Ransom Number One wears this goofy smile, like he thinks all of this is one giant joke. Well, I don’t find any of this funny.
He walks over and puts his arm around my shoulder, tucking me against his chest and kissing the top of my head. The gesture would be soothing if I wasn’t so damn confused. And then he says, “Joe, this is my brother, Rebel. We’re identical twins.”
TWENTY-THREE
The puzzle pieces finally click into place. The scene they create makes total sense now. Ransom has a brother. An identical brother. As we stand in the kitchen looking at one another, it dawns on me just how embarrassing this situation is.
“God,” I say, hiding my face behind my hands. “I totally walked in on you in the bathroom.”
Rebel maintains that stern frown, and I think he must be a real ass if he can’t forgive an honest mistake. If he didn’t want anyone to walk in on him, then he should have closed the damn door.
“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Ransom said cheerily. “Rebel’s not exactly the shy type.”
Rebel’s hateful stare hasn’t left me for a second, and when Ransom leaves my side to tend to the bacon, I scoot a little closer to him and farther away from his brother. Supposedly, everyone has an evil twin out there somewhere. Rebel must be Ransom’s, I decide. Even his name seems to suggest it.
“Don’t worry,” Rebel says, his voice a deep, dark rasp. “It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. Right…Joe?”
The way he says my name, like he’s testing out the feel of it on his tongue, is disturbing. Oddly, I feel my body responding to the low timber of it as if his voice is calling to me on a deeper, more intimate level. It must be the resemblance. Or, rather, the effect of looking at the exact same image of the man who drives me crazy.
Ransom shoots his brother a condemning look over his shoulder and turns off the stove. “Stop trying to make my girlfriend feel uncomfortable, Rebel. I’m sure it’s a pretty big shock to find out I have a doppelganger before she’s had her morning cup of coffee.”
“Imagine what a shock it must be for me, then, to see the woman I’ve been screwing these last few weeks dressed in my brother’s shirt this morning.”
Everything just stops. Time, breath, heartbeats. My head snaps up at the same time as Ransom’s. He looks at me and then at his brother as if he’s insane. Which he is because there is no way in hell I’ve slept with this man.
No way.
Is there?
I study both men again. They’re exactly the same, every single detail. But, as they begin to argue, I start to realize that there are some differences. For instance, Ransom’s voice is smoother, even when he’s angry. Whereas Rebel’s is a husky growl, no matter his mood.
That’s the deciding factor. I’d thought the puzzle had finally clicked together? I was wrong. So very wrong.
What I didn’t realize until this very moment was that a piece was missing—the one crucial piece of the puzzle responsible for pulling it all together in a nice, neat package.
Suddenly, the differences I’d recognized in Ransom are making sense. Perfect sense. All those times at the hotel and the club, when he’d been too rough, demanding, and callous compared to when I’d see him at the university, where he was subdued, softer, and more agreeable. When he’d made love to me and actually tended to my needs for once, instead of only worrying about his own.
Ransom wasn’t always Ransom.
He was also Rebel.
Twins. Identical twins.
I’d been sleeping with two men.
Brothers.
My blood runs cold. Falling back, my hip bangs against the counter, but the impact is nothing against the heavy cloud of confusion, hurt, and betrayal that’s slowly choking the air from my lungs.
Noticing the panic written on my face, the yelling stops and Ransom reaches for me. I move out of the way, refusing contact.
I don’t want anyone touching me, least of all him. Them. Fuck! My head is spinning. I feel like I’m on a tilt-o-whirl, everything around me reduced to a blur of indistinct shapes and colors. My emotions are a mess of confusion, humiliation, and abject horror.
How could this have happened? How could I not have known?
“Joe, are you okay?” Ransom’s concerned voice comes from a distance, and the feel of his hand on my arm is ethereal. A lined brown leather recliner enters my vision and I feel my legs buckle beneath me as I’m pushed into it.
Ransom kneels down in front of me and I see him, but I’m not sure if this is a dream or reality anymore. Any minute, I’m hoping I’ll wake up still wrapped in his arms and all of this will have been some twisted joke my brain cooked up.
“She’s in shock,” Ransom says, and another set of bare feet, feet that I recognize, enter my vision.
“It’s not every day that you find out you’ve been screwing brothers. The question is, do you think she knew what she was doing?”
“Does this look like a reaction that someone who knew what they were doing would have?” Ransom answers angrily.
“Women play games. You know this as well as I do, brother.”
“Well, she’s not.” Cupping my face in his hands, Ransom leans closer, looking me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I should have told you sooner. I should have…” His voice strangles and he squeezes his eyes shut and his head droops on his shoulders.
I don’t know what he’s apologizing for. It’s me who messed up. I couldn’t tell the difference. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Both of them have fulfilled a need in me. But what have I done for them, besides creating a rift in their relationship.
“When did you start seeing her?” Ransom’s voice is quiet, filled with a mixture of regret and worry.
“The beginning of summer, nine months ago. It was right after I returned from New York.”
There is something in Rebel’s voice that hints at a deeper story, but Ransom speaks up. “Nine months,” he murmurs. He looks up at me again, his dark eyes hardening. “That explains a lot.”
Yes, it does. He stands, turns away, and begins pacing.
“Maybe we should sit down together and compare notes,” Rebel drawls, and from the look on his face, I get the impression that in his anger, he’s looking to drum up trouble. “I wonder who she’s more responsive to, you or me.”
“This isn’t a fucking contest!” Ransom shouts. It’s enough to shock my system, and I shoot to my feet, claiming their attention.
“I’m not staying here for this.” I need to leave. Get out of here. Go home where things are simple and there isn’t a war ready to break out in front of me. Right now, I feel like someone is playing a joke on me. Is Annie in a back room somewhere, ready to pop out and tell me I’ve been Punked? There’s no sign of Ashton Kutcher or a camera crew anywhere, so I have to assume that this is my life. I’m a stripper and a whore and a liar and it’s all finally caught up with me.
I grab my clothes from where I left them—in a pile on the hallway floor. The bathroom is right there, so I lock myself inside and tear Ransom’s shirt over my head. I am dressed in a matter of seconds, but it’s trying to dial the phone with shaky fingers that holds me up. When I finally manage to type the number in without making any mistakes, I cry with relief.
Annie answers on the second ring. “Joe?” I sniffle, and her voice fills with concern and a touch of panic at not knowing what’s wrong, but I don’t have time to explain.
I give her the address and ask her to hurry. She doesn’t ask questions, but I know they’ll come in time.
Drawing in a steeling breath, I force myself to leave the room, and make a beeline for the exit. Ransom and Rebel are facing off in the living room, and I bypass them, hoping to go unnoticed. I get caught up fumbling with the multitude of locks, cursing and on the verge of tears, when Ransom’s hand stops me. The heat of his skin on mine is a comfort I can’t afford to fall into.