Chapter 11
The Wildfire Thorn
“What the fuck’s up with you?”
From across the locker room, I hear Isiah’s, team’s halfback, voice as he addresses Shepard and snaps a towel against Shepard’s ass.
Shepard pokes his head out of his locker. “What the fuck, man?”
Isiah digs into his own locker but keeps talking. “You ignoring me now?”
Shepard grumbles something under his breath. “Why, are you a clingy chick who can’t take a hint?”
Pulling a shirt over his head, Isiah goes, “If I were a chick, my smooth and curvy caramel ass would be so out of your league, it wouldn’t be funny.”
“You already are a smooth and curvy caramel pain in the fucking ass, so you’re halfway there, man.”
Isiah makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and pulls his gym bag out of his locker. “What, you’re too much of a princess to get back to my texts?”
Before Shepard can reply, Riot joins in the conversation. He has his bag slung over his shoulder and looks to be on his way out. But at Isiah’s words, he stops and adds, “Yeah, what’s up with that? I sent you a picture of Sophie riding a horse for the first time the other day and no response. You’re too good to send even an emoji back?”
Shepard looks annoyed. “Shut the fuck up, both of you. I lost my phone, okay?”
I’ve been looking at the meeting notes that Con left for me, trying to tune the conversation out. But I switch my complete focus on them now.
“What, where?” Isiah asks, snapping the locker shut.
“If I knew where, it wouldn’t be lost now, would it?”
Riot scoffs. “Well, genius, there are things now called Find My Phone and stuff like that. You’ve got an iPad, don’t you? Or a laptop. Use it to find your phone.”
Shep’s not into technology like that. He doesn’t care about laptops or iPads. Despite having numerous discussions with him, his passwords across all of his accounts are the same, where it’s not a face ID, that is, and the one that he’s had since high school.
Shepard gives him a look and proves me right with his next words. “You think I’d bring an iPad on the road? Or a laptop. What am I, a college nerd or a Wall Street stuck up? No, I don’t have any of those on me. Besides, I needed a new number anyway.”
“Why?” Riot asks, smirking. “A chick going stalker on you?”
Isiah smirks too before tackling Shep in a bear hug that Shep breaks out of easily. But that doesn’t deter Isiah from expressing, “Aww. Look at him, being all loyal to his girl and shit.”
Riot chuckled. “Yeah, who would’ve thought.”
“That a girl named Isadora would tame the lion,” Isiah completes the sentence, high-fiving Riot.
I flinch at the crackling sound.
At the name.
Not because the sound’s loud or this is the first time I’ve heard her name from the guys or around the locker room. The team’s loud and they like to give their former-playboy captain a hard time about his changed and monogamous ways. And while previously I’ve simply walked out—not only because her name’s come up but also because it’s easier for me to ignore the urge to join in their banter when I know I can’t; I don’t deserve to—I find I can’t do that now.
I find I’m glued to my spot.
Every part of my body attuned to the conversation that’s happening. Maybe because I know the truth now. I know that while the world thinks they are together, they are not.
Not really.
That it all started with a lie.
That along the way he fell for her, and I can only assume he never corrected any assumptions about them because he wanted them to be true. Or maybe it was his ego. Maybe it was a little of both. Whatever the reason, I can see that he wants her. I can see that he’s in love with her.
And yet, I’m doing what I am doing, what I’ve been doing for the past two weeks.
Yet I don’t plan to stop.
It makes me an even shittier brother; I’m aware of that. It makes me an even shittier fucking person for taking what doesn’t belong to me. But that’s the thing, isn’t it, it feels like it. It feels like she belongs to me. That she has belonged to me since the moment I met her.
It feels like he’s the intruder, not me.
He’s the one in between us, not the other way around.
“Why don’t you both shut the fuck up and leave me alone, okay?” Shep breaks into my thoughts with his irritated words. “Jokes about my girl are getting old now and it’s none of your goddamn business why I need a new phone.”
From there, they go on to argue about phones and how they’re good for everything except one thing. And it’s to watch porn because porn is meant to be watched on a big screen, or you don’t get the same effect. Again, I tune them all out and focus on my notes. Until I feel a prickling.
I look up to find my twin staring at me from where he’s leaning against his locker. Apparently, all the guys have left and we’re alone now. Which hasn’t happened ever since our encounter where I benched him. Over the last two weeks, I’ve kept my distance from him. Until I know I can handle being around him without posing a danger.
