The Twins (Covenant of Ascent: Kosher Nostra #5)

Tevye Frenkel 1.

This is bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t NEED to be here. I’m fine. Good. Better than good, I’m great. And now I’m Tony the Fucking Tiger. I release a heavy sigh, close my eyes, and send up a prayer that I make it through this evening without killing someone.

Scanning the meeting room of the hospital, I barely contain my sneer at the sad faces of its occupants. I don’t belong here. Dammit. My mother and meddling aunts need to mind their own business. I was hoping coming here today would appease them enough to leave it the fuck alone.

I have a son. One I didn’t know anything about until he was dropped at the gate of my family compound with a note from his mother. A woman I had a one weekend stand with and promptly forgot.

At least until the consequences of that weekend showed up.

And if having a child wasn’t bad enough, he’s sick. A lifelong illness that requires constant monitoring, specialized care, and diet, and carries the potential for developmental disabilities, seizures, liver damage and more.

I can admit, though never out loud, that if not for my parents, and my twin sister Tovah, Arlo and I would be in a world of trouble. There were moments…fuck, I hate even thinking it, but there were moments during those first few weeks amongst doctor visits, tests, and dreadful prognosis, I thought about giving him up. His own mother couldn’t handle everything he needs, how was I supposed to?

Then my father kicked my ass…literally. Man packs a wallop in his punches. I disgusted him, and for all my confidence and swagger, I cannot live knowing my old man felt that way. Tov and I knew early on that we weren’t normal. We didn’t come from a normal family, but she and I are…different. Unfeeling. Detached. Soulless, as a few romantic partners over the years have referred to us.

We know our parents, aunts, and uncles are the pinnacle. And Tov and I have accepted that we will always fall short, given our lack of compassion and empathy. But to disappoint the man I look up to…well, let’s just say I iced my face, took some pain pills, and started researching everything there is to know about MSUD. And honestly, there ain’t much, other than our Ashkenazi Jewish heritage made it more likely for me to pass on and diet is very important.

However, I’ve still put off coming here. Mom insisted, and Aunt Esther badgered me. It wasn’t until Ezra met Dorothy and brought the Goldman Girls into our lives that some things began to click. Months ago, Dorothy’s sister Blanche traveled to Florida to bring their half-brothers to live with us in North Carolina. Those boys were fathered by a fucking bastard who gave zero shits about them or their well-being, simply what they could do for him. They had no one in Florida to help them, advocate for them, protect them. Now, they have their big sisters, Ezra’s parents, and the rest of the Kosher Nostra at their backs.

And I realized Arlo would have no one, too. Sort of.

So, here I am. Reluctantly.

“Excuse me?” I tilt my head to the side, my gaze landing on a beautiful woman sporting a hesitant smile. My eyes run down the length of her body, my cock perking up and taking notice. “The meeting you’re looking for is tomorrow evening.”

That can’t be right. I’ve stared at the damn flyers, all thirty of them that my family posted everywhere so I didn’t miss them or their subtle hints, and memorized the date, time, and location.

“I thought tonight was the—”

“Overeaters Anonymous is tomorrow.” My eyes widen in shock; I snort and then a loud laugh bubbles up my chest. She frowns, confused by my reaction.

“Did you…did you just fat shame me?” I ask, my entire body shaking as I let loose. The people milling about stare in our direction.

She splutters, shaking her head wildly, “What? No, I would never—"

“I’m here for the Chronic Illness Parent and Caregiver Support Group.”

Her face is a dangerous shade of red, she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, her almond shaped dark eyes practically bugging out. “Oh my gosh, I totally just fat shamed you! And you aren’t even fat, you’re just so…big, I assumed—and made an ass out of me and, nope, just me.”

Fuckin’ hell. My head rolls back, eyes close, and I howl. Tears start falling and my stomach hurts. She’s right, I’m a big guy. 6 ⒈／⒉ feet tall, wide shoulders and chest. But I am not fat. It’s all solid muscle I’ve earned to keep up with Yakov. He’s a fucking beast and I am determined to beat him at least once before I die.

I manage to say, “Thank you.” Wiping under my eyes, the last bit of laughter finally dies out. “I needed that.”

She shrugs self-deprecatingly and it’s…fuck me, it’s adorable. That’s not a word I’ve ever used. She shifts, her long dark hair covers some of her face and I want to push it back, or better yet, wrap it around my fist and take her mouth. Not the time or the place.

“I’m glad my entire foot in my mouth could provide a moment of levity. If you’re here, I can guess those aren’t a frequent occurrence in your life right now.”

Well, that sobers me up immediately. My smile dips and my chest tightens. “No, they aren’t.” Chaos surrounds me and usually it’s entertaining chaos. Being a member of the Kosher Nostra and running a security company certainly keeps me mired in violence, but my family isn’t any different than most Jewish families; we find humor in any situation, if only so we don’t succumb to the darkness.

