Chapter Twelve
I wake up to yelling. Just angry ass noises.
The other side of the bed is empty, which makes sense given the familiar voice coming from outside.
This is not how I imagined this morning.
Some slight awkwardness and breakfast. More of him putting me through the mattress perhaps.
Two people hollering obscenities at each other, however, not so much.
It doesn’t take me long to put on my underwear and his shirt from last night. No idea where my dress has gone. And his jeans are missing, so I guess he has them on. The shouting continues in the back of the house. What the heck?
Surely if the media were involved it’d be happening in front of the house by the road. But that’s not where they are. Down the stairs I go. Then out onto the deck and down another set of stairs to reach the stretch of grass leading to the river.
The bloody-faced stranger slams his fist into Nash’s eye. He, in turn, grunts with pain and slams his fist into the man’s stomach.
Shit.
“You’ve been missing for a fucking week,” says the stranger, doubled over from the blow and gasping for breath. “I thought you were dead or something bad had happened.”
Nash is breathing heavy. “Yeah, well, when you left the band it was with barely a fucking word.”
“I told you I was leaving and why, you just didn’t want to hear it.”
“Because it was a bullshit reason and you should have been ashamed of yourself,” says Nash.
“Not everyone wants to play country music, you asshole.”
“It’s country slash rock with elements of folk and the occasional pop inflection. Get it right.”
This is wild. The stranger has long brown hair hanging in his face while his nose gushes blood.
And Nash, dressed only in jeans, has red marks sure to blossom into bruises on his torso.
Meanwhile, Grandma and Charlie stand on the grass by the riverbank.
Just hanging out and watching the two men beat the shit out of each other. Like this sort of carnage is normal.
“I had enough of being your shadow,” says the stranger. “The band gave me a chance to make something of my own.”
Nash spits blood onto the ground and checks for loose teeth with his finger. Seems his eye is starting to swell shut. “You’re an ungrateful, jealous dickhead. I paid you well and I wanted you with me.”
“I know you did. But I needed something else.” The man pauses. “I also need you to drop me a fucking text telling me you’re okay when everyone’s calling me looking for answers and the internet is full of fucking rumors regarding your untimely demise so I don’t have to fucking worry about you.”
“What a potty mouth,” says Nash. “And I don’t even own a phone now.”
“No one knew where you were. Not a single fucking person.”
“Well now that’s a lie. Audrey and Charlie knew. You just didn’t think to call them which isn’t my fault.”
And I understand none of what is happening. But what I do know is this grudge match needs to end. Preferably before someone breaks a bone. The two idiots visibly brace themselves to carry on, and no. It’s not happening.
I put two fingers into my mouth and unleash my loudest whistle. The one most likely to cause damage to any eardrums in the near vicinity. Because I am not about to be ignored.
“Do not start hitting each other again,” I order them.
Nash points at the stranger and says, “But he—”
“No.”
Meanwhile, the stranger turns toward me and wipes the blood from his mouth and chin.
This is the first decent chance I’ve had to take a look at him.
And those are some eerily similar cheekbones and jawline.
It’s obvious even with the swelling and contusions and general bloodiness.
So eerily similar to Nash’s that they’re almost exactly the same. And as for his blue eyes…whoa.
“Oh my god,” I say in wonder. “There are two of you.”
“You didn’t know?” asks Grandma in surprise.
I just shake my head. I mean, my mind is blown. How does the world even handle two of them walking around causing such chaos?
Nash pauses to spit out more blood. “Junebug, this is my twin brother, Angus. He won’t be staying. Ugly as sin, isn’t he?”
“He can stay with me,” says Grandma without hesitation.
“Can’t believe you called him,” grouses Nash.
Her chin comes up. “You’re not the only who knows how to work a phone. And it’s time you two sorted this out. It’s been four years, for heaven’s sake.”
Angus gives me a brief nod. His gaze dropping to my bare legs before shifting elsewhere.
Then he strips off his tee and wads it beneath his still-bleeding nose.
Muscles run in the family along with musical talent, apparently.
The tattoos, however, are only on one of them, and it is not the man who holds my heart.
My eyebrows are as high as can be. “How did I not know about this?”
“I don’t tend to talk about my family,” says Nash. “And I had the beard all those years, so we looked different.”
“You told me the beard was about stage fright.”
He shrugs. “It was mostly that.”
