Текст книги "Crash into You"

Автор книги: Katie McGarry

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Chapter 15

Isaiah

RACHEL SMILES.

It’s a beautiful smile. One that brightens the rat-infested attic room. No one has ever smiled like that at me. No one. Everything inside me twists with the need to keep her close.

I should be pissed. Who knows if I’ll ever see the money from Eric. Who knows if Noah and I will lose the lease, sending me back into the system. Right now, I don’t fucking care. I’m touching an angel.

My spine prickles as the window near the fire escape groans. My grip on Rachel tightens, and I bring her up with me as I stand. A leg pokes through the widening gap, and I shove Rachel behind me. Every instinct screams to protect her, to fight. I automatically widen my stance and hold my arms out at my sides, willing to take whatever bullet is coming our way, willing to run right into the bastard the moment he’s through.

With half of his body in, Noah halts in the window frame. His muscles tense as he warily sizes me up. “Rough night, bro?”

I lower my arms. “We’ve got a fucking door, man.”

Noah shuts the window and attempts to lock it, only to curse as he remembers that the latch is still broken. “Forgot my key at Echo’s. Your car’s not out there so I assumed you weren’t home.”

He walks to the bedroom and stops as his gaze shifts to what I’m assuming is Rachel. “My bad.” Noah pivots on his heel and heads for the door.

“Noah, wait.” Locking my arm around her shoulder, I bring Rachel to my side. “Don’t go.”

“It’s good.” He reaches for the doorknob with one hand and rubs his eyes with the other. “I forgot something in my car.”

“Stay.” I glance at the clock. It’s after one. He’s been pulling morning shifts at his job and will need to be awake in a few hours. The guy’s wiped with black circles under his eyes, but has my back because he thinks I’m trying to score. “I was going to walk Rachel to her car.”

“You sure?” He jacks his thumb in the direction of the stairwell.

“Yeah. Don’t sweat it. Rachel—Noah. Noah, this is Rachel.”

His eyebrows slowly rise so that they disappear beneath his hair. He and I, we don’t introduce each other to the girls we bring home. In the past, sometimes the one-nighters became clingy and neither one of us wanted the other dealing with that situation. Of course, Noah’s not like that anymore. Now that he has Echo.

Noah’s eyes sway between me and her. “S’up, Rachel.”

“Nothing,” she says as if wondering if her response is correct. Rachel leans closer to me and I stroke her shoulder in an act of comfort and in the hopes Noah sees that Rachel is more than a fuck.

“I think I left my bracelets in the bathroom.” Like a small bird in flight, Rachel flits across the room and abruptly closes the bathroom door behind her. Drywall drops from the ceiling and scatters across the kitchen floor.

Noah’s mouth tugs up. “Guess that means we’re losing our security deposit.”

I spread my arms out and half whisper, half yell, “What the hell? She’s not a whore.”

“Never said she was.” He crosses the room and opens the fridge. “Want a beer?”

Sure. Why don’t I go ahead and light a joint while I’m at it? I follow him and place my hand on the open door of the fridge to get his attention while still whispering. “I’m serious. She’s not like that. Treat her with some respect.”

Noah twists off the top of an MGD and surveys me while he swallows. “I thought I was treating you both with respect.” He also lowers his voice when I gesture at the bathroom to indicate I don’t need her overhearing this conversation. “I tried to leave.”

“You made her think she was a one-night stand.” I slam the refrigerator door shut.

“Excuse the shit out of me. I thought she was.” He points his beer at me. “You’re not dating. The last girl you touched was Beth.”

My fists ball at the mention of her name, and Noah waves me off. “And don’t start on that shit. She’s gone, she’s happy and she ain’t coming back. And, yeah, I still talk to her because she’s the closest thing I’ve got to a sister, so I can say her damned name if I want to.”

“Noah,” I say as a warning.

“Beth,” he tauntingly whispers. “Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth. If you’re going to take a swing at me, bro, do it, because I’m damn tired of walking on eggshells because of that girl.”

