For my drug addiction. For what I did to Ana. Lately, it’s for not getting Scarlett’s phone number. It’s been weeks, but I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s been under my skin since I walked out of that hotel room.
“Hey, munchkin.” I pick her up.
“You’re all dressed up!” Sophie presses her face into my chest. “You look handsome, Uncle Cormac.”
The charcoal pinstripe suit was a good pick.
“Thank you, Sophalicisous.” I twirl her around. “Your daddy is taking me to work with him.”
It’s ‘Take your loser brother to work’ day.
But I don’t say that.
Do-gooder Darragh, the perfect dad, got me an interview at the medical school where he’s been a part-time professor. But he and Ana want to have more kids. That means his life will get more complicated. So he gave them notice. He told the dean he’s offering him the next best thing.
Me. His identical twin.
I don’t know about the next best thing. But I’m the same thing, technically. We have the same DNA. By bones and blood, Darragh and I are the same.
Outside, we’re very different.
“Did these tattoos on your neck hurt?” Soph pokes my throat.
Darragh shoots me a warning glance, like he’s not hiding ink under his clothes.
Getting inked is addictive and should have been my first sign that I had a problem.
“They hurt like a mother—” I bite my lip. “Yeah, they hurt. And a stupid decision.”
“We don’t use the word stupid.” Ana breezes into the kitchen wearing black slacks, a white lace corset under a black jacket with rolled-up plaid sleeves.
She orders people’s deaths but doesn’t allow trigger words like stupid. Damn, she looks like a million bucks, and more importantly, she looks happy. That’s really all I care about.
Even if they don’t hate me anymore, I still hate myself for what I did to her. To both of them, her and Darragh.
Actually, I don’t know if Darragh ever hated me. Can you ever hate your other half?
I glance around. “Where’s J.P.?”
Darragh’s mug of tea stops right before his mouth, his eyes studying me. “Upstairs.”
“He had a fever last night,” Ana says, buttering toast, not looking at me.
Or even looking concerned that I asked.
“We were up late with him,” Darragh adds, stifling a yawn.
“I’m letting him sleep in.” Ana hands the toast to Darragh while Sophie pours herself a bowl of cereal.
“Can I go see him?” I ask.
Ana and Darragh look at me and then each other. The obvious answer sits on their tongue:Of course, he’s your son.
But they don’t say it out loud. Even though Sophie knows I’m J.P.’s biological father. She found out last year. But things were crazy that day. We were hiding in a safe room while hitmen circled Darragh’s home in Seattle, waiting to kill us.
“Girdie will be here any minute,” Ana says about their nanny.
“We need to leave in about five minutes, Cor,” Darragh adds.