But from the looks of it, the time-out is over.
I fold my arms across my chest, tucking the clipboard to my side, and stand straight. “Who’s the stalker?”
His shoulder jerk slightly. “What?”
“The stalker you were talking about.”
He watches me a beat before dismissing, “None of your business.”
“So there is one,” I conclude.
“Told you, it’s none of your business.”
“Is it serious? Should we call?—”
“She’s none of your concern, all right,” he snaps. “Just drop it.”
Well, that’s curious.
I’ve never seen my brother agitated like this.
Not over a stalker. Who happens to be a girl.
“It’s a girl,” I keep going.
“She’s not a fucking stalker, yeah?” he snaps again. “And what part of just drop it didn’t you understand?”
Now I’m even more curious.
Because he was angry, yeah, but now his expression is thunderous. And it’s not a word I associate a lot with him. Shepard doesn’t get angry or thunderous or any of the things that have a serious and grave connotation.
And I’ve always been grateful for it. That he isn’t cursed by the intensity of emotions like I am. Better me than him. I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone let alone my twin brother.
So this is novel.
But if he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to talk about it.
I can respect that.
“Fine.” I widen my stance. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you didn’t head out with the guys.”
“Kind of.”
“So what is it?”
Finally, his posture eases and he stares at me with his usual arrogance. “Just that you haven’t thanked me yet. But you’re still welcome.”
“For what?”
“For taking great pains not to beat the shit out of you this last week.”
Despite everything, my lips twitch.
I bet he did.
This was an unprecedented situation, what I did.
While I have very little guilt about what I’m doing behind his back, I do feel guilty for giving in to that moment of impulsiveness and benching him. He didn’t deserve that, no matter how fucked up I had been in my head.
And needless to say, people weren’t happy with my decision either. When Con asked me about it, I told him the truth. That I’d lost control, and I did it out of sheer anger and recklessness. I thought he’d be disappointed in me, that I let personal feelings affect my job. But he wasn’t. He had my back and defended me to the board even though I didn’t deserve his support.
“Well, in that case, you have my gratitude,” I reply gravely. “But just to say, I wouldn’t have hit you back. Or blamed you.”
His jaw clenches. “Yeah, why’s that?”
My chest moves with a breath. “Because I was out of line.”
His jaw clenches again, but otherwise, he remains silent.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that,” I continue.
He studies me for a few moments before asking, “Are you saying that as my coach or my brother?”
It’s my turn to clench my jaw.
Because once again, I’m guilty of losing my control and benching him; I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have messed with his game. But I can’t muster up the guilt as to why I lost control. I can’t muster up the guilt for wanting to punch the shit out of him because he’s between me and her.
Because he gets to be with her while all I get to do is be on the sidelines.
It’s all irrational. It’s all fucking insane.
I don’t even want to be with her. I don’t even want to want her.
I can’t want her.
I just want my peace back.
But there you have it.
“As your coach,” I reply back.
He keeps his gaze steady as he goes on, “And as my brother?”
As his brother, I want to go to war with him. I want to fight him for her. I want to fucking steal her from him.
As his brother, I want him out of the way.
“She’s our boss’s daughter,” I tell him almost accusingly.
“Fuck him,” he retorts.
My jaw tics. “She’s young, younger than our baby sister.”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” he says before adding, “And apparently, it doesn’t matter to you either.”
I clench my fists. “She’s not my type.”
“Again, you don’t seem to care.”
“She’s yours,” I say finally, my fists clenched so hard—so fucking hard—that my knuckles pulse.
“And somehow”—his jaw moves back and forth—“you still want her.”
Keeping my gaze steady, I tell him the truth, “Yeah.”
And that’s why I’m doing this.
That’s why I’m going behind his back.
Because I want to put an end to this madness. I want to put an end to this want, this craving, this uncontrollable desire for her. Because even though I think she belongs to me, she doesn’t.
She belongs to him.
He loves her. He’s my brother.
He should have her.
I’m the villain in this story, not him.
“I do,” I continue, without taking my eyes off him. “I do want her. I’ve always wanted her. But you’re my brother. My twin brother.”
His eyes are narrowed, his jaw tight as he bites out, “So?”
“So as I said, she’s yours. And she’ll stay yours,” I promise.
After I’ve made her mine.
After I’ve used her and thrust her aside.
It’s not the most selfless thing in the world, but it’s the only thing that will put an end to this all. The only thing that will get me my peace back, my life back. The only thing that will save my control and stop me from turning dangerous and destroying my brother.
