Busted

Fuck it all.

Brooding, he climbed out of his car and eyed the rental—and it was a rental. It wasn’t the typical rental, no doubt about that, but the sexy little convertible Ferrari was almost definitely a rental, and it was completely Sebastian’s style and it was completely like his little brother to drop in una

He just hoped Sebastian would be too tired to still be up, because he was in no way ready to talk to anybody.

No, what he wanted was to grab that bottle of Glenlivet he’d bought years ago. He wanted to open it. He decided then and there he was going to have a drink. If he ended up puking his guts out, at least he’d have something else to be miserable about.

If not? Then he’d have a drink and hope he could find some way to sleep before he had to get up with Clayton.

The dark quiet of the house wrapped around him as he let himself inside. Judging by the soft snores coming from the living room, he had a feeling he might even get the silence he wanted—or close to it. A quick look into the living room confirmed the identity of his late-night crasher—Sebastian had fallen asleep on the couch, hadn’t even made it to one of the guest rooms, and Trey had several, one no more than a few yards down the hall. Glancing into the darkened living room, eyes gritty, he saw his younger brother, still wearing jeans and a T-shirt that rode up over his back. His hair had grown out from the last movie, almost brushing his shoulders.

He made a grunting noise under his breath and rolled—

Trey grimaced and watched as Sebastian ended up crashing on the floor. And he didn’t wake up.

The idiot had always slept like the dead.

Sighing, he moved into the room, crouching down next to the younger man. “Seb.”

No response.

He reached and tapped Sebastian’s cheek and then scowled when Sebastian turned his face toward him, muttering, “Not now, honey. Too tired.”

“Horny son of a bitch,” Trey said, amusement working in past the frustration, and the sadness that had been weighing on him ever since Ressa had unloaded on him.

“He’s not going to wake up.”

At the sound of the quiet voice behind him, he glanced over his shoulder.

Travis stood lost in the shadows, his eyes glinting, but Trey could make out little else other than his form as he stood in the hall.

“So I see.” Resigned, he stood up and moved to the wooden chest tucked up against a wall and opened it. It was filled with the quilts Aliesha had used to keep thrown over the back of the couch, the chair. They had belonged to her grandmother, so he hadn’t been able to get rid of them, but leaving them out hadn’t been much of an option, either. Snagging the top one, he pulled it out and draped it over Sebastian.

That done, he rose to his feet, heading out of the room and making his way into the kitchen. He splashed some whisky into a glass and eyed his brother. “I’m tired,” he said, hoping to cut off any inclination Travis might have to talk.

He was too frustrated for it. Too frustrated with himself, with Ressa—even with his brother, although his frustration with Travis had nothing to do with tonight, and everything to do with how much shit he knew Travis was holding back.

But Travis, smart man that he was, didn’t seem to pick up on that subtle hint. He followed Trey up the stairs, down the hall to the big bedroom that ran almost half the length of the house.

Tossing back the whisky, Trey slammed the glass down on his dresser with enough force to break it. The strong alcohol burned all the way down and he relished every second. When it hit his stomach, he kept his eyes closed, waited. But the only thing he felt was that gnawing, restless anger . . . the frustration. The misery.

And his twin’s waiting, watchful presence.

As he sat down on the edge of the bed, Trey shot Travis a look. “Maybe you didn’t hear. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

“You don’t look like a man who just got laid.” Travis had his thumbs hooked inside his front pockets and his head was cocked, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he studied his brother.

“You don’t look like a man with a genius IQ. Appearances are deceiving. Leave me alone, Trav.”

Instead of turning around and leaving, Travis did the typical brother thing. He came inside and shut the door. “What’s the deal, man? You two didn’t fight, did you?”

Trey focused on his shoes, giving the task of unlacing the Reeboks a lot more attention than it required. Once he was done, he kicked them off and headed into the bathroom. Aware that his brother was still watching, still waiting for an answer, he said, “No. We didn’t fight.”

“You . . .” Travis’s voice trailed off. “There’s nothing wrong between you two, is there?”

Something in his brother’s voice had him pausing.

Then there was a weird, niggling sensation in his gut.

Worry—

Narrowing his eyes, he came back out of the bathroom. “What’s the deal?”

Travis stared at him, dead in the eye. And fucking lied. “I don’t know what you mean. Well, other than the fact that you obviously are pissed off. So—”

“Stop,” Trey said softly, shaking his head. He moved toward his brother, watching as Travis went silent, head going back as Trey closed the distance. “You’re lying. You seem to forget that weird thing, how you can always tell when I’m mad, fucked up or pissed . . . it works both ways. And you’re lying. What is going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Travis just stared at him. His eyes were level, his face blank.

And this time, there was a curious void inside Trey, the way he felt when he either worked hard to keep himself down, or when Travis was trying to do that with him.

Which only made him that much more convinced that Travis was lying.

They were as close as two brothers—as twins—could be. Or they had been. Until . . . Trey tried to pinpoint when it had started, when he’d realized his brother was keeping secrets. It hadn’t been recent. He’d understood, realized there were probably things they’d just not tell each other. He hadn’t told his twin how much he blamed himself over Aliesha’s death, although he knew Travis suspected. He hadn’t told his twin how he’d just looked at her . . . and known.

Nor had he told Travis how he’d looked at Ressa and felt a punch in the gut, something primal, possessive, even more powerful than what he’d felt with Aliesha.

No, they didn’t tell each other everything. Even they had their secrets.

But Travis kept some dark ones.

Now, with only inches between them, Trey realized those secrets had grown into a distance and somehow, they were turning the man in front of him into somebody Trey wasn’t sure he knew. “You’re lying,” he said again. “You think something’s wrong . . . and I get the weirdest feeling you know exactly what it is.”

Travis’s gaze fell away, and a hard, tight knot settled in Trey’s gut.

Curling one hand into a fist, he demanded, “What do you know? And how the fuck do you know?”

Travis’s eyes glittered. The lines at the corners tightened. He opened his mouth.

The tension inside Trey gathered, mounted. Part of him felt like . . . finally.

But then Travis just shrugged. “Look, I don’t know what you’re so worked up about. It’s not like Ressa and I were sitting around braiding each other’s hair or anything. I don’t know shit. But clearly there’s something—what the—”

Trey shoved him back, hard. The sound of him slamming into the wall was sweet, so sweet he was tempted to do it again.

Twisted up in his own frustration, in his own worry, he didn’t see the pallor that came across his twin’s face.

One hand balled up into a fist and he reached up, snagged the front of Travis’s shirt, half thinking that maybe what they both needed was to just pound on each other. It had helped when they were younger. Why not—