Tristian senses this, offering, “Some of his face was still…partially identifiable. Plus, there was a tattoo on his calf.” There’s a sickening lurch in my gut at the thought of whatever Killian saw. ‘Partially identifiable’ will forever be etched in my memory as the most disturbing thing I’ve heard today.
“There was a metal pin,” Killian adds, tipping his glass back. “In his shoulder, where I shot him.”
“And dental records,” Tristian adds, resting his elbows on his knees. His fists hang between them, and I don’t need to notice the dejected curve of his shoulders to know what this is doing to him. The hollowness of his blue eyes is quite enough. “There’s no doubt Daniel’s dead.”
I’m not sure I have it in me to put voice to the second question that’s been throbbing inside me since I got the call. Not when it hangs above us like a storm cloud, present in everyone’s eyes.
Did we kill him?
The last question is something so cold and unfeeling that I’ll probably take it to the grave with me.
Do we care?
Before I can gather the courage to ask anything at all, Dimitri makes an alarmed sound, spine snapping straight. “It’s up.”
Tristian’s head jerks up and he twists, looking over his shoulder. His eyes bore into the back of the laptop as if he could see through it. “What does it say?”
“It says…” Dimitri’s forehead scrunches. “Something about… uh, frackt… fractures of the cal… calvuh? Fuck!” His fists come down hard on the keys. “I’m too fucking stupid to read this shit!”
Tristian surges to his feet, but I get to Dimitri first, laying a palm on his tense back. “You are not,” I whisper, because this isn’t Killian and one of his rages. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dimitri like this, drawn taut as a piano wire, flinching away from my touch.
I don’t like it.
He slaps a hand out, snagging the bottle of whiskey in a smoothly violent gesture. “You read it,” he tells Tristian, whirling away from the laptop and crossing the room, as if he’s trying to create a physical distance.
Tristian takes his place, tipping the screen up, eyes narrowing. He gives a quiet scoff as his eyes scan it. “Dude, you’re not stupid. I can’t read this shit, either. It’s fancy medical jargon.”
“See?” I try, stepping between Dimitri and the fireplace. “It’s going to be okay.”
He curls and uncurls his fist, not meeting my eyes. “I don’t have a problem with being a murderer. I don’t even have a problem with murdering Daniel, because I’m sorry, Killer, but your dad was fucking garbage, and we all know he had it coming.” His black eyes glint in the glow of the fireplace, jaw just as taut as his shoulders. “But not like this. Not fucking sloppy, accidental bullshit.” He punctuates the last word by angrily throwing the bottle into the fireplace.
A hot burst of fire explodes outward, the heat licking at my calves, and I yelp, almost tripping in my haste to hurl myself away from it.
In an instant, Killian is between us, slamming Dimitri into the wall beside the fireplace. “Watch what the fuck you’re doing!” he booms, and it’s as if his eyes absorbed the flames.
But Dimitri isn’t paying attention to him. For the first time since I got home, he’s looking at me, his face pale with shock. Mine probably is, too, but he’s also seeing the scared, wounded thing in my eyes. I can tell because his face falls. “Baby, I didn’t mean to—”
Killian’s lips pull back in a snarl, cutting him off. “Making it into a habit now?“
“Guys,” Tristian says, but they talk over him.
“Oh, fuck you.” That spark of stunned guilt in Dimitri’s eyes is wiped away in an instant, face shuttering. “Like you have any fucking place to lecture me on hurting her—”
“Guys.” Tristian repeats, approaching them.
Killian shoves a finger into Dimitri’s chest. “Don’t you fucking bring that up like shit hasn’t changed—”
Tristian snaps, “Guys!” and yanks Killian back, placing himself between them. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me!” He waits until Killian backs off to let out an annoyed huff, looking between them. “None of this matters, because Daniel didn’t die in the fire.”
“What are you talking about?” Dimitri asks, rubbing the shoulder Killian had planted the heel of his palm into.