With that promise in mind, I go back to the hotel. I run. I lift weights. I shower. I pretend to find a book to read. I open the first page and then abandon it to look at the time. I watch the clock as I wait for her call on my brother’s phone like I do every night. When it doesn’t come, I pick it up and stab the keys on the screen, firing off a couple of texts.
Shepard
Where are you?
You’re late.
It takes a minute or two for her to get back to me.
A minute or two that seem like a day.
Such a long day that I’m ready, so fucking ready, to call her and fucking demand to know where she is, blowing my cover. Thankfully, the text comes at the last second, though. Or rather a flurry of texts.
Isadora
OMG! I’m so sorry!!!????
I totally forgot!!??????
Well, I didn’t forget. Time just ran away from me.
I let out a sharp breath.
Shepard
Are you going to stop it from running away then?
Another minute passes that seems like a very long day.
Longer than before and I’m not amused.
Isadora
Okay, don’t be mad but I can’t call you right now.????
I sit up straight in the bed, my chest heaving with agitated breaths.
Shepard
Why not?
Isadora
Because I’m not at home.
Shepard
Where the fuck are you?
Isadora
You’re getting mad.
Shepard
Answer me.
It’s a point in her favor that she doesn’t make me wait like before and answers immediately.
Isadora
I’m on my way to go see this guy.
But I don’t think earning points with me is going to help her right now.
Not after her reply.
Shepard
Explain.
Isadora
God, you’re scary. I never knew how scary you could be.
I’m this close to saying fuck it and giving her a call when her next text flies in.
Isadora
Okay, fine. So I have this huge assignment due day after tomorrow and I’m sort of struggling with it.
Shepard
What assignment?
Isadora
History assignment. It counts toward half of my grade.
Shepard
Struggling how?
Isadora
Struggling as in, I haven’t really finished it.
Shepard
How far along are you?
Isadora
On the first paragraph…?
I stare at the screen for a few seconds.
Then, pinching the bridge of my nose, I type:
Shepard
Are you saying that you haven’t even started the assignment that’s going to count toward half of your grade?
Isadora
I did start it! I wrote a whole paragraph!
Well, half of it.
I breathe out a sharp sigh.
Shepard
How many lines?
Isadora
Three.
And a half.
Another sharp sigh.
Shepard
What does this guy have to do with your assignment?
Isadora
Okay, so he’s a genius, see. He sits in the front row, always has his hand up during class. He tutors people. He was supposed to go to Harvard.
Shepard
So what’s he doing at a fucking community college?
Isadora
Hey, don’t knock community college! ??
Shepard
Fine. What’s he doing at an establishment as fine as Bardstown Community College?
Isadora
??
He got kicked out of Harvard in his first semester, okay? But that doesn’t mean he is any less of a genius. So I want him to help me with the assignment. I looked all day for him but no one knew where he was. Until I got a text from one of my friends that he’s at this party. So I’m going there to find him.
Shepard
Why did he get kicked out?
Isadora
That’s not important.
Shepard
Why.
Isadora
God!!!????
For dealing weed on campus.
Again, I stare down at the screen for a few seconds. Then, with as much patience as I can muster in this situation, I type out my reply.
Shepard
So you’re going to a party in the middle of the night to look for a drug dealer so he can help you with your history assignment.
Isadora
He’s not a drug dealer! He just sold some weed. It’s not a big deal.
I know you’re an athlete and all that and you have high standards but I’ve done weed. Weed’s harmless, I promise.
Not to mention, legal.
Shepard
You still can’t deal it without a proper license.
Isadora
So he made a mistake, so what. All I need him to do is help me with my history paper, for which time’s running out.
Shepard
And why’s that?
Isadora
Why’s what?
Shepard
Why’s your time running out? What were you doing before? If it’s half your grade, I’d assume you’d pay more attention.
Isadora
You know what, Shepard, these days I don’t even recognize you anymore. You sound like an eighty-year-old stuck-up professor. ??????
My fingers flex around the phone.
In agitation. In anger.
Every time she says his name, I want to command her to say mine. I want to demand that she keeps saying it. So she only knows the taste of me on her tongue.
Soon, though.
Four weeks.
In four fucking weeks, I’ll teach her my name in such a way that she’ll never forget.
Shepard
Why didn’t you do your homework before?
Isadora
Because I was busy with rehearsals.
My brows bunch up. That’s news to me.
