Chapter 20 #2
He moves through the room, and I watch him, trying to find the spark that used to be there when he smiled at me. I remember the warmth that would spread through me when he touched my hand, and I search for it in the familiar curve of his face and in how he’s being overly flirty.
“Remember when you used to paint me?” He turns to look at me, his eyes full of nostalgia. “You did that series for your portfolio, and I had to sit still for hours.”
“Oh, please. You were terrible at sitting still, even when you tried,” I say, meeting him in the living room. I kick off my shoes and hand him a glass of wine.
“I was terrible at a lot of things.” He crosses to where I’m standing and takes the glass from me, setting it down. “I think I need to kiss you, Kendall.”
“Okay,” I whisper, needing this closure.
His lips are soft and achingly familiar, and I let myself sink into it for a moment, testing and searching for something that used to be there. His hands find my waist and pull me closer, and I wait for the heat to build, for the desperation I feel with Patterson.
He kisses me back, trying harder, like he’s wanting to feel something beyond the mechanical press of mouths. He deepens the kiss, and I let him, my hands moving to his shoulders out of muscle memory rather than desire. I go along with it, still hoping, still searching.
He kisses down my neck, and I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the spark to ignite, waiting for some sign that the years apart have changed something.
“Kendall …” His voice is rough when he pulls back to look at me, and then he laughs. “This isn’t working.”
“It’s not,” I tell him, almost relieved that we’re being honest about it.
“I thought maybe …”
“There was still something between us,” I finish for him. “There’s not.”
We both stand there as two people who planned an entire future together, but are now like strangers.
“I don’t feel anything,” he confirms.
“I don’t either,” I tell him.
He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a breath. “You know, there was a point when I thought maybe I’d made a mistake ending things with you.”
We sit on the edge of the couch and glance at one another, both of us recognizing the absurdity of the situation.
“Yeah?” I ask, taking a long sip of wine.
“We had a lot of good times,” he admits. “I really do miss our friendship.”
“I do too,” I say. “But that’s about it.”
We continue drinking.
“Tell me something.” His voice changes, losing the playful edge. “Are you fucking my brother?”
My heart stops. “What?”
There’s no anger in his eyes.
“I know you both too well,” he says. “The way you looked at him during his speech. The way he looked at you across the room. I’ve seen that expression before, Kendall. On both of you.”
“What expression?” I ask.
“You’re in love.”
I should deny it. I should lie, deflect, protect whatever fragile thing Patterson and I have built in the shadows. But I’m so tired of lying, and Jameson deserves more than that.
“Well,” I say, “yes, I am fucking your brother.”
He lets out a breath, as if he had been holding it for years. “How long?”
“I don’t owe you these answers.”
He leans back on the couch, his head resting against the cushion. “You kinda do. You’re literally fucking my identical twin brother.”
“Fine. It’s been going on for a little over a month.”
“And before that? Be honest.”
I give him a dirty look. “No. We kissed once, and I told you about it after you proposed. There was never anything else, I promise. I have no reason to lie about any of this.”
He stares at me for a long time, and I watch every emotion flicker across his face, but surprise isn’t one of them.
“The tension between you two, the way you’ve always looked at him, even when you were with me …” He shakes his head slowly. “I guess you were always each other’s endgame.”
“Jamie—”
“I’m not finished,” he says abruptly. He sets down his wineglass and turns to face me fully. “All those years ago, I asked you out because I knew Patterson wanted you.”
The words don’t make sense at first, like he’s speaking a language I should understand, but can’t quite translate.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw the way he looked at you.” Jameson holds my gaze. “It was like he’d been waiting his whole life for you. Like you were the only person in the room. I wanted that.”
I stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying. “Jamie.”
“He’s always gotten everything he’s ever wanted.
” He runs a hand through his hair again—that nervous action they both share.
“The better stats, the bigger contracts, the spotlight. I was good, but Patterson was great—a star player. And for once, I saw something he wanted that he was too scared to go after. I took the opportunity.”
“So, I was what, a prize? A competition?”
He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, maybe at first, but then I actually fell for you, Kendall. After we were together, I understood what Patterson saw in you.”
“What a fucking prick!” I’m so enraged that I can barely keep it together.
“I deserve that. But I knew he would never pursue you.” Jameson’s voice is firm.
“He would never risk his career, not at the beginning. With his coach’s daughter?
You were off-limits, Ken Doll. Patterson’s always been way too logical for that, too careful.
He would’ve wanted you from a distance forever and never done anything about it. ”
I think about the past, all those moments when Patterson looked at me like he wanted me. There was always too much hostility that was more intense than just disliking someone. He avoided me like I was poison because I was the one he could never have.
“You stole me from him.” It comes out harsh.
“If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else,” Jameson says. “I actually cared about you. I tried my damnedest to make you happy.”
“But it was initially based on a lie. You chose to love me,” I say, and everything that Patterson’s said to me starts to make sense. I meet his eyes. “You can’t choose who you love, Jamie. Love chooses you.”
“I know that.” He doesn’t try to defend himself. “That’s why when you told me about the kiss, I couldn’t handle it anymore. The game stopped being fun because it got too real. He had feelings for you that I’d never experience, and I knew that.”
I set down my wineglass because my hands are shaking. Every assumption I’ve made about Patterson, about Jameson, about myself, is crumbling around me.
“I feel sick.”
“I’m really sorry.” He stands. “I did love you. That part was real.”
“But you were never in love with me,” I say, my voice catching.
“Kendall.” Jameson pauses at the door and looks back at me. “Love is letting someone you want be happy with another person, even if it kills you. Why do you think Patterson’s been a miserable bastard this whole time?”
I can’t speak because my throat is too tight.
“You two need to stop dancing around this and actually be together before you waste more time.” He opens the door. “For what it’s worth, I really do think you two deserve each other.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone with wine and a truth I can’t escape.
Patterson wanted me first, and Jameson knew that. Our entire relationship was built on a need to win something his brother wanted.
I chug the rest of my glass and pour another, pacing my apartment while my mind races.
I think about Patterson’s speech tonight, about taking shots and going after what you want. I think about every moment between us, every fight, every kiss, every time he looked at me like he was drowning and I was his only oxygen.
I reach for my phone because I need to talk to him, but my fingers hover over the screen, and I don’t know what to say.
Jameson handed me the piece of the puzzle I’d been missing for years, and I understand why Patterson has always been so angry, so guarded, so determined to keep me at arm’s length, even while pulling me closer.
Except I don’t know what Patterson actually wants. He fucks me like I’m the only woman in the world he craves, and he told me to end things with Jameson, but that’s it. All we have is this arrangement and a million unspoken words.
I stare at the screen of my phone while my heart pounds.
Tonight, Patterson said the things worth having are the ones that scare you the most, and right now, I’m terrified of wanting something I’m not sure I can have. My father would never accept this.
I set the phone down without typing anything because tonight changed everything, and I can’t predict what comes next.