people? All the time?” Not what I’d planned to ask, but I can no longer recall the words I originally intended.
“I don’t do it just for the fun of it.” After a beat, understanding dawns in his expression. “If you give me a name, they’re safe.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Samantha. Pixie. José.”
At that last name, his brow furrows into a scowl. “Who the fuck?—”
“José is the guy at the supermarket who always slides me extra meat. Don’t interrupt because I have one more name. Benny has a brother. Johnny. They had drinks together once a week at Red Bird’s. Johnny’s a good guy. Tipped well and was always respectful.”
Alexei shifts in his chair to lock his full attention on me. “I didn’t find a brother.”
“I think they were half-brothers. Anyway, they had different last names and moved in different circles. Johnny’s a simple, hardworking guy. A mechanic.”
A muscle tics in his jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