My heart rips open again with every acknowledgment of her existence. He needs to stop and he needs to stop now. Especially with Rachel here. I like her and I don’t need Noah ruining it with her by reminding me of a past that will never change. “You’re a cranky son of a bitch when you’re tired.”

The tension between us drains when Noah chuckles and swigs the beer. I’m not good at much, but I’m good at deflecting. He kneads his eyes with his fists again and releases a long breath. “Look, I walk in at 1:00 a.m. to find you holding a pretty girl wearing your shirt.”

He’s right. I overreacted. “Noah,” I interrupt.

“Do I sound like I’m done talking? It looked like you were hooking up so I assumed you were hooking up. My apologies. I’m sorry. I’m the asshole. It’s done so get the fuck over it. As for making her feel like a one-night stand, last time I checked, saying ‘s’up’ doesn’t translate to ‘thanks for banging my best friend.’ And do you want to tell me why the hell I’m whispering in my own apartment?”

“Because I like her.”

Noah blinks because words like that don’t come easily from me. He tilts up the bottle, finishes the rest and places the empty container on the counter. “That changes things.”

“As a friend,” I add quickly but then realize friends don’t kiss. Shit, I’ve messed this up.

The door to the bathroom opens and we both stare at Rachel. She plays with the gold bracelets on her wrist. “Sorry it took so long. My bracelets fell and rolled behind the sink and...it took a bit to get them out.”

Even Noah visibly cringes at the thought of anyone putting their hand in the two-inch gap behind the sink. “You should have called me,” I say. “I would have gotten them.”

Her gaze switches between me and Noah. “It’s all right. I got them. So—” she rocks on her toes “—are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Let’s roll.”

Rachel gathers her coat from the couch and pauses when Noah says her name. Damn, Noah, don’t screw this up.

“Rachel,” he repeats, obviously searching for something good to say. “It was nice to meet you. You should come back. Meet my girl, Echo. We’ll hang out or some shit like that.”

Or some shit like that. I want to slam his head and my own into the wall.

“Okay.” She has that what-the-hell look people get when they watch reality TV. “It was nice to meet you, too.”

When her back’s to us both, I mouth at Noah, Or some shit like that?

He mouths back, I’m trying.

I unbolt the door and when she steps into the hallway, I whisper to him, “Real elegant, man. And the girls thought you were fucking smooth.”

Noah laughs. “I am smooth, bro. But now I’m only smooth with Echo.”

Right before I shut the door, I flip Noah off. His laughter rings through the hallway.

At the bottom of the stairs, Rachel waits for me to open the door. I’ve never seen a girl wait like that before or known a girl who’d make the assumption that a guy would open it for her. Rachel was probably raised to expect guys to open doors, and she’s probably around enough guys who were taught to do it.

I like that she waits, and I like opening it for her. When I was a kid, I preferred the guys my mom dated who did crazy stuff like that.

The cold air clings to my bare arms as we walk out onto the sidewalk. The temperature has dropped dramatically since we first met at the drag race. A moment that feels like lifetimes ago.

Rachel shivers and places her hands in her coat pockets, leaving me unsure of what to do. Is she cold and I should put my arm around her shoulder, or is she telling me to stay clear? The muscles tighten in my neck and I shake my head to clear the chaos. Get a grip, man. How can I be confused over a girl?

“Your roommate seems nice,” she says with forced lightness.

Her attempt to make us okay rattles me—in a good way. I can’t think of many people who have ever tried to make things work with me. “Noah’s great, but he was off tonight.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure it was weird to see a girl in his apartment.”

I pull at my bottom earring. I’ve been with other girls. The ones who were interested in being with the guy with the tattoos and earrings for a night. I’ve never minded being used. But with Rachel, there’s a softness that hits her eyes when she looks in my direction, and it’s messing with me.

“Tell him I’m sorry I was there so late,” she continues. “I don’t want him to think badly of me.”

