His scowl dark, he outstretches his hand to Sergei. “I’m John Ruiz. Timo’s boyfriend.”
Sergei remembers that he’s cuffed to Baylee, and he carefully stands without pulling her off the stool. But to give him more room to move, she stands too. The chain to their handcuffs isn’t longer than a few inches.
They’re literally that close. Her shoulders lock, uncomfortable, and she tries not to bump into his side.
I abandon my new beer and stand up too. Dimitri is distracted by Nik and Thora, and he ends up joining their deep conversation a few feet away.
Quickly, I come up behind Bay, my hands lightly on her hips. “You okay?” I ask in the pit of her ear before I step around her frame. I want to fucking hold her. Wrap her up in my arms.
Squeeze her tight.
Instead, we’re left doing this.
Her fingers brush mine, and our pinkies hook for a brief second before falling to our sides. “Yeah.” Bay lets out a deeper breath. “Do you have anything small or sharp to pick the lock?”
I dig in my pocket: gum, Tic Tacs, a few buttons, and actually something of use. I flash a safety pin to Bay, and she plucks it out of my fingers.
“Some hope exists after all,” she says seriously.
I almost smile. (Luka Kotova: pockets full of hope and shit.)
Bay untwists the safety pin, and she elbows hair out of her face.
My eyes flit up to Timo, and my face falls. He bites his pinky nail, and now that we’re all standing, he can’t shield Sergei from John or vice versa. They’re both taller than Timofei.
Sergei reaches out and shakes John’s hand, cordial enough, but I study my little brother, his expression contorting like he teeters on the precipice of a cliff.
Timo.
(Look at me. Everything’s going to be okay.)
His eyes dart to John and Sergei, and he says, “Great, you’ve met. Now never meet again.”
Sergei sighs heavily. “You’re being dramatic. We’re getting along fine.” He motions from his chest to John’s. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me.” Timo touches his own chest.
My bad feeling—it’s starting to catch up to me. I immediately walk forward. Towards Timo.
To reach him. And then Sergei extends his un-cuffed, free arm across my chest, stopping me next to him.
Like he needs me to be his advocate.
I glance back at Baylee, but she’s urgently trying to pick her lock. I’m about to tell Sergei to let me through, but he speaks again.
“You’re the only one with a problem, Timofei,” Sergei nearly yells out of frustration. “Do you realize that?”
(No.)
Timo’s face breaks into painful fragments. When people hurt him, it’s not snuffing out a light. It’s taking the heel of your foot and smashing a lantern to a million shards. You wonder how he can ever be lit again.
I duck beneath Sergei’s arm, and I almost pass through—but I’m jerked back. Sergei fists my shirt, yanking me beside him.
“Stop, Serg.” I push him once, my shirt out of his possession, and his eyes narrow and soften like help me.
I can’t fucking help him be friends with Timo! I wish everyone would leave me out of this and just let me be there for my little brother.
I look back at him.
John has his arm draped around Timo, hugging him to his side, but Timo doesn’t tear his shattered gaze off our oldest brother.
Sergei shifts his weight. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean it how you’re taking it, Timo.”
“How am I supposed to take it?”
“Realize that this could all be fine if you just got over it…” Sergei trails off again, starting to see that he’s making it worse.
Timo instinctively turns into John’s chest and tries to wrench his own wrist out of the cuff. He wants to leave.
“Babe, slow down. Stop, breathe for a second,” John says, his voice hardening in concern, and then he glares at Sergei. “Don’t put this all on him. He’s entitled to his own feelings. He can be upset at you.”
I don’t reach Timo. Katya does. She rushes to our brother and tries to help unlock the handcuff, bobby pin in her fingers.
“I’ll get you out. Don’t worry, Timo,” Kat says.
“It’s been months!” Sergei yells, his frustration palpable.
I spin my baseball cap backwards. I’m on edge, nervous that both Sergei and John will start swinging, and right now they’re literally attached to two people I love. They’re not accidentally pulling them to the floor because they forget their surroundings.
I’m not letting that happen.
They take one step closer, and I slip between Sergei and John, extending my arms. My palms touch their chests, and I force them apart.
John yells, “I didn’t realize agony had a fucking timeline!”
“He’s not in agony!” Sergei grimaces at the thought.
“Stop!” I shout at them, but it’s like no one hears me. I glance at Bay—her fearful eyes meet mine. I think she heard me, and she works faster, yanking at the cuff.
It’s still locked.
“Shit,” she says, but she tries to pick the lock again, still determined.
Sergei points at Timo with his free hand but yells at John, “He’s giving me no way to fix it! I can do nothing but watch him hate me! You know what this is?!”
I shake my head at Sergei. “Don’t go there, dude—”
“It’s life!” John sneers, eyes blistering on Sergei. “Welcome to the real world where every shitty thing we do affects other people!”
“It’s immature!” Sergei yells, and my chest collapses.
Timo is crying hearing what Sergei—the one person he wanted as a father figure—really thinks of him. Sergei doesn’t respect his feelings.
People always say that: get over it. Why? So they can feel better about the hurt they caused?
Everyone heals at different rates. Some people need time. It sucks. It’s frustrating, but our minds are more fragile than we like to believe.
(Than I like to believe.)
And I can’t remember the last time I saw Timo sob this hard. He usually contains it all until one unintentional moment, and Sergei just kicked open Timo’s floodgates.
Timo drops his scepter and covers his eyes with his free hand, and John points an antagonistic finger at Sergei. “Fuck you!”
“He’s my little brother!”
“And you’re hurting him!”
I shove them back as they wrestle closer. “STOP!” I yell.
Katya unlocks Timo’s handcuff, squeezes him in a hug, and then she bounds over to Baylee, switching out the safety pin for the bobby pin to help.
Timo lifts his watery eyes to me as I push both guys apart, and he looks past tears. Numb. His heavy gaze rises to the ceiling.
I wonder if he’s contemplating Sergei’s words.
If he’s questioning whether he’s the root of the problem. Immature. And just a pain to us all.
I shake my head. Timo is a good person. He means everything to me.
To so many people.
I tune out Sergei and John. I drop my hands, and I beeline for my brother. He sees, and at nearly the same time, our arms wrap around each other. Clutching tight.
His speeding heartbeat pounds against my chest, and we don’t let go.
Against his ear, I say, “I love you, Timo.”
I can practically feel him shutting his eyes, blocking out the world around us. Our chests rise and fall heavily at the same pace, and softly, I hear him mutter, “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Luk.”
I whisper strongly, “You’re living. That’s all we can do.” I don’t think there are any real answers. Timo is the one who talks about sucking the marrow out of life.
He’s the one who lives for every moment. I don’t want him to stop now because he’s questioning everything he is. His feelings. His hurt.
His maturity.
Timo is his own joy.
Isn’t that enough?
I feel his pulse slow, and as we ease our heads back, I worry a fistfight broke out around us. What I find is…something different.
John and Sergei stand side-by-side, cooled down. Watching us. Their eyes are bloodshot, reddened—but they never fought.
Never threw a punch.
They’re civil for Timo.