She sticks out her hand, small and delicate. It’s engulfed as I take it, her softness a stark contrast to my calloused skin. “Vandy Gibbs, welcome to the Chronic Illness Parent and Caregiver Support Group, NOT Overeaters Anonymous. Grab a refreshment or snack, no judgement,” she winks, “and find a seat, we’ll get started shortly.”

I nod, finally releasing her hand when she tugs on it. “Thanks.” She walks over to a small group, they greet her with familiarity, so they must be regulars. I pass the refreshments table, grab an empty seat in the circle and sit down. I feel like a fucking giant in this small chair. I shift uncomfortably, pull out my phone and send my sister a message.

Tev: So, just got told I’m at the wrong meeting. Overeaters Anonymous is tomorrow night.

Tov: bwahahahahahaha

Tov: You’re fat.

Tev: Just my dick.

Tov: Mine too.

Grimacing, I concede. Tovah practically invented Big Dick Energy, and she’s got a set of unrivaled fucking brass balls. I’m man enough to admit, I’m a scary fucking dude, but Tovah makes the monsters that go bump in the night run home terrified.

Tov: Now, put the phone down, fucker, and pay attention. Feel the support, sing Kumbaya, hold hands, and find a way to be better. For Arlo.

Tev: I should have eaten you in the womb.

Tov: Fuck, can you imagine if we shared the same body? The world would shudder at our feet. Dammit, now I wish you had…the power!

She sends a He-Man meme, and I pocket my phone with a chuckle. I glance up and find Vandy staring at me with an expression I don’t understand. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles quickly, dropping her head and subtly shaking it back and forth a couple times.

“Everyone, please take your seats. Let’s get started.” Her voice carries despite how small she is. Reminds me a little of Dorothy’s sister Sophia. Innocent. Sweet. Pure. I don’t know what to do with someone like that.

And since I’m not here to fuck, I guess it doesn’t matter.

“Welcome. Chronic illness can be devastating. Not just to the one diagnosed, but those that love and care for that person. Parents and caregivers suffer right alongside them, often in silence. This group allows you to voice your fears, concerns, anger, sadness, joy, and more. You may share or simply listen. The journey is yours to steer. I always begin with a little bit about myself for any newcomers. My name is Vandy Gibbs, and I am a Registered Nurse, specializing in pediatrics, and dabbling in home health care for children with chronic illnesses.” Bullshit, she looks like she’s barely in her twenties. “I’ve been working in this field for over 10 years. I’ve been told by professors and other nurses and doctors, never become attached to your patients. I say, ‘screw that’. How can we care for another human being and not feel? I am blessed to have met so many wonderful children over the years, and I’m grateful their caregivers invited me into their homes, giving me the opportunity to improve their quality of life. Chronic illness isn’t a prison sentence. It doesn’t mean that parents or family members have to give up their lives to tend to their loved ones that are sick. It’s about finding a balance.”

The door opens, interrupting Vandy’s speech. I glance over my shoulder and am shocked to find Seril ducking in with a wave. “Sorry, I’m late. Sorry.” She finds me in the circle and heads straight to me. “Tev, make room.” The woman next to me smiles at Seril and scoots down to offer Seril her seat.

I lean in close once Seril’s settled and thanked the woman, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for support.”

“Seril—”

“That is Sarai Ima to you,” she replies sternly. She giggles a second later as I roll my eyes. She never pulls rank, though she could. Being the wife of the Avraham Avinu, the head of the Jewish mafia, has its perks. Seril is not one to abuse such power. And that’s why she’s perfect for Moshe and the Kosher Nostra. “You remember my mother has a TBI?” I nod, feeling like an ass. “Now, shut up, you’re disrupting the meeting.”

I chuckle but sit up straight in my seat and cross my right leg over my left. Vandy’s dark eyes dart between Seril and I and if I’m not mistaken her shoulders stiffen ever so slightly. Interesting.

“Alright, enough about me. Who would like to begin tonight?” No one rushes to raise their hands. After a few silent seconds, Seril wiggles her fingers in the air. “Wonderful. When you’re ready.”

Seril takes a deep breath, then unloads quite a lot. While I’m familiar with her history, it’s still surprising to hear everything she’s gone through with her mother. By the time she’s done, I find myself uncharacteristically verklempt. She’s a strong fucking woman. Moshe and his mom have worked hard to give Seril the chance to just be a daughter, rather than a caregiver. Several people nod, and a few ask questions about the nursing options. Pretty soon, Seril has taken over the meeting.

I twist to the side to find Vandy. I expect her to be mad, jealous that someone has stolen her thunder. Instead, she’s grinning from ear to ear, engaged and encouraging, even asking some questions of her own. She’s using Seril’s story as inspiration.

Who the hell is this woman?