“You...ah...” Didn’t pick up that he thought you were a one-night stand? “Weren’t scared of Noah?”

Rachel sort of laughs, “No.” She pauses. “Should I be? He seemed friendly.”

“No, he’s cool. You bolted into the bathroom and...”

She dips her head, and as we pass a streetlight, I catch the red invading her cheeks. “Sorry about that. I did forget my bracelets and I did drop them, but it was weird, you know, meeting someone at 1:00 a.m.”

“Yeah.” Weirder than that? She was there at one in the morning and I hadn’t slept with her. I shove my hands into my jeans pockets and silently curse myself.

I glance at Rachel, and she quickly averts her eyes when I spot her spying on me. What the fuck does she see when she looks at me? If she saw what was inside, she’d be screaming. The outside is modest projection.

Rachel can’t like me because she doesn’t know me. The real me. For Rachel, life is still sunshine, rainbows and pink fucking fuzzy unicorns. I’m nothing but darkness, clouds and rats.

I should never have kissed her or brought her home. She deserves better than the brokenness inside me. I’ll hold on to tonight. Burn the memory of the way she’s looked at me into my mind because that’s as close as I’ll ever get to something like this again. Besides, if she saw me in daylight, away from the filth that I live in, she’d change her mind.

Just like Beth did the moment she left town.

Faster than I would have preferred, we reach the parking lot of the auto shop.

“What about your car?” she asks as I enter the security code.

The motor whines as the garage door lifts. “I’ll head over and fix the tire now.”

“Do you want help? I’m pretty crafty with a jack and a tire iron.”

I turn to tell her no and stop when I see her face. I swear, she glows. Her eyes shine like stars, and her smile radiates with a light all its own. My throat swells. I don’t want to give her up. “No. I don’t want you getting into trouble at home.”

“See, you are bossy.” She finally takes her hands out of her pockets and nudges my biceps with one delicate finger.

My heart stutters with her caress, and as she drops her arm, I quickly reach out and snake my fingers through hers. So close to letting her go, I shouldn’t touch her, but in my defense, she touched me first. “Not bossy. Concerned. Truth, Rachel, I want to know if you feel safe going home.”

“It’s fine. Ethan would have texted me if there were problems. Mom and Dad probably haven’t even come home for the night.”

Yeah. I knew all about guardians who stayed out late to party. I guess having money changes nothing in the realm of shitty parenting. “Tell me your brothers protect you.” Because if not, I’d have to meet them in a dark alley sometime and school them on how to treat their sister.

“More like they’re overprotective.”

I savor the feel of the smooth skin of her hand. No girl I have ever touched has had hands this soft. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Rachel releases a frustrated sigh. “You know, I’m starting to think I misjudged you. You sound annoyingly like my brothers.”

She’s right on one thing: she has misjudged me, but not in the way she thinks. “Good. I’m all for overprotection.”

“Bossy.”

I chuckle, and the sound makes her smile. I’m going to miss that smile. Tell her it’s over, asshole. Tell her that you come from two different worlds and that it would never work. Tell her that kiss meant more to you than she could ever imagine. Tell her that you’ll dream about her and think about her, but that’s where it ends.

The color drains from her face and her hand goes limp in mine. Did she figure out I’m bad news on her own? She heads for her car. “Do you have my keys?”

I fish them out of my pocket and toss them to her. With the click of a button, the car unlocks and she opens the passenger door. She keeps her back to me for a second then turns with a piece of paper in her hand. “Here’s my number. I almost forgot to give it to you.”

I swallow as I stare at the number. Tell her. Just fucking tell her. “Rachel...”

“You’ll call, right?” And the small amount of hurt in her voice stabs my heart.

I envelop Rachel in my arms and cup her head to my chest. She smells good. Like the ocean. Like her jacket. I try to memorize the feel of her body against mine: all soft and warm and curves. The paper in her hand crinkles as she links one arm, then another around my waist. Leaning into me, she lets out a contented sigh and I close my eyes with the sound.

