Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
It bothers me.
Not because he’s in love but because he’s in love with her.
It makes me want to roar. It makes me want to pick up this chair and throw it through the door that he’s so casually standing against.
But all I do is say, “And?”
“And,” he bites out. “She’s mine. No matter how much you want her, how much you want to act pissy about it, she will stay mine.”
No, don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Do not fucking kill your brother.
“And don’t get me wrong,” he goes on. “I feel bad for you. I do. I mean, we both know you’ve got”—he searches for a word—“a handicap, for lack of a better word. You have a… flaw, let’s say. A defect. You don’t know what to do with emotions. In fact, I don’t even think you have any.” He chuckles harshly. “People say a twin is your soulmate and well, I got stuck with you. So I know. I know that what they say is true. You’re cold. You’re fucking freezing. You’re dead inside. You have no feelings. No emotions. You have no ambition. You could’ve gone pro but chose to become a lowly assistant coach. And then they try to promote you and you keep turning them down. Well, until recently. When Con had to force it upon you.”
His words are like darts to me.
Stinging and burning.
But it’s fine.
It’s okay because he’s right.
He did get stuck with me. He did get stuck with a brother with a handicap, with issues, with baggage instead of a fully functioning twin.
So it’s fine if this is what he thinks of me.
It’s just that…
It hurts.
That this is what he thinks of me.
“So yeah, I feel bad for you,” Shepard continues. “But you have to understand that even if I gave her to you, you wouldn’t know what to do with her. She’s bright. She’s colorful. She deserves someone like me, not you. I’m the right guy for her and you know that. And that’s been your only saving grace. That’s why I haven’t come for you before today. The fact that you’re completely wrong for her and so far, you’ve kept your distance. But I saw the way you were watching her. At the charity event. I saw the way you followed her every move, and I didn’t like it. I have never liked it. I’ve never liked the way you watch my girl. And I’ve given you plenty of opportunities to come talk to me. But since you won’t, let me make it very clear to you that it won’t end well. If you come after her. If you keep watching her, if you keep wanting what’s mine, I’ll make you regret it. So I’m asking you to stop. I’m asking you, very nicely, to stop obsessing over my girl.”
He watches me for a few beats before pushing off the door and saying, “So don’t be pathetic, Stella. Not more than you already have been for the past year. Find your own girl and leave mine alone.”
Before he can walk out, though, I call out, “Or what?”
He turns around then. “Or I’ll fight you.”
“You’ll fight me.”
“I’ll go to war with you.”
I keep watching him, my fingers numb now. “First rule of a war: pick an opponent who’s equal to you. Or it wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
“Second rule of war,” he begins with a cocky smirk. “Don’t bait your opponent or you’ll lose your teeth.”
I have to smile at that.
I have to.
It’s a small smile, but it’s one of amusement. “Yeah, you’ve got no clue.”
His eyes narrow. “Why don’t you clue me in then?”
Mine remain the same, covered in ice and expressionless. “Nah, that’d be too easy. How about you think about it while you sit out the next game.”
It takes a second for him to get what I’m saying. “What?”
“You’re benched.”
His expression ripples with disbelief. “What the…”
“Third rule of war: don’t pick a fight with your coach or it’ll be for the rest of the season.”
Isadora.
Dora.
Do. Ra.
The misery of my life. The torment of my heart.
My crime. My corruption.
If I were a writer, say Nabokov, I’d describe her in such flowery terms. Since I’m not, I’d say that she’s a girl I find everywhere I go. At games, at team events, at parties. And no matter the occasion, she’s always laughing her throaty laugh. She’s always smiling with her bow-shaped lips that look perpetually stung. In a sea of pasty and dull bodies, she always shines with her honey-colored skin and jet-black hair. Her eyes—metallic gray and her most unique feature—have an impertinence and mischief to them that makes you think she’s perpetually up to no good.
And wherever she goes, she does it with my brother.
Because she’s my twin brother’s girlfriend.
But before she was his, she was the girl I’d met one night. A girl in a white dress and fake wings. A girl who saw me in the shadows. A girl who tested my control when it’s always been ironclad and legendary.