by Kat T. Masen
“Maybe you’re taking life too seriously?”
Her eyes scan mine with curiosity as my words remain trapped in my throat. I’ve never considered myself as a serious person—I like to have fun, too. But lately I’m forever being the adult for the both of us, and that may be due to the pressure I’m feeling to be the next big thing. Pressure that stems from management, and myself.
“I do know how to have fun, Mom,” I respond flatly.
“Last Friday night you were pairing socks, adamant that there’s a secret place in the universe where socks migrate, leaving you forever pair-less.”
I smile, relaxing my shoulders. “There is, right? You’re a mom, surely you should be letting me in on the secret of where this place is?”
Mom strokes my cheek with her hand, calming my agitated mood. “Kid, it’ll forever remain a mystery, but if you ever find out promise me you’ll tell me first?”
“Pinky swear.”
There’s a commotion coming from the hall. Doors slamming and a gust of wind flutters down the hallway and into the kitchen. Seconds later, my brother steps in with his usual shit-eating grin, dumping his bag onto the floor.
Mom is quick to wipe her hands on her apron, bringing him in for a hug. Ash towers over her, but still looks like a little momma’s boy when she fixes his dirty-blond hair and parts it to the side. It’s hard to believe we’re twins considering we look nothing alike, aside from our blue eyes and the few freckles which are scattered over the bridge of our noses.
Throughout my childhood, I swore it was a ploy to bring us closer together and that we weren’t twins. Instead, in my mind, Ash was adopted from some alien being, who spawned around the time I was born. It explained to me why he had the IQ of a peanut.
“Missed ya, Ma.” He grins, his eyes wandering to the plate parked in front of me. It doesn’t take him long to acknowledge my presence. “Well, well, well… if it isn’t my long-lost famous sister.”
“Well, well, well…” I mimic, “… if it isn’t my annoying brother with some sort of foot fungal disease.”
Ash moves around the counter letting go of Mom and wrapping his arms around me from behind.
Yeah, I kind of missed the fucker, despite how much he annoys me. He hasn’t changed much since I saw him last year, he’s still sporting some weird crew-cut and seems to be growing a mustache to hide his baby face. I don’t know how he became this man-whore with that god-awful mustache. And of course, he still wears the same clothes—Adidas everything. It’s like the brand threw up all over his shirt, shorts, shoes, even socks. He’s a damn walking billboard.
Just when I think I actually missed him and it’s good to have him around again, his giant man hands swipe the last bite of cake on my plate, throwing it in his mouth.
“Hey,” I complain, releasing myself from his overbearing hug.
“You snooze, you lose.”
“I wasn’t snoozing, you ape.”
“One minute and the two of you are fighting? I thought absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” Dad chuckles, placing his keys on the counter and standing beside Mom.
“Not when my dear old brother texts you a million times a day. There’s no damn absence.”
Suddenly, Ash’s demeanor changes, he’s almost nervous. He does this thing with his eyebrows where he twists the ends of them as if to distract himself. I know something’s up, but much like Mom and Dad, I’m entirely in the dark.
I’m about to call him out on it until Logan—my brother’s best friend—and a mystery woman walk into the kitchen. Logan flies through girlfriends like I go through underwear, so it doesn’t surprise me she’s here. Yet, I find it rude and annoying he doesn’t have the courtesy to inform us a stranger will be joining us.
Logan’s face breaks out into a mischievous smirk, the same one he had when he played pranks on me when we were younger. The only thing that’s changed is the fact he’s taller than me. Actually, he towers over me like Ash. Add to that a muscular body, instead of ten-year-old fat pre-puberty kid. And he got rid of the bowl haircut.
According to some magazine, he was named the hottest athlete of the year. I remember reading the article thinking Logan Carrington... really? The same boy who practically lived in our house and was Ash’s Siamese twin. Let’s ignore the fact that I’m his actual twin.