Ten seconds. I’ll keep her for ten more seconds.

I want to keep her.

Two.

I shouldn’t.

Four.

Maybe she can see past what I am. We don’t have to be more. We can be friends.

Seven.

I can fix this.

Nine.

I can make anything work.

Ten.

“I’ll call.”

With bright eyes, she shoves the number into my hand. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I nod, and without another word, Rachel slips into the driver’s seat, turns over the engine and glides her Mustang out of the auto shop. Grasping my lifeline to her, I watch as her red taillights fade into the distance.

I smile, then groan as I inhale.

I can recognize three girls by their scent. Tonight I learned that Rachel smells like the ocean. Beth reminded me of crushed roses. And this girl—wild honey. I may not see her, but she’s there. Every ounce of happiness flees with the realization that my life can’t be changed. “What do you want, Abby?”

The shadow of a slim figure ghosts its way toward me from the side of the shop. “I hadn’t heard that you found a new plaything.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I haven’t.”

She steps into the streetlight, brushing her long, dark brown hair over the shoulder of her tightly fitted hoodie. “Why so testy, Isaiah? She seemed cute. Spunky. I like cute and spunky. I had a bunny like that once, one of those large fluffy ones.”

“You don’t seem like the bunny type.”

“I’m not.” Her dark eyes wickedly flash over me. “Hence the word once.”

“What do you want?” I repeat, glancing at the nonexistent watch on my arm. “It’s late.”

Abby and I have a weird friendship, which is odd since Abby doesn’t do relationships. The sarcastic curve of her lips indicates that, in this moment, she’s temporarily placed our friendship on the back burner. “My, my. We are emotional tonight. But to answer your question, I was on my way to your apartment because we have business to take care of, and I decided to stall our plans when I saw cute and spunky.”

She pauses, waiting for me to fill her in on Rachel. The only answer she receives is the buzzing from the overhead streetlight. “So does this mean you’re finally over Beth?”

If Abby were acting as my friend, I might tell her. But life for Abby, especially here recently, is all about business. Even though she’s only on the verge of turning seventeen. “Cut to the chase.”

“You are no fun,” she says as she reaches into the back pocket of her practically painted-on jeans and pulls out a wad of cash. “I saw Eric tonight. Well, I hid Eric tonight.”

That catches my attention. “You hate Eric.” And Eric hates her. Their “businesses” often collide on the streets.

“I like the idea of Eric owing me a favor.” Figures. Abby is always working an angle.

“What’s this have to do with me?”

Like a five-year-old on a playground, Abby grabs on to the metal utility pole with her outstretched hand and walks in a slow circle. “We had time to kill so we chatted.”

“You chatted?”

“Yes.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m capable of conversation at times. You know, will U of K make it to the final four this year, will the original Guns N’ Roses ever get back together, will I graduate from high school, and what people we know in common. Guess who came up in our chat?”

I shrug and fake an innocent expression. “Me?”

She scrunches her pixie face. “Smart guys make me so hot, but unfortunately, you do nothing for me. I’ve known you too long.”

“Abby,” I say with a bit of impatience. “Are we gonna wrap this up or not?”

“Eric said he owed you, so I volunteered to play mule.”

“That was extremely generous of you.” My instincts flare. She wants something.

“Yes, it is. But that is beside the point because now, sir, you owe me.”

I shake my head before she finishes talking. “Wrong. You volunteered to mule my money. I don’t owe you shit.”

Abby laughs and my mouth dries out. Where the hell is she heading? “We didn’t only talk about you, silly. Eric had a lot to say about two college kids who tipped off the police in order to create chaos so they could pull a gun on Eric and jack him.”

I focus on keeping my expression from changing. Abby doesn’t give info because she likes to talk. She’s fishing.

“How much did he lose?”

“Five thousand dollars, and let me tell you, Eric is not happy.”

