Page 104 of Break Me Apart
“I’m—” The word dies in my throat. ‘Sorry’ is useless here, I know that. But what else can I say?
“They told me you suggested putting him on the mission,” he says quietly, his words flat. He turns then, slowly, and I finally get a proper look at him. His face is pale, hard, and hollowed in all the wrong places. Around his neck, hanging over his shirt, are Niko’s dog tags. That sight almost breaks me. “Why would they say that?” he asks. “Why would they tell me that Caiden Varrik suggested putting my brother on a mission when he was still grieving and clearly not thinking properly? Surely, you’re not that fucking stupid.”
I try to answer. “I—” Nothing sensible comes, but Ari waits. “I thought it would help,” I say at last and hear how pathetic it sounds the second it leaves my mouth.
His expression doesn’t shift. “Help?”
“Niko. He asked me to.” The words come out faster now, mixing with the panic. “I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t. He came to me, he said he needed—”
Ari’s eyes sharpen with something so cold it nearly stops my breathing. “So it’s his fault?”
“What? No.”
“My brother is dead,” he says, still in that same awful, cold, calm voice, “and you’re standing there telling me it’s his fault?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” My hands come up almost in surrender, as if I can physically push the misunderstanding back. “You know what Niko’s like. He wouldn’t let it go.”
Ari’s face changes then. “Was,” he says. “What hewaslike.”
I swallow, and the room seems to shrink around the sound of it. “I’m sorry,” I say, because there’s nothing else left.
Ari gives a short, awful little laugh under his breath. “You’re sorry?”
He turns his head slightly toward the bed without looking away from me. “Tell that to him.”
My eyes go to Vladimir before I can stop them. “Stop,” I say, my voice rough and the tears beginning to burn behind my eyes. “It was an accident. The intel was bad. There was no way I could have known what would happen.”
Ari’s mouth tightens. “He should never have been there.”
I look at him. Really look. At the dog tags on his chest, the fury holding his body together, the grief sitting underneath all of it like a live mine. “And you know it,” he says.
“It’s not my fault,” I say. Even as I hear it, I know how it sounds. It sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.
Ari stares at me for what feels like an eternity. “If that’s true, then why is the guilt written all over your face?” he asks, taking a few steps closer. “You’re still terrible at lying.” He turns back toward the bed as if the conversation is already over. “Just get out.”
I can’t breathe properly. “No.” The word surprises us both. “Can we talk later? Maybe when you’ve had some time?” I ask, hating how desperate it sounds and unable to stop myself anyway.
“There is no later.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m done. Leave me alone, Caiden.”
“No.” I step forward before I can talk myself out of it, the panic rising hard and fast. “No, I’m not walking away from this. We had plans, a future. We can fix this.”
He turns back to face me slowly, and I see there’s absolutely nothing in his face I can work with. “There is nowe,” he says. “No plans, no future, and definitely nothing left tofix.”
“Ari, please—” I reach for him without thinking. It’s instinct, nothing more complicated than that. I want his wrist, his hand, any part of him I can still touch before this becomes real in a way I can’t come back from.
But Ari moves faster than I do.
He twists cleanly out of reach, grabs me by the throat, and slams me back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me. His forearm pins me across my chest. His face is right in mine now, and the fury in it is so naked it almost burns. “Don’t,” he growls through his teeth. “Fucking. Touch. Me.”
The sound of the hate and venom in his voice goes right through me. Then Vladimir’s cry cuts through the room, and Ari lets me go at once, turning away from me without a second thought, lifting him from the bed with hands that are suddenly careful in a way that makes my chest hurt.
He says something to him, and the crying eases into those small, hitching sobs toddlers do when they’re confused more than hurt. I stand there against the wall, watching and listening to him whisper in Russian. Then I hear it, immediately understanding what he’s saying.
“Oh my God,” I say. Ari doesn’t look at me. “You’re leaving? Ari—” My voice cracks. “You’re leaving without me?”
