Page 97 of Yours Truly

He lowers my fist to the bed and starts talking, even though the last thing I want to hear is his excuses.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this moment, only because I know it’s our last. And a few more minutes with Trace, no matter what he did, does something for the little girl inside me who still loves his art and still aspires for his talent.

“That day in Goode’s, that first time we went there together,” he starts, his hand now on my thigh. He rubs small, consoling circles, and I let him. “You asked me if I had family, do you remember that?”

“I swear to fuck, Trace, there better be a point, because if you tell me some bullshit trauma about your dad not loving you and that’s the reason why you had your tongue down someone else’s throat, your car won’t be the worst thing I fuck up tonight,” I breathe, nostrils flaring as his soothing circles continue, despite my harsh threats and murderous tone.

“Remember I told you my folks are gone?” he says, and annoyingly I find myself nodding. “And you asked if I had siblings, and I said no.”

His hand stops moving on my thigh. “I lied to you, technically. I have a sibling. I have one brother.”

I don’t know where he’s going with this. “Why did you lie about that?”

Pulling at the back of his neck, he sighs. “Because he’s dead to me. No part of me recognizes him as a sibling, or even a family member. And it’s been that way for the better part of ten years.”

I don’t say anything. His expression is heavy, weighted with stress and pain. I see that now, that even though I’m in pain, so is he.

Do not feel bad for him, Ivy. He cheated on you. What’s next? He’s gonna hit you and you’re gonna justify that, too?

“When I first started tattooing, I apprenticed for this artist. She was absolutely great. She taught me so much and because of that, I was just… in awe of her. And I fell in love.”

I want to say that his story sounds familiar, but the fact that I fell for him before I knew him can stay my stupid secret now.

“Was she—” I start, and he nods in confirmation.

“Cat, she was the one. The one who cheated on me. I fell in love, my first love, actually. I loved her something fierce. I thought we’d be together forever. I bought a ring. I saw a whole life of tattoos, travel, and eventually, a family.”

“If you say hurt people hurt people, I swear to God, Trace–”

At that, he glances back at the bedroom door. “No, I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say Derek Wade hurts people, but mostly just me.”

“Derek?”

“Get the fuck in here!” Trace shouts at the closed door.

“Who are—” I’m stopped short when the door to my room flies open, Deuce eating up the frame. Into the hall, he reaches out of sight, and a moment later, he’s shoving someone inside my bedroom.

I get to my knees in the center of my bed, holding my bandaged hand to my face as my mouth gapes. My eyes bounce between Trace and — “Oh my God,” I breathe, completely tripped out. “Is he?”

“This is Derek. He’s my brother,” Trace says, still focused only on me. “My identical twin brother.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. Blinking, I look between the two of them, Deuce still lingering in the doorway.

“You know that photo I posted of our boots? The one where I was trying to let my followers know that I’m alive and well and starting over?” he asks, and of course I know. I love the photo, and I was both surprised and honored to know that he was unafraid to share this chapter of his life with his followers. He hadn’t posted since he left the show, and part of me thought he never would.

“Apparently Derek, here, was waiting to find me. And he did.”

My gaze slides to the knockoff Trace. Okay, I don’t know if he’s the knockoff because I have no clue who is older, but as I take in the identical tattoos and the attempt Derek is clearly making to nail Trace’s laid-back style, I’d say he’s definitely the knockoff even if he’s older.

I saw Trace get the octopus inked onto his hand, live, on the show. So if Derek has that same ink, it’s because he copied Trace. He wanted to look like Trace.

“He’s the one who slept with Trace’s girl all those years ago,” Deuce adds from the doorway. “I tried to get Trace to stay, face them both and… I don't know, work it out. Figure out a way to forgive his brother because it’s his damn brother. But Trace refused, then he went off for the show and… I can honestly say you were right, Trace. You were right when you said he wasn't worth it. Because he keeps finding you, only to start shit.”

Derek presses his hands to his chest in mock surprise. “I didn’t come to start shit, it’s just… I can’t help that women flock to me. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend who was going to flip her lid with jealousy.” He smirks, bringing a curled knuckle to his lips to absorb his stupid little laugh. “Man, you’re psycho. You really fucked up his car.”

In a split second, Trace grabs Derek by the shoulder, rears back, and punches him straight in the face. The sound of knuckle on nose is unnerving, but I smile as Derek stumbles backward.

“Don’t call her psycho. Don’t say her name. Don’t look at her. Don’t even breathe the fucking air around her, got that?” Trace spits at Derek, shoving him back, hard, sending him careering into the wall. My framed sketches rattle behind him, but he bounces back, taking a swing at Trace. He ducks, missing the blow, grabbing Derek by the wrist, Trace pins him against the wall.

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