I’m sure he’s not. Jacked in his own territory and he lost money. I’m sure Eric is on the warpath. “So if Eric got jacked then why is he willing to pay me?”

“You know Eric—he doesn’t believe in banks or investing, which is a shame with the amount of money he brings in. One of these days someone’s going to shoot him in the head and find his secret cubbyhole full of cash.”

Part of me wonders if Abby will be the one to do it. I let out a sigh. I took it too far. Abby’s all business with selling drugs, but she’s not a killer. At least not yet.

Abby continues, “You saved some of his guys tonight by spotting the cops. He wanted to make sure he paid his debt to you.”

“Not that I don’t find you interesting, but give me my money.”

“I like you better when you’re around cars. You’re less tense then. Anyhow.” She rubs the wad of cash between her fingers. “I think I’m going to hold on to this cash as a reward for keeping my mouth shut.”

“Give me my fucking money, Abby.” I’m tired of her games.

“All right, but you should know that Eric was not only interested in the whereabouts of those two college boys, but also in a particular blonde we both just saw leave. You looked cute together—you and the blonde. I’m sure Eric would pay royally to know you were up on the girl.”

A roar fills my ears as every muscle tenses. No one is going anywhere near Rachel.

No one.

Chapter 16

Rachel

HE NEVER CALLED. I WAITED. And he still never called. What I have a hard time comprehending is why I grieve for something that obviously was never mine to begin with.

A few tables away, my brothers laugh. Each of them holds a bottled beer. In order to hide our youngest brothers’ involvement in underage drinking, Gavin and Jack stand in front of West and Ethan. Cold air drifts into the bottom of the large white tent housing the hundreds of guests and chills my ankles. The overhead heaters keep me warm, but the alcohol keeps my brothers warmer.

A votive candle floats in a crystal bowl full of water and translucent rocks. My hand hovers over the single flickering flame. Every white-cloth-covered table contains one of these centerpieces. I’d bet I’m the only guest wondering how close I can place my hand to the flame before I get burned.

Seated at the table farthest from the couples slow-dancing in front of the stage, I cross one leg over the other. It’s a continual fidget meant to keep my limbs from falling asleep, and each time I move, I smooth out the material of my golden gown as if wrinkles will be the death of me. I think I look kinda pretty tonight, which is why every time I glimpse my reflection in the mirror my eyes water. I wanted Isaiah to see me this way.

“Would you like to dance?”

My heart beats twice and I glance up, hoping and praying that somehow Isaiah has found me, even though I’m at an exclusive New Year’s Eve party at the Lieutenant Mayor’s house. I mean, it’s possible. At least it’s possible in the daydreams I’ve had since I sat at this corner table over an hour ago. I force a wannabe smile when I find Brian Toddsworth staring down at me. A month ago, I would have loved for him to ask me to dance. Today... Why didn’t Isaiah call?

I shrug my bare shoulders while shaking my head. Heat flushes my face when I realize I have yet to answer and that I’m conveying so many different body language signs that it probably appears I’m having a seizure. “No, thank you,” I barely whisper.

Brian belongs in a different realm of popular than me, and the thought of saying the wrong thing and becoming a laughingstock makes my insides squirm. As if he’s shocked by the response, Brian’s head rears back. “Are you sure?”

“Nice party, Brian.” My twin, Ethan, moseys over from his seat with my brothers. All of whom are watching Brian and me closely. Sort of like how vultures watch the last twitch of roadkill.

Brian extends his fist to Ethan and they knuckle bump. They’ve been friends since kindergarten. Brian and I’ve been friends since never.

“The party’s awful,” says Brian. “Everyone from school is at Sarah’s. Spending New Year’s schmoozing for my parents blows. Part of me hopes Dad loses the primary next spring.”

Ethan jerks his head in my direction as if I’m a five-year-old who can’t follow a conversation. “Whatcha doing with Rachel?”

Brian’s cheeks redden. “Your mom mentioned to my mom that no one was talking to Rachel, and you know what happened last weekend, so I’m not in a position to disagree.”

