Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“I’ve got you,” he repeats, kissing the tears from my cheeks.
It’s then that I realize he does have me. He really does. And falling in love is fucking terrifying.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I wake up to yelling. Just angry ass noises. The other side of the bed is empty, which makes sense given the familiar voice coming from outside. This is not how I imagined this morning. Some slight awkwardness and breakfast. More of him putting me through the mattress perhaps. Two people hollering obscenities at each other, however, not so much.
It doesn’t take me long to put on my underwear and his shirt from last night. No idea where my dress has gone. And his jeans are missing, so I guess he has them on. The shouting continues in the back of the house. What the heck?
Surely if the media were involved it’d be happening in front of the house by the road. But that’s not where they are. Down the stairs I go. Then out onto the deck and down another set of stairs to reach the stretch of grass leading to the river.
The bloody-faced stranger slams his fist into Nash’s eye. He, in turn, grunts with pain and slams his fist into the man’s stomach.
Shit.
“You’ve been missing for a fucking week,” says the stranger, doubled over from the blow and gasping for breath. “I thought you were dead or something bad had happened.”
Nash is breathing heavy. “Yeah, well, when you left the band it was with barely a fucking word.”
“I told you I was leaving and why, you just didn’t want to hear it.”
“Because it was a bullshit reason and you should have been ashamed of yourself,” says Nash.
“Not everyone wants to play country music, you asshole.”
“It’s country slash rock with elements of folk and the occasional pop inflection. Get it right.”
This is wild. The stranger has long brown hair hanging in his face while his nose gushes blood. And Nash, dressed only in jeans, has red marks sure to blossom into bruises on his torso. Meanwhile, Grandma and Charlie stand on the grass by the riverbank. Just hanging out and watching the two men beat the shit out of each other. Like this sort of carnage is normal.
“I had enough of being your shadow,” says the stranger. “The band gave me a chance to make something of my own.”
Nash spits blood onto the ground and checks for loose teeth with his finger. Seems his eye is starting to swell shut. “You’re an ungrateful, jealous dickhead. I paid you well and I wanted you with me.”
“I know you did. But I needed something else.” The man pauses. “I also need you to drop me a fucking text telling me you’re okay when everyone’s calling me looking for answers and the internet is full of fucking rumors regarding your untimely demise so I don’t have to fucking worry about you.”
“What a potty mouth,” says Nash. “And I don’t even own a phone now.”
“No one knew where you were. Not a single fucking person.”
“Well now that’s a lie. Audrey and Charlie knew. You just didn’t think to call them which isn’t my fault.”
And I understand none of what is happening. But what I do know is this grudge match needs to end. Preferably before someone breaks a bone. The two idiots visibly brace themselves to carry on, and no. It’s not happening.
I put two fingers into my mouth and unleash my loudest whistle. The one most likely to cause damage to any eardrums in the near vicinity. Because I am not about to be ignored.
“Do not start hitting each other again,” I order them.
Nash points at the stranger and says, “But he—”
“No.”
Meanwhile, the stranger turns toward me and wipes the blood from his mouth and chin. This is the first decent chance I’ve had to take a look at him. And those are some eerily similar cheekbones and jawline. It’s obvious even with the swelling and contusions and general bloodiness. So eerily similar to Nash’s that they’re almost exactly the same. And as for his blue eyes…whoa.
“Oh my god,” I say in wonder. “There are two of you.”
“You didn’t know?” asks Grandma in surprise.
I just shake my head. I mean, my mind is blown. How does the world even handle two of them walking around causing such chaos?
Nash pauses to spit out more blood. “Junebug, this is my twin brother, Angus. He won’t be staying. Ugly as sin, isn’t he?”
“He can stay with me,” says Grandma without hesitation.
“Can’t believe you called him,” grouses Nash.
Her chin comes up. “You’re not the only who knows how to work a phone. And it’s time you two sorted this out. It’s been four years, for heaven’s sake.”
Angus gives me a brief nod. His gaze dropping to my bare legs before shifting elsewhere. Then he strips off his tee and wads it beneath his still-bleeding nose. Muscles run in the family along with musical talent, apparently. The tattoos, however, are only on one of them, and it is not the man who holds my heart.