Page 55

“You’re the only family I have left. I’m sorry, but I can’t apologize for … I just can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Tristan looked up. Leaf’s voice sounded so composed, resigned, and cool. Squinting, Tristan scrutinized Leaf’s face for an explanation.

“What do you expect then?” His heart raced wildly, and when Leaf shook his head, fear crept in.

“Nothing.” Leaf replied. He still couldn’t look at him, and the way he suddenly chewed on his lower lip suggested that this was about something other than his suicide attempt. “I understand you. Very well,” Leaf continued, his tone soft and empathetic. “You lost Milo.”

“That’s why I don’t want to lose you too.”

“That might change once you know the truth.” With shaky fingers, he glanced around for his cigarettes.

“What truth?”

Leaf pushed his long hair back. “I’m the reason Milo died.”

The words sounded as if Leaf had spoken in a different language. Tristan struggled to understand. “What do you mean? Milo was …” Four weeks had passed, and he still couldn’t get it out. Leaf’s silence only made his heart beat harder. He searched Leaf’s stony face for answers, but his eyes looked distant and empty. “You’re not to blame.”

It was impossible for Leaf to have any blame for Milo’s death. All three of them were friends. Leaf knew things about him through Milo that he never would have guessed. He had even wanted to bring Milo into the band as a drummer, but Milo had declined.

“Me and my little brother in the same band. No thanks,” was Milo’s response as he hugged him. “Don’t get me wrong, Ming, but that would end in disaster.”

All of a sudden, Leaf jumped up and left the room. Tristan slipped into his briefs and followed him. He found Leaf next to the couch, lighting a cigarette, inhaling deeply, and exhaling loudly.

“You can’t be to blame. That’s impossible.”

It was. And no matter what Leaf claimed, Tristan would continue to insist. Simply because he loved Leaf, and he was all he had left of family.

Of course, the band was a kind of family too. After the long world tour, where they still argued over whether all the flying had gained or lost them a day in their lives, they had grown close. Even when Andrej suggested replacing Leaf, Tristan interpreted it only as a slight sibling rivalry. He knew Andrej well enough to know that he would come to his senses.

“Leaf? Talk to me.”

“He … asked me for help, and …” Tristan felt dizzy. He slowly took a step forward, leaning on the armrest of the sofa. If Milo asked for help, then …

“He was gambling again.”

Leaf took a drag from the cigarette. “He begged me not to tell you. I wanted to, but … he was so desperate, and he didn’t want to upset you.”

That sounded just like Milo. Since their parents’ death, he had taken care of him as a big brother. He had helped him with homework and realized that he had a talent for writing. It was thanks to Milo that he had submitted the poems and made a name for himself in the literary scene.

When they were on their own and no foster family supported them anymore, it was Milo who found an apartment and turned a rat hole into a home for him. At night, Milo worked in the casinos at the bar, and during the day, he played drums in the studios for solo artists. It wasn’t that Tristan hadn’t done his part. He worked in bars, in diners, or even spent a few months on garbage duty, but it was always Milo who assured him that he would take care of him. That was when his brother had started gambling. Time and again, he failed in his attempt to secure security by gambling too high and they were left with nothing several times.

Milo never played at the big casino tables, but always in shady basement bars where more illegal activities happened than he might have realized. There were days when he came home with $75,000, only to lose it all again the next night.

It was Tristan who had pulled the plug and forced the move to Los Angeles. And it worked out. Milo had since been able to boast about many studio jobs, establishing himself as a drummer here too. The temptation lay far behind them in the Nevada desert.

In the last four years, Milo had only slipped back into gambling once. He had been gone for days, while Tristan had searched everywhere for him. He even contacted old acquaintances in Vegas, but it took another week before one of them finally got back to him.

They had driven out to Vegas together in Leaf’s car to pick up a bruised and defeated Milo. He got into the car without saying a word and remained silent for the entire ride back. It wasn’t until they stopped in front of their apartment that he broke the silence.

“Help me, please.”

That Milo had only asked Leaf for help this time meant he must have been truly desperate.

And he had kept it a secret from me.

At what cost?