What do you say to the woman you promised to stand beside, only to disappear when she needed you most?
I want to hear her voice. Even if she spends ten minutes peeling the skin off my back with that razor-sharp tongue of hers. I deserve every word.
“I’m a fucking coward,” I whisper into the room, the word tasting like ash on my tongue.
I set my glass down on the coffee table with a heavy thud, then reach over and grab my phone. The screen illuminates my face with the glow. No new notifications. No more calls. She stopped trying. And why wouldn’t she?
But I’m not sure I have the right to text her from here while she’s standing there without me. I fucked up.
The commercial break is over. On the television, the presenter steps up to the microphone, his voice echoing through the speakers, interrupting my thoughts.
He rolls through the nominees and spouts off stats from the season for each player.
“And the award for Offensive Player of the Year goes to … Ace Griffith with the Florida Sharks.”
The house lights flare, the camera zooming in on my brother as the crowd cheers. I watch him smile, kiss our mom on the cheek, and make his way up the stage.
I’ve let two of the most important people in my life down, and I deserve every second of the pain I feel in my chest right now. But one thing I know for sure … I have to fix this before I lose her and destroy my bond with my brother.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
ASTON
The morning lightisn’t just shining through the windows of my kitchen, it’s shattering against my retinas like fractured glass.
I sit at the island, my hands wrapped around a mug of black coffee that tastes like burnt dirt, and my head is throbbing. The empty bottle of bourbon from the night before is still sitting on the counter, like a monument to my cowardice. The television in the living room is muted, but I saw enough this morning. The sports networks are looping footage from the NFL Honors last night. Ace, hoisting the Offensive Player of the Year trophy after thanking our parents, his brothers, coaches, and staff for their support and a picture of him with my mom, who is beaming on his arm.
The thud of the front door closing cuts through the silence.
I don’t move. I don’t even have the energy to lift my head, but I hear the boots echoing across the wood floor, loud and uninvited.
“You look like shit, Aston.”
I blink, then squint as Archie walks into the kitchen. He’swearing a heavy flannel jacket, a cowboy hat pulled low, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Arch,” I croak, my throat dry as hell. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Texas?”
“Yeah, well, I should be, but Dad called me after talking to Ace last night and said he wasn’t as happy as he should have been,” Archie says. He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He just walks straight to the cabinet, grabs a clean mug, and pours himself a cup of coffee. He takes a slow sip, leaning against the counter, his eyes drilling into me with a weight that makes my skull feel like it’s splitting. “Apparently, Ace is confused. And Mama’s spent the last twenty-four hours ‘vibrating with anxiety’—Dad’s words. And you skipping out on this event with him for sponsorship meetings doesn’t track. So, I got on a bird.”
I blow out a breath, my fingers tightening around my mug. “You shouldn't have come, Arch. I just … couldn’t make it work.”
“Cut the shit,” Archie says. His tone is level and steady and lacking any trace of humor. “You called me days before the show and threw out ahypotheticalabout falling for a brother’s ex, and then you backed out of the biggest night of your twin brother’s career. I’m not leavin’ until you tell me the truth, and I brought enough clothes and shit with me to sit here for a few days, so start talkin’.”
The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I suck in a deep breath. Then I look down at the dark liquid in my cup, the truth spilling out before I can stop it.
“It’s Eva.”
Archie freezes, his mug halfway to his mouth. He stares at me, his brow furrowing as he processes what I just said.
“Eva?” he repeats. “Evangeline Carrington?”
“Yeah. I was supposed to go with her to LA for the awards. But then Ace called and asked me to go with him. It happened all at the same time. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Dude …” Archie lets out a long, slow breath, running a hand over his face. “You didn’t tell me this is who it was about. You gave me nothin’.”
“In my defense, you didn’t ask for a name.”
The look he gives me is the same one he uses on the field to intimidate cornerbacks.
