Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 106754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I don’t answer.
“But that’s what they are, June.” My mother takes my hand, stroking it softly, my fingers shaking again. “They are your brothers, and they love you very much. But they are boys, and you are a girl… A woman. A beautiful one.”
I know where this is headed, and it’s killing me inside.
"Remember our talk in the treehouse?" she asks, and I nod automatically. How could I forget? That conversation has haunted me for years. "My thoughts on the matter are the same, June... But there's something else. You need to remember those boys are twins. Family. June, I don’t want Kade and Parker to fight because of you. Always remember. Family comes first.” With that, she tips my chin up so I’m forced to look at her.
“And Parker and Kade are your brothers. Nothing else. They can never, ever be anything else.”
I nod wordlessly, but Mom isn’t done yet. She squeezes my hand.
“Say it back to me, June. Repeat it.”
“Nothing but brothers,” I repeat robotically.
“Promise, June?”
The lump in my throat grows, and I stare ahead, not willing to give Mom the answer she wants. But she’s relentless. She squeezes my hand again, this time none too gently, and her fingers crush mine.
“Promise,” I lie.
***
3 weeks later
“I mean, he’s such a prick!” Parker exclaims, shaking his head as he laughs, opening a cabinet in the kitchen. He tosses me some Pop-Tarts, and I place them in the microwave, laughing at his office gossip.
“What would you do differently?” I ask him, knowing he’ll bite. He loves giving me his thoughts, and I love seeing him so excited. I sit on the barstool and drink from my glass of wine. Pop-Tarts and wine. Quite the combination. But it feels good. Familiar. Homey.
“Well, I wouldn’t do a shit job like he fucking did, that's for sure,” Parker grins at me, and I laugh, shaking my head.
He takes the Pop-Tarts out of the microwave and sits down next to me, digging in. We haven’t gotten round to cooking actual food yet, and we’re trying to sate ourselves while we wait for another batch of takeout—Indian this time around. We chitchat about the office, and I’m surprised by how fast Parker’s managed to blend in. But then again, I really shouldn’t be as he’s always been a people person. So unlike me… so unlike his twin.
My chest is hit with a hard pang as I think of my Kade. No matter what I do, it still fucking hurts because he hasn’t called or contacted me. He’s just pretending I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing to him. Like Parker isn’t his blood. I look up, fighting back tears, and my gaze connects with Parker’s. He’s staring at me hard.
“What?” I ask worriedly. He keeps looking at me, but the corners of his mouth curl up. “What is it?”
“Do you mind…?”
“Do I mind what?” I ask after a long pause on his end, but he looks away as though he’s embarrassed. I’m suddenly intrigued. “Tell me,” I beg.
“I want to paint you,” he finally says, looking more animated than I’ve seen him in… well, years.
“Draw me like one of your French girls?” I joke around, but as soon as I see he’s serious, my smile falters. “Oh,” I murmur.
“Do you mind?” he repeats, and I can hear from his tone he’s eager for me to say no, I don’t mind at all, let’s do it right now. But for some reason, I’m hesitating. It’s such an intimate thing to do, and it’s wrong somehow. But why?
Because I’m betraying Kade.
Stop it, brain, I order silently, and I look up at my stepbrother, faking enthusiasm.
“Sure,” I say even though my heart is pounding in my chest, heavy with the weight of deceit. “Let’s do it. Come on.”
And I pretend it’s worth it even though not even Parker’s happiness can make up for the emptiness in my heart.
“How much longer?” I groan tiredly, and Parker shushes me in response. I sigh inwardly and cringe as I reposition my arm, the tingling in it becoming harder and harder to bear. When I agreed to let him paint me, I thought it would only be hard because I felt uncomfortable doing it. But it’s freaking annoying as well, and every part of me is starting to hurt as I sit on the couch in our attic. And that’s another thing—it’s so creepy in here. The light is coming in through the sun window, but it’s dusty and old, and everything’s falling apart. The weight of memories in this place is weighing heavily on me, too.
My stomach rumbles, and I steal a glance at the forgotten takeout on the floor. Parker didn’t let me have any before he finished. I’ve never seen him this concentrated. But there’s a certain slant of his eyes that makes him look… Like a stranger. Like I don’t know him at all.