Age changes everyone, and despite the fact I haven’t seen him in over two years, nothing much has changed except his legs are now covered in tattoos. He’s wearing shorts which give me a view of the intricate patterns and drawings.
I can’t get over it, he’s staring rudely while Ash rambles on about something. I’m surprised Dad or Mom hasn’t said anything either. Logan’s like a son to them and Dad’s anti-tattoos. It’s the reason why Ash keeps the one just under his stomach a secret. It happened on some bro-code drunken-night-out, and when he tried to text me a pic, I was quick to point out the fact I almost threw up in my mouth at the sight of his pubes.
What fascinates me about the tattoos on Logan is that his arms are ink-free. Usually, the arms are the first place you have inked, not the legs. Nevertheless, I move my rude stare away from him and onto Ash and his dirty face.
Logan moves around the kitchen and stops at Mom, embracing her in a tight hug and not letting go for a while.
Something smells fishy.
Aside from the lingering smirk, his ash-brown hair is flicked to the side, styled with a line cut through the lower part. A fad that’s apparently rocking this generation. He runs his hands through it, lifting his bottle-green eyes to meet mine. I jump off the stool as he walks around the counter to me, and wrap my arms around him.
In my bare feet and stretching on my tiptoes, I whisper in his ear, “What are you up to?”
Logan holds me tight, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hate to admit he smells good. Some fancy aftershave designed to lure in women I’m guessing.
Bringing his lips close to my ear, his tone is smooth. “This will send you into a tailspin.”
I pull back, confused, but quick to extend my hand to the girl standing quietly in the corner. She’s quite pretty—exotic with a nice fashion sense. It’s my polite way of saying not everyone can rock a caftan but she certainly can.
“Hi, I’m Emerson… Ash’s sister.”
She smiles with nerves, biting down on her lip with her very white teeth. I’m amazed at the length of her hair, which she’s wearing straight with a few blonde streaks reaching the tip of her waist.
“I’m Alessandra, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She speaks with an accent—it’s thick, and by the way she rolls her ‘r’ I assume she’s from Spain.
“Oh,” I say looking in Logan’s direction. I didn’t think he’d talk about me, but obviously, he does. Odd, considering we aren’t that close anymore. “That’s nice of Logan to talk about—”
“Mom, Dad,” Ash interrupts me, moving closer to Alessandra and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Alessandra is my... my wife.”
My eyes spring wide open, my jaw drops to the floor with a crashing halt. His wife? When in God’s name did this happen? He hasn’t even mentioned dating let alone marriage. This has to be some sort of prank. Logan’s put him up to it. This isn’t the first time they have done something like this. They used to gang up on me all the time and it drove me insane.
We were known as the three troublemakers in the neighborhood when we were kids, and I considered myself one of the boys until I turned fourteen. So, I can smell a prank a mile away and this one is rotten to the core.
“Excuse me?” Dad questions, clearing his throat. His usually fair skin takes on a beet red color, a tell-tale sign he’s fuming. I glance over at Mom, she looks equally as shocked.
“We got married in Spain. Alessandra is my wife.”
“Married?” Dad repeats.
Ash nods, keeping his stare persistent and not blinking to challenge Dad. The two of them are just as stubborn as each other, and the longer this drags on, the more it be
comes evident this isn’t a joke.
“When did this happen?” Mom asks in a calmer tone, trying to disguise her shock.
Ash looks at Alessandra, thoughts passing between them, keeping the rest of us waiting impatiently. “It happened last weekend. It sorta just happened.”
“You don’t sorta get married, Ashley,” Dad grits, slamming his palm on the marble top. “You’re too young to be married.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Ash raises his voice, competing with Dad. “You had no problem when Emmy announced she was engaged… and to some dickhead she met on TV!”
