21. Kai
Twenty-One
Kai
“I’m here for you, brother,” Ego says, “Just say when and where.”
“I’ll get back to you,” I grumble.
Kane’s gone.
It’s just me and Ego on the line and I don’t bother filling the silence while I gather my thoughts.
He waits.
And I stare out my apartment window.
Thinking.
Adding pieces together.
The permits.
The contractors who won the bid on the project.
Then the Valentine’s Day dance happened, and now, it’s donors suddenly disappearing.
Permit revoked.
Requests for info being delayed. Ignored, even.
And it all leads back to Jonas.
Fucking Jonas.
“Can we prove he’s behind the delays?”
“Not yet,” Ego says. “But we keep working on it, and we’ll have something solid. Not everyone is smart enough to permanently wipe their texts or emails.”
“That’s right. There’s always a trace. And we’ll find it,” I say with renewed determination.
Ego sighs.
“You're still not supposed to be involved.”
“Too late.”
“Kai.”
“Ego.”
“You're suspended.”
“I’m on administrative leave.”
“Same thing.”
“Nope. Not even close.”
“You can’t walk away because it’s about her,” my jerk twin says knowingly.
I grunt.
Because Ego is annoying, but he’s right.
I wouldn’t be looking into this if it wasn’t for Mary. If I didn’t know how much this meant to her—but it does and I do. So, there it is.
And I think fixing this thing for her, helping this problem go away, and seeing her smile when it does?
It might be one of life's greatest pleasures.
“You know what's funny?” I ask my brother who’s still remarkable on the phone.
“Nothing about this conversation is funny.”
“I think it’s gonna work out. I think OLG is gonna build that gym anyway.”
That gets his attention.
Silence for a beat, and then…
“What are you talking about?” Ego asks.
“Let's say Jonas suddenly finds himself removed from the equation.”
“Kai.”
“Hypothetically.”
“You're not allowed to use the word hypothetically anymore,” he mutters.
I ignore him.
“The Volkovs would write a check tomorrow.”
“Probably.”
“The Furys too.”
“Definitely.”
“Connor?”
“Absolutely,” Ego says.
“See?”
“That's not the point.”
“No. It's not.”
Because Mary's right.
And Sister Agnes is right, too.
The community needs ownership.
Needs involvement.
Needs to feel like they helped build it.
Not like some billionaire dropped a gym from the sky.
“Sabrina said Sister Agnes has a plan for another fundraiser,” Ego says.
His voice immediately softens whenever Sabrina's involved.
It's disgusting.
Honestly.
My twin used to be a grumpy asshole twenty-four seven.
Now he sounds like a man who owns matching coffee mugs.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Saint Patrick's Day Gala.”
I grin.
“Firecracker mentioned it.”
“Apparently they're turning it into a huge thing this year.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
I stand and head toward my closet.
Because it's almost time to get ready.
Almost time to pick Mary up.
Almost time to see her again.
Just thinking about her has me smiling like a moron.
“What's that noise?” Ego asks.
“Nothing.”
“Kai.”
“I'm getting dressed.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You are.”
“I am what?”
“Smiling.”
I look around my apartment.
“Can you see me?”
“No. I can hear it.”
“That's not a thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
“Bullshit.”
“Kai, you're smiling so hard it's coming through the phone.”
“Fuck off.”
His laughter crackles through the speaker.
“Holy shit. You got laid and suddenly you're a Disney princess.”
“I'm hanging up.”
“No, wait. It gets worse.”
“There is no worse.”
“Oh, yes, there is.”
I yank a clean button-down from the closet.
“What?”
“You care!”
I freeze.
Immediately annoyed.
“Shut up.”
“You really care!”
“I care about lots of things,” I grumble.
“No, asshole. You care about her.”
I hate it when he's right.
Mostly because he knows it.
“It's just—it’s different with her.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Silence.
Then, he barks like a goddamn dog.
“Ha! Holy shit.”
“Don't.”
“You admitted it.”
“Ego.”
“You admitted it out loud.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I!”
I rub a hand over my face.
This was a mistake.
Talking to him is always a mistake.
Actually, being related to him is a mistake.
“Fine. Yes. She's different,” I mutter.
“Yeah. And?”
“She's not—”
“Like the others?”
I hate that he knows exactly what I'm about to say.
“Yeah.”
“Because you actually like her.”
“Shut up.”
“You spend time with her when you're not trying to.”
“That's not a sentence.”
“You know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I do.
Because he's right.
I don't just want Mary.
I want to talk to her.
I want to hear about her students.
I want to know how the fundraiser is going.
I want to hear her complain about her day.