Wow, Brian didn’t even try to pretend I wasn’t a pity dance. When my heels click on the temporary wooden floor of the tent, the pair evidently remembers my existence.

Ethan gestures at Brian then to me with his beer. “Can you try to have some tact when it comes to Rach? She is my sister.”

Twin. I prefer the word twin. Gavin, Jack and West are my brothers. I feel a special connection with Ethan. Brian acknowledges me with a glance. “I meant no disrespect. My parents grounded me when they found my pot, and if I do what Mom wants she’ll back off.”

I stare at my hands laced in my lap. I’ve always wanted to be told that dancing with me is a punishment reserved for the severest of offenders. Brian, I guess, rethinks his words and backtracks. “It’s not that you aren’t pretty or anything. You are.”

“What did you say?” asks Ethan. I bite my lower lip. Shut up, Ethan. Because my twin and I can’t speak telepathically, Ethan continues, “Are you into Rachel?”

“Hell no.”

Awesome. What girl doesn’t want to hear that?

“You said she’s pretty,” Ethan spits out as if that comment is an insult.

“She is,” says Brian. “But I’m not into her.”

Ethan’s shoulders sag with relief. “Good.”

Great. I think I’m going to drive a fork into my brother’s abdomen.

“Look.” Brian turns to face me. “You’re nice, but you’re Rachel, you know?”

Yes, I’m well aware of who I am: the obsessively shy and anxious girl who stumbles over her own name. The one with the ridiculously protective brothers. “It’s all right.”

It’s not. But what am I going to do? The only guy who has ever shown the least bit of interest in me never called, so why should anything else in my life be different?

“Apologize to my sister,” says Ethan.

Brian’s forehead furrows. “For what?”

“For existing.”

Brian laughs and bumps Ethan’s fist again. “Sorry I exist, Rachel. And Ethan, I’ll catch you at Sarah’s party later.”

Later? With the self-proclaimed pot smoker? I tilt my head while Ethan briefly closes his eyes. I straighten my back, tap the seat next to me, then fold my hands daintily over my knees. “Sooo? How are you doing?”

Ethan collapses in the seat and rests his beer on the table. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

I bat my eyelashes and smile like a stupid Southern belle because he must think I’m a moron if he believes I’m buying that. “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Brian experimented with pot. It’s no big deal.”

“Does that mean you experimented with pot?”

He stretches out his legs and remains silent. I drop the Southern belle act and lean into him. “If that conversation took place between West and any of his friends, I’d let it go. West does stupid things. It’s what West was born to do. But you—you don’t do stupid things.”

Ethan turns his head toward me, and all I see is dark eyes and dark hair—a reminder that he’s my opposite. “I was with him, but I didn’t do it, okay?” He holds out his pinkie. “I swear.”

I press his pinkie down and pat his knee. The offer of a pinkie has always been enough for the two of us. If he swears it, I believe it.

Ethan regards my cell on the table. “Are you expecting a call?”

The disbelief in his voice stings. “No.” Unfortunately. “I’m not.”

Yet it doesn’t stop me from looking at the wretched device. Because staring at it for ten hours straight will magically remind Isaiah that I gave him my number.

“I’ve been thinking,” says Ethan.

“Which is never a good thing,” I cut him off. “It will only strain the brain cells that actually function and those two deserve a break.”

He smirks. “You know, if you’d crawl out of your shell and be yourself around everyone else, then that phone would be ringing nonstop, you might attend an occasional nonadult party and you wouldn’t have to rely on Brian for a pity dance.”

Once more, I focus on my lap and again smooth out my dress. I was myself with Isaiah, and look where that got me. “This is me.”

“You hate attention...I get it. But I hate how everyone sees you. If it bothers me then I know it’s got to bother you.”

The back of my neck bristles and my spine straightens. Ethan’s never been so blunt and I don’t care for it. “Sorry I can’t be perfect like you.” Lead scorer on the lacrosse team, voted onto the student council, popular...not me. Just like the rest of my fabulous brothers.

