I’ve never been more grateful for the start of tech rehearsals. The tedious task of nailing down the timing for all the set and costume changes along with the other million things necessary for a successful production are what I need to survive.
The days are long and grueling, and the only reason I haven’t cried myself to sleep the last few nights is because I’ve been too exhausted from tech to do so.
The cherry on top is that my brother—the only person in my family who has been there for me unconditionally—is still barely speaking to me. I can only hope when the show goes to Boston for a week of touring previews, we’ll be able to mend the rift I caused, because texting and calling are obviously not working.
“Mels?”
I turn to face the door of my dressing room and see the stage director. “Yes?”
“You have a visitor.”
Jase? My heart leaps, hoping against hope he’s here.
“Should I bring her back?” he asks. I realize I haven’t responded to his statement.
Her? With one pronoun, that hope dies like a burned-out spotlight.
Who could be here?
I get my answer a few moments later when Jordan Donovan steps into the room. It’s not that I’m not happy to see her, but she isn’t the Donnelly twin I long to see.
Talk about being hopelessly devoted.
“Um…” My words trail off. What does one say when her ex’s sister shows up at her job?
“I didn’t mean to ambush you or anything.” Jordan shrugs. “Okay, maybe I did a little, but really I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
How am I doing?
I’m a mess. A disaster.
I lost my boyfriend. My brother isn’t speaking to me. Outside of Zoey and Ella, my entire support system has been stripped away.
Thank god I’m an actress and am good at pretending, because I’m in full-on fake-it-till-you-make-it mode.
“I’m okay.”
“No you’re not.” Jordan levels me with a look so much like her twin’s it’s painful.
“You’re right.” I step off the stand the costume designer used during my adjustments, silently thanking her when she leaves the room to give us privacy. “But whatcha gonna do?”
“You mean besides kick my wombmate’s dumb ass for walking away from the girl because of who she is related to?”
I can’t help it—a chuckle escapes. From most people, that would be an idle threat. From Jordan, not so much.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?”
Aren’t twins supposed to stick together?
“For what?” Jordan gets the same crinkle in her brow as Jase when confused.
“For lying?”
“Pfft.” She waves me off like I’m ridiculous. “Nope. No matter how hard Jase pursued you in the beginning, if you had told him you were related to Bishop, he would have dropped you like a hot potato.” She smirks at her use of a potato reference.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” Jordan rubs circles on her very large belly. Homegirl looks ready to give birth right here. Shit—that was a total Jase thing to think.
“Do you know why our brothers hate each other so much?”
It’s the one thing I can’t figure out. I know their history from the camp in Lake Placid. Nate would tell me all about his time there during our weekly chats, and that was when I heard the first stories of Jase being a playboy. Sure, I didn’t know who it was my brother was bitching about, but hearing about how there was a guy who came to visit the camp with his girlfriend only to hit on bunnies stuck with me through the years.
Still…
It doesn’t explain the loathing they have for each other.
If anyone would know, I’d think it’d be Jordan.
“Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out since you first started dating.”
Wait. What?
“You knew I was related to Nate”—I swallow down the sudden lump of emotion—“before?”
“Yup.” The circles continue on her belly. “Unlike my twin, I’m an expert in internet research.”
I pull a face. “You mean stalking?”
“Potato, vodka.”
I groan. “Not you too.”
“Sorry.” Jordan’s expression says she’s anything but. “Jase spends a lot of time with Vince, and I spend a lot of time with Jase. Some of the ridiculous stuff manages to stick.”
This is true. I haven’t even been able to look at a French fry without thinking of Jase. The jerk ruined one of my favorite foods for me.
Thank god pizza wasn’t our running joke, otherwise I would have been forced to move. A person can’t live in the city with the best pizza—and yes, New York has better pizza than Chicago, no matter what Tucker likes to say—without being able to eat it.
“But yeah…social media is a big part of my job. I pay attention more than your aver—” Her eyes go as wide as spotlights.
“Jordan?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, “My fucking water just broke.”
“Say what now?”
I am so not equipped to handle this. And won’t her doctor be in Jersey?
“Dammit, Logan. I told you this morning you needed to wait until later to come. I’m trying to get you an aunt here.”
Um…
What?
Then it hits me—Jordan’s talking to the baby, not me.
Wait…did she say aunt?
It’s too much.
“Please tell me you drove into the city today and didn’t take a train?” I plead, not sure how one handles one’s ex-boyfriend’s twin sister going into labor.
“I did.” She pulls her phone from her purse. “But my contractions are too close together. I would never make it to Jersey before this sucker is born.”
“Your water just broke.”
Does birth happen that fast?
“I know, but I’ve been having contractions all morning.”
“WHAT?!” Probably shouldn’t shout at pregnant women, but hello!
Who does this?
“They weren’t that close together.” She waves me off like it’s normal for people to cross state lines when in the beginning stages of labor. “I was more annoyed dealing with Jase and his moping than anything else.”
“You’re insane. You do know that, right?”
Another brushoff and she pulls out her phone. “Hey, babe.”
Good, she called Jake.
“So, um…” Guilty eyes turn my way. “Looks like your son doesn’t want to wait and is coming before the puck drop.” A wince. “Yeaaaah…about that.” A grimace. “I’m in the city.”
Jake’s shout is so loud I hear it across the room.
“Yes I know. I’m sorry, okay. I’ll make it up to you in six weeks when I can have sex again, but can we focus on what’s important here?”
I look around the room. For what, I’m not sure. All I know right now is if Jordan is this nuts, it can’t bode well for the person she shared a womb with for nine months. Or for me, for that matter, because I’m the idiot who’s still in love with him. Who cares that I never told him?