28. Chris
Chris
January, Cardiff
Whatever Dad had wanted from their bonding trip to the rugby club, it had probably not been this.
“Leave it alone, Nick,” his dad grumbled as the three of them stormed into the house. “Just get me a fucking ice pack.”
Their father-son afternoon out hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
“You shouldn’t have done it, Dad.”
The three of them entered the kitchen. His mum appeared at their side, fretting over his dad, who was cradling his bloodied left hand.
Nick went to the freezer and pulled out an icepack that he wrapped in a tea towel and handed off.
“What were you thinking, Derek?” Chris’s mum groused.
“I was thinking nobody gets to say shit about my boy, is what I was thinking.”
Chris swallowed. It was his fault. Of course it was.
He’d only left for a second, needing a minute to take a breath after another one of Nick’s digs about Isaiah, and when he’d come back in, his dad had a bloody fist, his old rugby mate was on the ground, and the barkeep was shouting at them all to get out.
“Still, Dad. Punching him like you’re some sort of bare-knuckle boxer.”
“Didn’t see you do much of anything, Nick.” He rounded on his son. “That was your brother they were mouthing off about. Your twin. And you just stood there, fucking smirking. You should have backed me up.”
“Nothing they said was a lie.” Nick closed off, his face stony and his arms crossed in front of him. “He did take drugs. He did make a sex tape. He is—”
“Don’t you fucking finish that sentence,” his dad roared.
“That’s it then, isn’t it?” Chris said. “I don’t know what fucking happened to you, but I’m done.
It’s not worth trying anymore. My life has been one fucking disaster after the next, and instead of being there for me like a brother, like a twin is meant to, you’ve been the worst fucking part of it.
But I’m over it. I don’t need your approval, but if you let Dad get hurt to prove a point about me, then fuck you, Nick. ”
“Let Dad get hurt?” Nick growled. “Dad got hurt because of you. Because even when all your fuck-ups are displayed for the whole world to see, he can’t stop treating you like his precious gold-medal-winning athlete.
” He got right up in Chris’s face then, voice low.
“I thought if they knew about the doping, it would change. But no. Nothing.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Chris asked stepping back to put space between them.
Nick smirked. They stared at each other in silence, two sets of hazel eyes glaring, ready for a fight.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw Isaiah enter the room, then something in Nick finally snapped.
“You want to know what happened?” Nick asked, voice shaking despite the way he stood rigid and straight.
“Nick—” his mum started.
Chris stared at him, anger draining into something wary. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the doping tip-off,” Nick said. “How do you think they knew exactly what to look for?”
The kitchen went very still.
Chris frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I sent it.”
The words landed heavy and dull.
“You…” Chris blinked. “What?”
“I sent it,” Nick repeated, louder now, like he needed to hear himself say it.
“I knew what you were doing, knew about your nutritionist. Found the fucking pills in your nightstand in the summer. But I kept quiet. I sat on it, waiting for someone else to catch on, for the system to do its work. But it didn’t, and you were being paraded around like always.
King of the fucking castle, like nothing ever sticks to you. So I called in a tip.”
Chris shook his head automatically. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Isaiah stepped up beside him, placing a steady hand on Chris’s arm.
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you,” Nick shot back.
His hands were shaking now. He shoved them into his pockets like he could hide it.
“I was tired of being compared to you and coming up short. We’re identical, Chris.
Identical. But somehow you’re the one everyone wants.
The prodigy. The golden boy. The Olympian.
The one Dad fights people in pubs over.”
His dad flinched.
Chris rounded on Nick again, wild and broken. “Do you seriously hate me that much? Just because, what? I took something I shouldn’t have? What the fuck, Nick?”
“I don’t hate you because of the doping,” Nick said, voice cracking. “Or because you made a sex tape. I hate you because none of it matters. None of it sticks. You fall upwards.”
Chris took a step forward. Isaiah tightened his grip on his forearm but didn’t stop him.
“At Grandad’s funeral,” Nick continued, face red and eyes shining, “all anyone could talk about was you. The Olympics. Your future. Your potential. I had to show people who you really were. But it didn’t matter. You’re still the fucking perfect son.”
The perfect son. The perfect son would never have even considered doing what he nearly had. Chris looked at his brother, and clarity hit him all at once. “I tried to kill myself, Nick.”
Everything stopped. Something shifted in Chris as he finally said the words out loud, no dancing around it. A tiny piece of the shame he’d been carrying was chipped away as he looked his brother in the eyes, more honest than he’d been with anyone, even Isaiah.
