Page 138 of Breaking Hollywood

The look on his face. It looks a lot like disappointment. And it cuts right through me.

He knows. They all know.

Of course they do. It has to be all over the news by now.

GABRIEL EVANS, EX-GIGOLO AND SON OF MURDERERS

What a fucking headline. I bet the press has been pissing themselves with excitement.

I pull my anger on and wear it like a protective shield. “Don’t look at me like that, Tate.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“The hell you are.” I sit up, resting my back against the arm of the sofa, bending my knees up so that I can rest my elbows on them, and I scrub my hands over my face. “I don’t need your judgment right now, so if that’s what you all came here for, then you know where the door is.”

“We’re not here to judge you.” Julian sits on the coffee table across from me. He pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket. Gets two out. Lights one up and passes it to me, and then lights one for himself.

“Gabe, we’re here because we’re your friends, and we wanted to make sure you were okay,” Vaughn says from his spot where he’s standing, leaning against the window.

Right where I was standing last night when I got the call that changed everything.

“Or did you just come to look at the freak?”

“Gabe…” Tate’s voice is a warning.

I spot a quart of vodka left in the bottle I started on last night. I reach down and grab it from the floor. The cap’s already off, so I take a good drink.

When I’m finished, three sets of eyes are watching me.

“What?” I put my cigarette in my mouth.

“Should you be drinking right now?” Vaughn says.

“I think drinking is exactly what I should be doing right now.”

“Gabe, speaking from experience, drinking yourself into a coma isn’t going to help anything,” Julian says.

“Advice from the ex-junkie. Just what I need.” I roll my eyes and then drain the vodka before tossing the bottle to the floor.

Julian doesn’t react. But, still, I feel like a jackass. But I’m too far gone in my own pain to feel anything of real substance right now, so the emotion is gone before it can turn into guilt.

Julian takes a drag of his smoke and flicks the ash into the ashtray. “I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t just say that because I know what it’s like to be in pain and want to dull it with the nearest substance. And you were the only one who was there for me when I needed help. So, you get a free pass, Gabe. You get as many free passes as you need.”

“I don’t need free passes. What I need is to be left the fuck alone.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Tate says, settling back onto the sofa.

“Fine. Then, I’ll fucking go out.” I stub my smoke out and get to my feet.

“Yeah, you’re not gonna want to go out there.” Vaughn thumbs over his shoulder. “The paps are out in full force up front. We had to sneak in through the parking garage. And, from the looks of you, you’re not in any fit state to drive.” He gestures to the empty liquor bottles littering the coffee table.

I drive my fingers into my hair, feeling frustrated and trapped. “For fuck’s sake!” I yell. Then, I pick up one of the empty bottles and throw it against the wall. It shatters, shards of glass scattering everywhere.

The silence around me is deafening.

“You feel better?” Julian’s voice is low behind me.

“No, I don’t fucking feel better!” I whirl on him.