“Hey,” I shout, quick to defend myself. “Don’t drag me into your mess. And thanks for thinking my fiancé is a dickhead.” I storm out of the kitchen, walking out to the backyard for fresh air. The nerve of him to throw me under the bus while he’s fucking standing in front of me. My anger refuses to subside, the air not calming the heat burning through me as the weight of Ash’s decision finally sinks in. He got married and didn’t say a word like I’m nothing and nobody to him. I can recall all the conversations we’ve had over the past week and none of them alluded to this. That’s what fucking hurts right now, my brother hid the biggest thing to happen to him from me.
I continue to walk further into the yard to stop myself from running back inside and yelling at him. My parents place sits on acres of land. I wandered over to my favorite spot—the hammock which swings between two large trees. Climbing in, I rock back and forth while staring at the sky.
We’re twins. We shared a goddamn womb for nine months. No matter how much we fight, he always has my back.
Perhaps he’s struck a nerve calling Wes a dickhead. Sure, Wes has his moments which unfortunately are caught on camera, but this isn’t about Wes, this is purely about the betrayal I feel from my own brother.
“I told you it’d send you into a tailspin.”
The sound of Logan’s voice startles me. Yet, I continue to rock back and forth, lost in a sea of thought.
“Are Mom and Dad grilling him?”
“I walked out when Chris said ‘I had more hopes for you, son.’”
“Ouch.” Poor Alessandra. “But it’s not like Ash to be so…”
“Committed?”
“Yes.” I pull myself up, leaning on my elbows for support as I gaze directly at Logan. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not my news to tell. Plus, I think I’m still in shock myself. Move over.”
I wriggle my body a little allowing some space for Logan to lay beside me—something we often did when we’re both angry at Ash at the same time. Except, we aren’t ten plotting to hit him with water balloons on the way to school. Though, I wouldn’t mind finding some and releasing my anger with them right now.
“So you think this is weird, too?” I ask.
He nods, placing his arms underneath his head. The bottom of his shirt lifts slightly and I do my best to avoid looking at his happy trail. Okay, his happy trail is damn sexy. I didn’t even know it was possible to think like that—isn’t a happy trail just an extension of your pubic hair?
“We walked into the bar after the game. He says ‘she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen,’ and the next morning he calls to tell me he married her.”
“What?” I sit up on my elbows again but this time in a mad rush, which causes the hammock to swing faster. “He knew her for less than a day?”
“Yes.”
“And he has the nerve to say I’m getting married too fast.”
“Oh yeah…” Logan half-smiles. “Congratulations by the way.”
“Thanks.” I kill my curiosity by asking him for the truth. “Did you watch it?”
There’s a short silence while he gazes at the sky. He’s one of those people that when he smiles his whole face lights up, but most notably his eyes. The color of them used to freak me out—a green that sometimes changes to brown—and when I asked him how he did that he told me he was bionic, raised by robots pretending to be human.
“You know I don’t watch TV unless it’s sports.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I choose to drop the subject of my engagement and focus on Ash. “What happens now? Is your coach mad?”
“Coach Bennett is fuming but he’s calmed a bit. He sent Ash home to tell your parents and expects us back in three days to commence training. He said ‘if this relationship ruins our game’ he’s out. No second chances.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? So what… you’re not allowed to have relationships?”
“Not ones that could affect our gameplay.”
“Huh,” I say loosely. “Explains why you’re a player.”
He knocks into my arm, causing the hammock to swing faster. “Let’s go out tonight. Maybe we should celebrate his decision? I’ve been a terrible best friend,” he openly admits.
“Really? Is that a cover for you just wanting to go out tonight and find some random chick to screw? Some Green Meadows hussy waiting for the hottest athlete to come sweep her off her feet?” I lace my voice with adoration, mocking his persona.
“You know me too well, Emmy.” He grins.
“I can spot a man-whore a mile away,” I point out confidently. “All right, first let’s see if he’s still alive.”
“Good idea.”
We both climb off the hammock with great difficulty. Walking back toward the house, we talk about what’s been going on. As we step past the edge of the pool, I make a mental note to keep a reasonable distance from it. You learn from your past—once a prankster always a prankster.
