I have Marcus stay behind at Kings in case he runs into any of the other guys. I wanted them all in at least one of our sights at all times. With my hands shoved deep into my pockets, to keep me from doing anything out of pocket, I walk into the entrance of Vincent’s luxury penthouse in Hollywood. He owns the entire top floor, the only one of us who prefers a building like this rather than an actual house in the hills.
The doorman greets me with a tip of his hat, recognizing me immediately. I’ve been here countless times before, so my visit is nothing out of the ordinary for anyone here. Anyone except Vincent. I let myself inside, taking satisfaction in the surprised look that flashes across his face. He’s sitting on his couch, music blasting, two girls making out on the chaise beside him. The air reeks of weed, and the thin white lines on the table tell me exactly what his plans are for tonight.
“Came to join the party, did you?”
The look I give him is anything but pleasant. It’s fire and ice. The muscle in my jaw clenches with how forcefully I’m grinding my teeth together.
Sensing the shift in the air, the heavy weight of my anger blankets the room, and slowly, Vincent rises from the couch, blunt in hand and heads toward his balcony that overlooks downtown LA.
“Well…” Vincent exhales along with a plume of smoke. “If you’re not here to party, what are you here for?”
I press my back up against the glass of his sliding glass window. Slipping my hands back into my slack pockets, I raise a leg, resting it behind me, adopting a casual pose that’s so at odds with the way I’m feeling inside.
“Had an interesting discussion today with a Dr. Poppy Aster.”
I wait for him to react to the name, to the news that I know, but he doesn’t. He raises his brow, taking another puff from his blunt, waiting for me to go on.
“Am I supposed to know who she is?”
I search his gaze for the truth. His eyes are bloodshot and heavy lidded. He’s already high, and telling by the dilation of his pupils, he’s already done a few lines as well. He either has no clue who I’m referring to, or he’s a damn good liar.
“I know about your frequent visits to the mental institution. That’s what I’m talking about. It was clever of you, keeping her whereabouts to yourself. Wanted to finish what you started?”
A crease forms between Vincent’s brows. Confusion crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Why the fuck would I visit a mental hospital?”
A dry laugh escapes my throat. “You know exactly why. Your name has been on the visitors’ log for weeks. The doctor told me you’ve been visiting all too frequently.”
Vincent stares at me for a beat, looking completely puzzled. Until it clicks. I watch it happen, when understanding dawns. His eyes glint, something dark infiltrates his gaze, and he presses his lips together in a thin line.
“How frequent have my visits been?” The way he asks the question, with a slight edge to his voice, has all the hairs at the back of my nape standing at attention. I straighten, pushing off the wall.
Something that feels strangely similar to panic flares in my gut and I lash out at Vincent. Clasping him by the collar of his shirt, I slam him up against the wall, my forearm pressing against his throat, cutting off his air supply.
I search his gaze, looking for answers in his dark, almost black eyes. Endless pools of sins and debauchery. He’s supposed to be my brother, but as I stare down at him, I realize we haven’t been brothers for a very long time.
“Do it,” he chokes out beneath the weight of my arm. “You’ll be putting me out of my misery.”
My brows crease at the odd statement. With a frustrated growl, I shove away from him, putting much needed distance between us before I snap his neck. He bends over, choking from the lack of oxygen. When he rights himself, I see it in his eyes.
My nostrils flare as realization dawns on us both. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
“That sneaky motherfucker,” Vincent seethes, referring to Zach. “I’ll kill him.” The way Vincent says it, it isn’t just a statement, it’s a promise. This whole time, I thought the two have been working together, but I was wrong. Zach has gone rogue on all of us, including Vincent. The two have always shared a complicated relationship, for whatever reason, but it seems now, something has changed, and the two friends who were always like brothers are falling apart.
That sneaky motherfucker, indeed. Not only is he pretending to be Vincent to save his own ass, but he’s taking matters into his own hands. And I can’t have that.
Past
“Girls, let’s go! Your dad is in the car waiting.”
Madison and I scramble to gather our stuff. We’re headed to the beach today. It’s become somewhat of a family tradition. One we always do near our dad’s birthday. Pismo Beach for the day. Madison and I have made a habit of collecting seashells each year. She wants to be a marine biologist. I’m not sure what I want to do yet, but I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll follow in her footsteps, just as I always do.
It’s a bit overcast out here today, so there are not many people on the beach, but Madison and I still strip out of our clothes and sprint straight for the water, splashing each other as we go. Happiness fills my chest as we slip underneath the ice-cold water for a swim, our bodies shivering, our lips turning blue, but still, we welcome the sensation, becoming one with it. I know she feels the same. Just as I know the sky is blue and the grass is green. It’s our thing. We just know what the other is thinking and how the other is feeling. We always know.
My mom and dad brought the portable radio, and when we hear the beginning strains of the song, Madison and I laugh and squeal, running out of the water. Gripping each other’s hands, we spin, dancing around to the song. “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac. It’s our song, the one we can’t stand still for when it comes on. It is one of those songs that makes you want to move.
“When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know,” we sing in unison, horribly off-pitch, but we cackle with amusement anyway, finding our singing amusing.
Laughing hysterically, we drop into the sand, letting our equilibrium adjust after vigorous spinning, the clouds and the gloomy sky shifting around us.
“You feel better?” Madison asks quietly as the song still plays in the background, both of us now deep in the task of digging for shells.
I shrug, remembering why I was so sad in the first place. Delilah, from our sixth-grade class, has taken it upon herself to pick on me this school year. We were all best friends last year, but whatever happened from then to now changed, and she’s made it her life’s mission to make my life a living hell.
I’ve gained weight over the summer. It’s obvious. My chest is bigger and so is my backside, but Madison has remained the same, keeping her thin figure, just like my mom. It’s tough. We’re supposed to be twins, but, at times like these, we couldn’t be any more opposite. I feel like I’m constantly trying to keep up.
Delilah’s been calling me names, and now, the entire sixth grade class has followed in her footsteps, adopting her mantra about me. My sister has obviously taken notice. She does what she can at school, standing up to Delilah to get her to stop—all the things I’d never be able to do for myself.