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Aaron was meant to be the exception — Aaron & Tilda had always been the exception; even Andrew, to a degree. They were not raised in the Church, were not raised under His — Luther's — teachings of His Word. They were allowed to misstep and stray, as long as they came back and repented. He'd said as much at Tilda's funeral before blessing her lifeless, mangled corpse hidden behind closed casket doors. Nicky, at that point, did not believe his father's teachings. Death was a black void, a comforting emptiness after the chaos, pain, suffering, and strife of the world.
It cut Nicky deep to see them at the courthouse and realize they had not been deposed in support of his cousins. To learn that Luther had taken money, an anonymous donation to his church the weekend after Thanksgiving… he can't say he was surprised at Luther's actions. He never was a man of God in anything but ceremony. His mother, however… her betrayal cut deep.
On some level he'd always hoped the secrets she'd whispered to him tucking him in at night after soothing his welts and bruises were true. They were no more than placation and falseties, nice words uttered to a child foolish enough to trust they held any weight; to an adult foolish still for thinking they ever had any substance to begin with. She always would submit to her husband over protecting her child, Nicky learned that the first time he made the mistake of asking Luther why he lectured women in the congregation for wearing revealing clothing when he was married to Mom. Why was he letting his eye stray? Didn't Matthew say if Disciples can not control their lust they are to pluck out their own eyes?
Luther had made Nicky wear a blindfold while he bent him over his knee and used His Righteous Hand to remind Nicky to Honor thy Father above all else. He can't remember what the reasoning behind the blindfold was, but that Luther had ranted something about not being allowed to pluck the eyes of disrespectful children in this day and age.
He rubs at his temples now as he rides in the backseat of the Maserati. Andrew is driving as recklessly as ever. Neil is in the passenger seat, reaching occasionally to touch his wrist when he isn't holding the gear shift. Kevin is in the back with Nicky, forehead resting against the glass as he stares out the window. Nicky turns away again before glancing down at his phone. He compulsively turns it on to check for a text from Erik despite him saying good night 3 hours ago. He feels so alone right now.
In the past, he'd held onto the tiniest sliver of hope that Maria would finally choose him. Today was the nail in the coffin that started being built the first time she turned away and let Luther beat the sin from his wayward toddler. Since she threw out every pair of heels and piece of makeup when she found him playing dress up. Since she turned around as Nicky was kidnapped from their home and sent to a conversion program in a compound in the woods. But when he'd left for Germany, she'd strayed, just barely, moving an inch to reach for Nicky before she caught herself.
Andrew stops in front of the house in Columbia. "Get out," he says, eyes trained on Neil. They were going to go somewhere and be weird, whatever. Nicky climbs out without a goodbye. But he does not enter the house, instead starting the walk he'd taken many times before to the liquor store. He bought the cheapest bottle of whiskey on the bottom shelf and paid with the loose cash and change in his pockets.
When he gets back, Kevin is lounging in the living room in Nicky's spot. He stares at him for a beat too long, but before he can say anything, Nicky turns away and steps into the kitchen. He meant only to take a single shot, but the burn against his tongue and the roof of his mouth calms his nerves the way prayer used to stop the shaking in his hands. From Holy Spirit to The Cheapest Spirit, Nicholas was always good at submitting to a higher power. He loses himself in that false warmth in the same way he used to surrender his worries to Him above.
Nicky was always a good loser.
He chuckles to himself with that thought before he knocks back another shot. Then another. A third, for good measure — the Trinity and good things in threes and all of that bullshit. When he looks up from where he'd buried his face in his hands, Kevin is clearing his throat and holding a phone out to him.
"Andrew," Nicky slurs the single word, not bothering to check the caller ID. He's the only person left cursed with any responsibility for Nicky and access to a phone. "Wha's'it?"
"Seriously? You're so fucking trashed Kevin is worried about you."
"He should mind his own fucking business," Nicky mutters, cutting his eyes at the man standing on the other side of the island. "Wha'the fuck's your damage, Kev? I'll share without you tattle telling on me."
"Nicholas," Andrew snaps. "What are you doing?"
"I lost my parents today, Andrew. I know you think you get the— the fucking podium and gold medal for mommy and daddy issues because you never got to have them. But god I fucking wish I'd never had mine," Nicky drops his voice to a whisper. "I wouldn't have hoped they'd start practicing what they preach."
"Nicky, stop drinking."
"Go fuck yourself, Andrew."
"You want to know why I don't have daddy issues?" Andrew snaps. "I used to have this fuckass cousin who stepped up and sort of filled that void. Recently he's slipping."
"Geez, Andrew. Sorry I'm not good enough. Really, it's your fault for trusting me," he says on a dry laugh. "I made you go there. I caused all of this. You know, if I'd never had to know my parents this wouldn't have happened. Why did you change your mind?" Nicky's voice drops to a shaky whisper. So many things are swirling around in his addled mind at the moment. His self-hatred is winning, and it's taken the reigns and he finds himself speaking without meaning what he says: "I became my father by taking you back there. No wonder you don't want to be around me any more."
"Nicky," Andrew starts. He sounds weary beyond his years. But Nicky hangs up and hands the phone back to Kevin. His bottle of whiskey has disappeared, but a fresh bottle of vodka has taken its place on the countertop. Two old dollar store shot glasses are on the tile now. They lock eyes and stare at each other in silence.
"It's the hand meant to protect that always falls the hardest," Kevin says after a long moment. He reaches for the bottle, the metal cap clicking as he breaks the seal before taking a swig. He circles the island and cups Nicky's jaw before pressing it to his lips, tilting just enough for him to take a sip, shot glasses abandoned on the counter. "Isn't it?"
Nicky can't help the way his eyes drop to Kevin's neck, to the memory of the bruises Andrew left there. He swallows hard and wraps his fingers around the bottle over Kevin's hand, taking a proper swig this time before rasping, "Yeah. Hurts more when you relax." Kevin takes a sip, Nicky's hands still against the backs of his own. They're warm and it's a comfort he wasn't expecting. "When you're not tensed and prepared. Yeah. It… hurts more."
" 'specially the psychological aspect," Kevin mutters. This time he closes the bottle after his sip and sets it aside. He keeps hold of Nicky's hands and pulls his arms apart before pressing into his space. "Is this okay?" he asks, voice small, poised to bury in against his chest.
Nicky responds by wrapping his arms tight around Kevin's shoulders, hugging him. "Yes. Thank you for asking."
"Always," Kevin whispers as he sinks into the warmth Nicky so freely gives, eyes falling shut. "Please stay."
"What do you mean?"
"Andrew said you might leave the team, he called to make sure you're okay. You're a shit player, but you're not hopeless."
Nicky reaches with shaking fingers to comb through Kevin's hair. He lost two that finally found their own feet, but he gains another. "I'm not going anywhere, Kev." Exy was the only way Kevin knew how to communicate his feelings. For Andrew it was violence, for Aaron it had been spiteful words. Nicky was good at speaking unspoken languages.
He wasn't enough for the twins any more, not after he ruined their lives. But he could at least make sure Kevin wasn't alone now. If Kevin wasn't alone, Nicky wasn't alone.
It was better than nothing. If he never was going to be blessed with a loving father, the least he could do was make sure anyone around him who asked never had to suffer the same fate. He was a shit excuse for one, but he would give it his everything.