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Then they died, and everything changed.
Suddenly, the stakes were higher, and in order to make ends meet, he took the first job he could get.But that’s a whole other story.
Right now, I have to deal with my unexpected guests.
I turn the knob, swinging the door open. With a shake of my head, I look directly at Matt. He’s still handsome if you like the nice-boy-next-door type. He’s clean-cut with short, perfectly styled blond hair and warm hazel-brown eyes.
Not my type, which made it awkward when he asked me out years ago. I said no because there’s never been a spark between us. That, coupled with the fact my brother has always been in trouble with the law, and I considered it a conflict of interest.
Regardless, I appreciate Matt’s friendship. Finding out that your brother is in jail is always easier when coming from someone you know and trust.
I speak first, a fist resting on my hip. “What did he do now?”
Matt doesn’t reply at first. He glances over at his partner as if to silently ask him to break the news this time.
I take a deep breath. “Just tell me how much bail is.”
Matt swallows. “Sasha, can we come inside?”
No.
My nails dig into my palm. “Um, yeah. Okay.”
This is a first. For starters, there’s barely enough room for me in my studio, let alone three people. And typically, Matt comes alone and never bothers to ask to come inside. I always have to insist.
I don’t like this.
My back feels stiff as I lead them inside my tiny apartment. With each step, my anxiety increases tenfold. I can barely move. The three of us are like sardines, wedged between the furniture that fills the tight space. I might’ve gone overboard at Goodwill. In addition to being a coupon hoarder, maybe I’m an actual hoarder.
“Sash—” Matt hesitates.
I spin to face him. “Just tell me.”
I hate drawing things out. Matt knows this, too.
Still, he takes his time sighing, and when he does, I notice how tight his jaw is clenched.
Whatever Roman did, it’s bad. A heavy feeling weighs down my stomach. An imaginary bowling ball, sending bile up my throat.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this…”
“Then just spit it out,” I fire back. My defense mechanism—fight-or-flight—kicks in. Fight wins. Always does.
“Sasha…Roman.” His head shakes back and forth, and his shoulders slacken. “He’s dead.”
Dead.
Roman’s dead?
I roll the words over in my head, and with each second that passes, it feels more absurd. Like it isn’t my reality. Surely, this is another stunt my brother has pulled. But I don’t think it is. It’s the other cop’s face that seals the deal. Somber, apologetic, and eager to flee. The dread from earlier gets heavier until I give out.
My legs buckle under the weight of Matt’s words.
He shoots forward to catch me before I fall. “Whoa, Sash. I got you. You’re going to be okay,” he whispers into the top of my head.
My whole body shakes, and I can’t speak. My mouth is dry, and my jaw quivers. We stand like this for several moments as I work to get myself under control. To process what he said.
When I finally find the strength to move my mouth, I ask the question eating at me. “How did he die?”