I want to bring her coffee.
I want—Jesus.
I really do have it bad.
“You know what Mom's gonna say, right?” Ego asks.
“Oh, God.”
“She's gonna take one look at you and know.”
“You better not fucking tell her.”
“Kai, she raised us. And Sabrina reminds me to check in once a week.”
“Yeah, but I'm not you!”
“And?”
“And I'm an adult.”
Ego laughs so hard he actually snorts.
“Mom doesn't care if you’re an adult. You’ll always be her baby boy!”
“She'll ask when you're getting married.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She'll ask about babies.”
“EGO.”
“She'll threaten to beat your ass if you screw this up.”
“That one is actually true.”
“Very true.”
Our mother once chased a grown man out of the house with a wooden spoon.
I've never forgotten it.
Neither has he.
“She likes Mary,” Ego adds.
“When did she even meet her?”
“She's met her twice with me and Sabrina.”
I shake my head.
Because he's impossible and won’t shut up.
Because somehow he's become the relationship expert.
Because life is unfair.
“Anyway,” he says. “Sabrina wants us all to have dinner next weekend.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what this is.”
“What?”
“A trap.”
“It isn't.”
“It absolutely is.”
“We just want to see you and her together.”
“You already saw us together at the dance.”
“We want to see her with you as your girlfriend.”
“Ego.”
“Kai.”
“No way, this is to good,” he says, snickering like the little prick he is.
“If you don't shut up, I'm telling Sabrina why we call you Ego,” I threaten.
No, I'm not above dirty fighting.
“You wouldn't!”
“I've got pictures, asshole.”
“No way! You said you burned those!”
“I lied.”
“You son of a bitch.”
See, Ego and I are identical twins now.
But when we were kids?
Not so much.
Around twelve, I discovered soccer.
Running.
Working out.
Meanwhile, Theodore discovered video games and toaster waffles.
By freshman year, the difference was obvious.
I'd gotten lean.
He'd gotten... fluffy.
“It was baby fat,” Ego growls.
“Forty pounds of baby fat?”
“Puberty hit me late!”
“Puberty didn't force-feed you Eggo waffles.”
“It was one box!”
“It was one box an hour starting after dinner every day of the week. I’d call it more of a lifestyle choice.”
“Fuck you.”
Naturally, being the loving brother I am, I started calling him Ego.
As in Egg-o Waffles.
Because he was actually shaped like one for a while—and while I’m aware bodies come in all shapes and sizes and it’s not a one size fits all world, fucking with my brother is in a separate category from how I feel about the topic of body positivity.
He groans.
“Mary is never hearing this.”
“Oh, she's absolutely hearing this.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“You bastard!”
“But here's the funny part.”
“There is no funny part.”
“You know how the weight came off sophomore year.”
“I joined the team. So?”
“So, suddenly every girl in school wanted your ass.”
Ego goes quiet.
“Oh shit. Don't you fucking dare—”
“Oh yeah. I think Sabrina will love learning how the girls kept on calling you Ego.”
His groan echoes through the speaker.
“Shut the fuck up, Kai.”
“Not because you were a little pudgy—”
“Kai, don’t you dare!”
“but because they didn't wanna let go their Ego.”
“I'm hanging up now and you better keep quiet!”
I grin.
“Too late. Sabrina's getting the whole story.”
“I’ll tell Mom! If she finds out you're telling people about the Egg-o years, she'll kill you for fat shaming me!”
“Ha! She’ll provide the proof. You know Mom has pictures.”
Silence.
“Fucking shit,” Ego whispers.
“Exactly.”
“Okay, after this OLG thing, we need to break into Mom’s house.”
“Maybe. If you quit it with the double dating shit.”
“No promises!”
“Promise or Operation Toaster Waffle is a no-go.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“Love you too, Egg-o.”
“Fuck you twice. And I’m telling Sabrina to block your number—”
Click.
I hang up before he can say anything else.
He’s such an asshole.
But I'm still grinning.
Because I love fucking with him.
And because he isn't entirely wrong.
I do care.
More than I should.
More than I ever planned to.
And as I button my shirt and glance at the clock, one thought keeps circling through my head.
Forty-five minutes.
That's how long until I see Mary.
Forty-five minutes until I hear her laugh.
Until I see her smile.
Until she rolls her eyes at me and pretends not to like the nickname.
And for the first time in my life, waiting feels impossible.
Her laugh.
The way she blushes when I call her Firecracker.
And somewhere between hanging up on jerkwad and grabbing my keys, I finally stop fighting the truth.
I'm not falling for Mary Donahue.
I'm already there.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
And I don't want out.
Not now.
Not ever.