“Come on,” he says. “Don’t be like that. I’m only pointing out what you already know. Everyone thinks you’re quiet, shy, a little off because of your anxiety attacks in middle school and...” He trails off and picks at the label on his beer. “And they think you’re sick.”

My gaze jumps to his. “I am not sick.” I am not Colleen.

There’s an anger building in his eyes that I’m unfamiliar with. “I thought you weren’t either, but then I was the one holding your hair back a few days ago when you vomited in a toilet. So if you weren’t sick, what were you?”

“I wasn’t sick.”

“And yet you claim you’re over the panic attacks. So which rumor is true? Are you the girl who spent time in the hospital our freshman year because you’re sickly, or are you the girl who spent time in the hospital because you had panic attacks?”

I hate that word: sick. I also hate the words panic, fear and coward. A lump forms in my throat, and I can’t decide if I’m angry or hurt or both. “That is low.”

“Lying to me is low.”

My mouth pops open and no words come out. Part of me is dying to tell him. To let someone into my personal nightmare, but I’ve gone this long hiding my secret and if he knows, will he tell Mom? “One panic attack. That’s it.”

“You’re lying, Rachel.”

“I’m not.”

He leans forward. “You are.”

Because of our relationship, he can read my poker face like no one else. What’s surprising is that, after two years, he’s just catching on to the lie.

“You can convince Mom that you aren’t the girl who obsesses over Cobras, reads Motor Trend, sneaks out after dinner to bathe in axle grease and skips curfew so she can drive her car. If you can do that, I think you’re capable of lying to me about being over the panic attacks.”

I slam my hand on the table and people at a nearby table gawk. Ethan waves at them while I lower my head, embarrassed.

“You really want the truth?” I whisper.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I never knew the two of us stopped telling each other the truth.”

Hypocrite. “What do you do on twin amnesty night?”

A muscle near his eye flinches. “Lying and withholding information are different.”

“Fine. Truth? You and I both know that I can’t be me. She isn’t who Mom wants.”

“This isn’t about Mom,” he harshly whispers back. “This is about you and me.”

My lower lip trembles. I made my brother, my best friend, my only friend, mad at me. Ethan squeezes my hand, then lets me and the subject go. “Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.”

He finishes his beer in two gulps. “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we’d been born to anyone else?”

My stomach aches from the raw truth of his question. “All the time.”

“Rachel!” my mother calls. When she’s sure she’s caught my attention, she motions for me to join her.

I force my practiced smile on my lips. “This is why I can’t be me. Can you imagine how her friends would react if I discussed air shifters and turbochargers? These events...this is why she had another daughter. This is why I’m alive.”

Gathering my gown, I stand. Ethan pulls on my hand and I know he wants me to look at him, but I refuse. “You make her happy, Rach. And we thank you for that. No one likes it when Mom’s sad.”

I release a breath, searching for my nonexistent happy place. “I get tired of playing the role.”

“I know.” He tugs on my hand again, and this time I give in. He flashes his playful smile. “Even I don’t know what an air shifter is.”

I smack his arm, and my smile becomes relaxed as I hear his laughter.

My mother is gorgeous in her slim-fitting red sequined dress and slicked-back blond hair. Like always, Mom is the center of a group. People are naturally drawn to her, and she naturally loves the attention.

The band has progressed onto jazz, and my mother’s movements seem to flow with the beat. I need to go to the bathroom, and I’ve waited too long in the hopes Mom would maneuver her social networking away from the front of the tent. It never happened, so here I am—standing with a full bladder, in a golden gown, being gawked at by a group of aging women. The smile becomes harder to hold.

“Hi, Mom,” I half whisper, half choke. There are way too many eyes on me.

“These are the ladies from the Leukemia Foundation. Ladies, you remember my youngest daughter, Rachel.” My mother graces me with a smile I thought was reserved only for my brothers: one of pride.