“Angus used to be the one with short hair,” says Charlie. “And he tended to avoid the media, so he’s not as well known.”
“The main differences are he’s a show pony, who’s chickenshit scared of needles and doesn’t play the guitar anywhere near as well as me.
” Angus also speaks differently. His tone is slightly lower and rumbling with a different cadence.
Like his outlook on the world is a more serious and sober thing in general.
There’s none of the smooth of Nash’s voice.
“What utter bullshit.” Nash scowls. “How’s your nose feeling?”
“About as good as your eye.”
And the brothers glare at each other. This is ridiculous. I wave a finger at them and say, “Don’t even think about it. Both of you keep your hands to yourself.”
“So I can still kick him?” asks Nash. “That’s what you’re telling me?”
My answering expression is one of great pain.
“Would you like some breakfast and clothes, Dear?” asks Grandma, who has apparently also had enough of the brothers fighting.
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”
Grandma gives the two men a long look. “You can come and get some ice packs for your faces if you promise to behave.”
Nash sighs. “I want to stay and hit you some more, but I have to make Junebug her morning coffee.”
Angus just grunts.
I don’t know if The Bend can handle both of the Porter brothers. Though I guess we’re going to find out.
“That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” says Angus over bacon, eggs, and toast. Charlie is in charge of frying while Nash does the toast. “Everything you did made sense, June. And it would’ve worked aside from Lady Caroline sticking her nose into it. But why would you add babies?”
“It did complicate things,” I say.
Nash watches me through his one good eye. The other is blackened and swollen. “My heart! How could you take his side?”
“I completely understand you wanting to annoy Carrie. She’s a horrible person. Just the worst.” I shrug. “And to be fair, the record company did give me a free luxury midsize SUV. It wasn’t all bad.”
“There you go,” says Nash.
Angus holds the ice pack to his nose. “You know, not everything between us needs to be a competition.”
“Yes it does.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Yes it does.”
“No it—”
“Give me strength,” says Grandma.
Charlie shakes his head. “I’d forgotten what a pair of fucking idiots you two could be when you were fighting.”
“It’s like they revert to eight years old, making jokes about dingleberries.” Grandma sighs.
“Sorry, Audrey,” says Angus. He then turns his attention to me. Or more accurately, to my left hand, the one currently holding my phone. “Nice ring.”
Huh. I honestly forgot I had the thing on. The beyond-beautiful, wildly expensive rocks sitting pretty on my finger. And I know I have to give them back but I don’t really want to for various reasons.
“I’m surprised to see you still wearing it,” says Grandma.
Nash shrugs. “It was a gift. You don’t give gifts back.”
“Then should she move it to another finger?” asks Grandma with great interest.
This question gets no response from Nash. While we all agreed to mind our own business, I wouldn’t mind hearing his thoughts on the subject. Even with an audience presence.
“You know, standing beside him isn’t always the easiest place to be,” says Angus, in his low and steady tone. His facial expressions also seem more subdued than his brother’s. Although it could be due to the damage done during their fight. I still can’t believe they were throwing punches.
“I remember how his fans hounded Jenna Singh,” says Grandma. “The poor girl said she didn’t listen to country music in an interview about her new film, and the vitriol she had leveled at her…”
Charlie grunts. “Didn’t they do a similar thing to Lili Macon?”
“She said some pretty harsh things about me in a song,” says Nash.
“Be honest.” Angus gives him a small smile. “She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
Nash crosses his arms. “I was twenty-three years old. Of course I was inconsiderate and thoughtless. Though just between us, it was impressive how many words she found to rhyme with asshole.”
“I actually quite like that song,” says Grandma. “It’s fun to dance to.”
“And we’re only talking about pressure from the fans. I wonder where our friends in the media are. There’s been no sign of them out front.” Charlie offers me another fried egg from the pan.
And I shake my head. “Thank you, but I’m no longer eating for three.”
Grandma snorts and picks up her phone. Seems having sex on the regular improves her mood.
Though it might also be thanks to having our lies exposed.
She really didn’t like any of that situation.
Her finger slides across her cell screen and she pauses.
“There’s a post about an emergency town meeting. ”
“Is that something that happens often?” I ask.
Grandma’s brows are raised as she shakes her head. “No.”
“Curious timing,” says Nash. “When is it?”
“Right now.”