“Y-you didn’t,” Nick stuttered.
Isaiah wrapped his arms around Chris, tight, secure.
“I did. I stood on the edge of a bridge and I was going to—”
“No,” his dad interjected. “You weren’t going to, Chris. You said…”
“Derek?” His mum’s eyes were wide and shining. Chris felt himself shrink.
He swallowed. “Dad, you know I was.” He looked his dad in the eyes, shoulders slumping. “If you hadn’t been there.”
“Chris,” his mum whispered.
Nick coughed. Chris stared at his brother, who for once genuinely seemed to be at a loss for words. Nick wrung his hands and looked down at the ground. Then he took a breath, and said the one thing that would sever the remaining thread holding them together. “I sent the tape.”
Chris’s stomach dropped. He felt Isaiah’s arms tremble around him.
Their mum’s voice was barely audible. “Don’t.”
Nick nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.
When you passed me your phone at the fireworks, it was right fucking there in your camera roll.
I was going to show Mum and Dad, just to prove you weren’t this perfect fucking redemption story everyone seems to believe.
” His words were tumbling over each other now.
“But then, I don’t know, I forwarded it to Becky.
I was asking her what I should do about it, and the next day it was everywhere. ”
“Nick, that’s…” Chris paused. “I could have you arrested. Isaiah could have you arrested. And Becky, if she’s even real. You realise that, right? It’s a fucking serious offence.”
Chris’s mum gasped. “Chris, please.”
“I won’t,” Chris said softly, more to his mum than to Nick. “I don’t want you to lose a son. That’s half the reason I’m still here.” Chris looked to Isaiah. “That, and him.”
Isaiah pressed a kiss to his temple.
Nick’s shoulders sagged. “I’m leaving this afternoon,” he said quietly. “Back to the States. And I don’t think I’ll be back here for a long time. Not after this.”
Their mum made a soft, wounded sound, but she didn’t disagree. She didn’t stop him.
Chris just stared at him. “You should’ve talked to me.”
“And said what?” Nick asked. “‘Hi, I’m deeply insecure and not really in love with being second best’?
” He didn’t look up at Chris, studying the floor as he spoke.
“I never wanted to hurt you, that wasn’t the point.
” Nick’s voice was small now. “I just wanted… I don’t even know what I wanted.
For once, I wanted it to be you scrambling, not me. ”
Chris’s jaw worked, but no words came. None of this made sense to him. No part of him could reconcile that man in front of him with the brother he’d shared his entire childhood with.
Nick looked at him like he was trying to memorise his face. Then he nodded once, sharp and final. “I’m sorry,” he said.
And he walked out.
The front door closed with a soft click that echoed in the silent house. No one moved for a long time. Chris was still staring at the empty doorway when his knees seemed to give slightly. Isaiah caught him, hands sliding to his waist.
“Hey,” Isaiah murmured.
Chris let himself crumple. “He—” His voice broke. “He’s my twin.”
“I know.”
“I would’ve given him anything.”
Isaiah guided him gently toward the hallway. “Come on.”
They didn’t speak to his parents. Not yet. He couldn’t face it. For now, Isaiah steered him to the guest room, and Chris let him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and folded in on himself, elbows on knees, hands in his hair.
Isaiah knelt in front of him. “Look at me,” he said softly.
Chris did. “I didn’t know he felt like that,” he whispered.
“You couldn’t have.”
“I should’ve noticed. We’re twins; I should’ve been able to see.”
“You’re not psychic.”
Chris let out a shaky breath.
Isaiah reached up, brushing his thumbs under Chris’s eyes, wiping away the dampness there.
“You are not responsible for someone else choosing to hurt you,” he said quietly. “Not then, not now.” He took a breath. “If it’s true for me, it’s true for you.”
Chris leaned forward suddenly, pressing his forehead to Isaiah’s shoulder, seeking an anchor to steady him. Isaiah held him, running slow, measured strokes up and down his back.
“I feel like I’ve lost him,” Chris said into his collarbone.
“Maybe,” Isaiah admitted gently. “Or maybe this is the first honest thing he’s said in years. Maybe it just needs time, and you can come back to each other one day, once you’ve had time to heal.”
Chris’s fingers tightened in the fabric of the borrowed jumper Isaiah wore.
“I don’t want anyone to know what he did.”
Isaiah nodded. “We don’t need to tell anyone.”
“And I don’t want to sleep into that room, ever again. We grew up in that room together. It’s…”
“Then you won’t.”