We’ve been talking for two weeks now and she hasn’t mentioned any rehearsals to me. As my twin brother or myself.
Shepard
What rehearsal?
Isadora
So omg get this!!! ???????? My department finally has enough funding to put on a show. We’re doing this amazing play in a few weeks and I have the lead role! Can you believe that?! My debut!! Finally!!! ??????????????
But it’s been crazy busy. We’re doing everything on our own. Costumes, set, music. It’s been exhausting!!! And I got busy with practice every day that I completely forgot about this stupid assignment and now I’m in this bind and only Jordan can help me. So I REALLY have to go find him, okay?
She is in a bind; I can see that.
And it’s not really her fault either.
Acting is her passion. Even though I don’t know the first thing about passion and don’t have the luxury to find out, I know how it can drive people. I know how it drives her. How reckless she was the night we met. How she was running off with that fuckface. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there. If I hadn’t stopped her.
Sometimes I wonder if I could ever see her on stage. I bet she’ll shine like a star.
Actually, no.
She’s Isadora Agni Holmes. She’ll burn bright and set the stage on fire.
Shepard
If you’ve been so busy with practice for your debut, then why is it that this is the first time I’m hearing of it?
Isadora
Because you’re busy with your season and practice and traveling and all that. So I didn’t want to bother you.
Plus I know whenever I start to talk about theater and acting and scenes and stuff, you start to drift away a little bit. Which is fine. Theatre isn’t for everyone. So I just… let it go.
Renewed anger pulses through my veins at this.
He thinks her passion is boring? To the extent that he starts to drift away. To the extent that she notices he starts to drift away and doesn’t feel comfortable sharing her dreams with him.
I know she’s trying to make light of it and wave it away, but what the fuck is he thinking?
What the fuck is going through his thick head?
This is the girl he’s in love with and he can’t gather enough enthusiasm—pretend or otherwise—to support her through it.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I fire off my reply.
Shepard
First, I want you to stop and turn around.
Isadora
What?
Shepard
Go back home.
Send me the topic of your assignment.
Isadora
What? Why?
Shepard
Because I’ll do it for you.
Isadora
You’ll do my assignment?
Shepard
That’s what I said.
Isadora
What? That’s crazy! ??????
Shepard
Go back.
Isadora
But you hate homework. You hate assignments. Every time I tell you I have homework, you thank God that you don’t have any. That you’re out of the hellhole that people call school.
Yes, he does hate homework, schoolwork, assignments. He hates anything that requires him to get away from soccer. And I’ve helped him. I’ve helped him practice. I’ve done his homework. I know soccer’s his passion and so I’ve done what I can to be there for him. The only way I can be there for him.
So I can do the same for her.
Shepard
Not tonight.
Isadora
But, Shepard, you have practice in the morning!! You had practice today! ????????
You can’t do this. You must be exhausted!!
I clench my teeth at his name again.
Shepard
Go back and text me the details.
Right now.
I see those dots going again.
Isadora
Is this you being jealous?
Because I’m going to go see another guy.
I stare at her texts for a few seconds before replying truthfully.
Shepard
Yes.
Isadora
You don’t have to be.
I only want you. I promise.
My jealousy roars.
My jealousy is set on fire and is now engulfing my veins.
Every time she says something like this, something that’s meant for my brother, I want to out myself. I want to tell her that it’s me she’s been talking to. It’s me she’s been dancing for. It’s me she’s been paying her dues to every fucking night.
Me. Me. Me.
Shepard
Go the fuck back.
Isadora
Okay. Okay, I’m going.
Shepard
And next time you’re in a bind, you text me first.
Isadora
I will.
Shepard
Next time you’re spending your days in practice; getting exhausted at practice; next time you fucking practice period, you tell me about it.
Isadora
Okay, yes.
Shepard
And if you think about taking some motherfucker’s name in front of me, don’t.
Her reply is slow in coming and I swear to God, I’m going to fucking lose it.
Isadora
Why?
Shepard
Because it makes me want to fuck him up.
Isadora
I won’t. Shepard’s the only name I want to say anyway.
I stare at her words for a few moments.
Then I shut off the phone and toss it aside. I get up to make myself a pot of chamomile tea, hoping to calm the fire in my gut from her last message. Not to mention, it’s going to be a long night if her assignment really consists of half her grade.
Actually, it’s going to be a long fucking four weeks until the home game.
Until I get to go back and put an end to this madness.