Page 6 of Bad Moon Rising

“Why does my twin look like you peed in his shoe? And why does his nose look red?” Orion’s cool, smoky voice precedes the man himself. He slides into the desk on the opposite side of mine.

“She hates me, O. Absolutely hates me,” Jackson whines, throwing his head down onto the table with an exaggerated sigh. With his voice muffled by the wood, he adds, “Friends don’t keep secrets.”

Orion’s dark brows pull together. “Is this about…?”

“My middle name? Yup.” I nod decisively with a shit-eating grin as I chew on the end of one of my highlighters. It’s a nervous habit of mine, one I tend to have whenever I’m around any of the Belluas.

Orion smiles gently at me as he raps his black-painted fingernails against his thermal to-go mug.

Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that Jackson and Orion are not only brothers, but identical twins. They couldn’t be more different if they tried.

There’s no denying that they look eerily similar—the same fine bone structure, the same glimmering green eyes, the same dark hair with a slight wave to the silky strands. But the way they hold themselves and act are utterly at odds. Jackson’s crassness is juxtaposed by Orion’s gentleness.

Sometimes, I think of Jackson as a ball of pure, undiluted energy bouncing off of every wall and causing the fine hairs on my arms to stand on end. Orion, on the other hand, is a subdued, slightly muted light that hovers stagnantly in the air directly before me—constant and unwavering, always there if I need it to be.

While Jackson is currently wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt that makes his eyes pop, with his hair styled away from his face, Orion is dressed in all black, from his combat boots to his dark jeans and buttoned shirt with the skulls on the buttons. Even his nails are painted black. The only splash of color is the silver chain weaving through his jeans pockets.

I could never think of them as night and day. Jackson has an innate darkness inside of him, just as Orion does. They’re different sides of the same coin.

These two have been my closest friends for as long as I can remember. My best friends. Them…and Brooks, but I don’t like to think about him. Because he left. Dick.

So why is it so darn hard to get up the nerve to ask them to take me to prom?

Maybe because you’re secretly hoping one of them will ask you—not because they feel sorry for you being the dateless loser, but because they want to be in a relationship with you? a snide voice exclaims in my head.

I shush her. My inner voice can be a total bitch sometimes.

Besides, I don’t even want any of the guys to like me like that. It will change our whole dynamic.

Sure, I believe you. Millions wouldn’t, Snarky Lily shoots back.

It’s true! And also…how can I possibly choose between them?

How can I choose between horror movie nights with Jackson, where we stay up all night laughing and throwing popcorn at the television, and quiet days curled up on the sofa with Orion, reading our favorite novels? Between training with Brooks in the field behind their house or making forts with the twins?

There’s no point even thinking about things like that. None of the Bellua boys are harboring secret crushes on me, not after all these years of friendship. I’ve seen all three of them flirt with other girls, and I even went on an awkward double date with Jackson and his ex once.

No, they definitely don’t like me like that.

So why is it still so hard to beg them to take me to prom as my friends?

I didn’t go to my junior year prom, mainly because none of the guys were going. Brooks had been gone for months. Orion hates all school functions—especially dances—and Jackson simply snorted out a laugh when I not-so-casually asked if he was planning on taking someone.

“Of course not, Daisy,” he said with an eye roll. “We’ll hang at our place, make our own party. It will be way more fun than a boring dance. I’ll bring the popcorn, you choose the horror film.”

He’s right. We had a great night. But gosh darn it, I’m a senior in high school, and I want to go to at least one dance. I want to dress up in a ballgown, do my hair and makeup, and feel like a princess for a few hours. Is that too much to ask for?

Pushing away thoughts of ballgowns and princesses, I tune back into the conversation. Orion teases Jackson about still not knowing my middle name, and Jackson retorts with good-natured jibes, flicking wadded-up balls of paper at his twin’s head. The familiarity of their laughter settles over my skin like warm, bubbling bath water. I want to soak in the heat that is the Bellua brothers. I want—

Jackson’s next words effectively pop the happy bubble I’ve found myself in. No, not just popped. Stomped on. Kicked. Mutilated. Destroyed.

“I’ll just ask Brooks what her middle name is when we get home. He owes me this after being gone for so long.”

Jackson folds his lean arms over his chest, looking smug that he’s bested me. Orion snorts and rolls his eyes, the exact same shade of green as his twin’s, but so different.

Brooks?

Brooks is back?

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