“Lighten up, I won’t push you in,” Logan chastises.
“That’s what you’ve said numerous times. Once played always scarred.”
“C’mon, I’ve grown up. We aren’t kids anymore.”
Logan Carrington isn’t a kid—that’s for sure.
He’s all man.
One that screams bad boy.
I feel sorry for the women who fall in love with him. He’s your classic athlete with the biggest head on this planet next to my brother, of course. That’s why they have been best friends since day one—two man-whore peas in one man-whore pod.
“I guess you’re right.”
I make my way back to the marble pool coping when all of a sudden I lose my balance from the nudge of his arm and teeter on the edge before my body hits the frigid water with an almighty splash. The impact of the fall drags me under the surface. The sudden cold forces water into my mouth making me swallow while I flail my arms around in an attempt to swim until my head has emerged above the water.
“You… asshole…” I yell, trying to swim to the side. It’s a lot more difficult swimming fully clothed than in a bikini.
He’s on the edge—squatting—staring me down. “I said we weren’t kids, never said I wasn’t an asshole.”
I growl in annoyance, using my leg to climb over and out of the pool. With the jerk walking away, I run toward him and jump on his back like I’ve done a million times before. This time it’s harder, his height and hard muscles make it difficult for me to latch on. When the fuck did he get so tall? Or maybe I’m shrinking.
“Payback is sweet... dear old friend.”
He continues to walk, not fazed that I’m hanging on his back like a desperate monkey. “You’ve got to do more than jump on my back wet to come close to paying me back.”
“Oh, don’t you worry Carrington, game on.”
“Game on?” He laughs, mocking me.
“Game on,” I repeat.
Jumping off his back, I open the door to a screaming match going on inside the house.
Chapter Three
“There aren’t enough rounds of drinks
to cure the broken-hearted.”
~ Emerson Chase
It’s the most awkward car ride in the history of car rides. Ash has taken the wheel like a crazed maniac with Logan sitting equally agitated beside him. I sit in the back with Alessandra, making small talk to pass the time. I can’t f
ault her. She’s answered every question with ease and has even been speaking about her profession—nursing.
It all began to make sense—sort of.
She’s attractive plus, she wears a nurse’s uniform for a living. Ash and Logan used to kid around about nurses being their ultimate fantasy. It was during these conversations that I used to tune out. They thought of me as one of the guys but little did they know I had zero interest in fucking nurses.
No wonder Ash wanted to marry her.
We stumble into Harry’s Joint—a local bar with a jukebox as old as Betty White and a dingy pool table nestled in a dimly lit corner. It’s ten miles from home and quiet for a Saturday night. It smells of cigars mixed with stale beer and man sweat. Three of my least favorite things.
Only after a minute of being inside, Ash orders a round of beers, ignoring us while he isolates himself in the corner rubbing chalk on his cue. Alessandra walks over, placing her hand on his shoulder only for him to remove it.
“Great,” I mumble from where I’m leaning against the bar. “This will not end well.”
Logan positions himself next to me, watching them with boredom. “You’re telling me. Fuck! Your dad’s fuming. I could practically see the steam shooting out of his ears.”
His comment prompts me to text Mom. I know the situation has upset her even though she’s not as vocal as Dad. Pulling my cell out of my purse, I quickly send her a text asking if she’s okay. Since my cell’s still in hand I also text Wes hoping to have a quick chat with him and reconcile after last night.
A few seconds, I see my screen light up.
Mom: I’ll be ok kiddo. Just need to process.
I let out a sigh while gazing at my brother. He doesn’t know how many lives he’s affected by making such a rash decision. It’s fair to say we’re all hurting in some way or another—the moron just doesn’t care.
Logan nudges me to follow him to the pool table, carrying the tray of beers. By the time we get there, Ash and Alessandra have reconciled and they’re making out like lovesick fools.