Page 8 of Knot So Fast
"What?" I growl into the phone, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Well, hello to you too, sunshine." Lachlan's voice comes through the speaker, dry and amused in that way that always makes me want to punch him. "Having a good evening?"
It's crazy how we're complete opposites despite sharing the same DNA.
I'm the bad boy, the devil child, the one who always gets into the biggest dips of mischief the world has to offer and barely gets out alive.
Then there's Lachlan—the good twin.
Quiet, decisive, knows exactly what he wants in life and executes his plans with surgical precision. He's basically a good fucking copy of me minus the chaos that follows me like a shadow.
Doesn't mean he doesn't get into his share of bullshit, but he does it so perfectly that no one can bat an eye past his perfection. While I'm crashing cars and starting fights and generally being a disaster, he's winning championships and collecting trophies and being everything I should have been.
"What do you want with my sugar?" I ask, cutting straight to the point because dancing around subjects has never been my strong suit.
"I play video games with her, remember?" His tone is casual, but I can hear the edge underneath. "We have a standing appointment."
"Then you can fuck off and find a new gaming buddy," I snap, feeling my temper flare despite my best efforts to keep it in check. "We promised we weren't going to be near her."
His laugh comes through the phone—dangerous and low, the kind that sends goosebumps racing across my skin because I know that sound. It's the laugh he gets right before he does something that's going to piss me off or ruin my day.
Usually both.
"That's rich coming from you," he says, and I can practically hear his smirk through the phone. "You're fucking your ex who doesn't remember you after the accident, but I need to be the onestaying away because I play online racing games with her? How does that logic work, exactly?"
The words hit like drinking molasses, knocking the air from my lungs and making my chest tight. Because he's right, and I hate him for being right.
Hate him for pointing out the hypocrisy that I've been trying to ignore for months.
I can't argue with him, which only makes my frustration worse. The silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we're not saying, all the guilt and resentment and love that we can't seem to navigate without drawing blood.
"Exactly," he says when I don't respond. "So you can fuck off and tell Auren I'll see her online at eight."
He hangs up before I can reply, leaving me staring at the phone with my jaw clenched and my hands shaking with the urge to throw something. The reminder that he's the "older" twin between the two of us by exactly four minutes stings more than it should. Four minutes that somehow gave him all the composure and self-control that I seem to lack.
With a huff that borders on a growl, I have to stop myself from hurling the phone against the wall.
It's not mine,I remind myself.It's hers, and she needs it, and I'm supposed to be going to therapy for this exact impulse.
For "breaking" shit when my emotions get the better of me.
I'm going to therapy for a lot of things, actually.
The anger issues are just the tip of the iceberg. There's the impulse control problems, the self-destructive tendencies, the way I sabotage good things because I don't think I deserve them. All of it part of the agreement I made with her parents—the deal that lets me see their daughter occasionally instead of being completely cut out of her life.
I only got that blessing because they think I was the one who risked my life to pull her out of that wreck.
They don't know I have a twin brother who looks exactly like me. The same twin who's a four-time world fucking champion in Formula One while I'm still dealing with my plentiful list of fuck-ups.
They don't know that Lachlan was the one who dove into that burning car while I stood frozen on the sidelines, too terrified to move. Too paralyzed by the sight of her trapped and bleeding to be the hero she needed.
I curse under my breath and sit up, my post-orgasmic bliss long gone, replaced by the familiar cocktail of frustration and self-loathing that seems to be my default state these days. I feel the urge rising—that primal need to reclaim what's mine, to fix this mess the only way I know how.
But I know better than anyone that my way only leads to disaster and misery for everyone involved.
My brother gets to live out our shared dream while our pack is scattered to the winds, each of us trying to build new lives from the wreckage of what we used to be.
Caspian Thorne works as a pit crew chief for a different team now, his encyclopedic knowledge of engines wasted on cars that will never win championships.
