SECRETS THAT WE KEEP

1. Bella-1

Chapter One

Bella

Drinking had never been a good idea for me. I tended to forget everything I did and make stupid, reckless decisions whenever I partook, like getting online and buying a dozen pairs of new shoes or ordering thirty-eight packs of chewing gum at once.

True story.

So I had pretty much cut all the alcohol out of my life, except for today, when I just couldn’t seem to help it.

I’d started with the girls earlier to help Haven get over a fresh breakup. And after Gracen had dropped me off at home—alone—I’d stumbled my way to my own liquor stash and poured myself another.

Because my poor baby cousin’s situation had felt too freakily similar to mine.

You see, Haven had walked in on her boyfriend cheating.

And so had I.

Kind of.

I mean, it had been the next morning and no one had been in the middle of the actual deed as they’d been in her case. But they’d still been naked and cozied up in bed together, passed out after a night of rowdy unfaithfulness. And I’d been officially engaged to my cheating loser. Haven had not. So it felt just as traumatic, if you wanted my honest opinion.

Yet not one family member had mentioned that today to Haven when they’d been trying to console her.

No, hey, Bella totally understands; ask her how she overcame it.

No, yo, Bella just went through this, so you can make it through too.

No nothing.

Or maybe they all knew I really hadn’t made it through yet. I was still stuck somewhere in the muck of unrelenting misery.

Though honestly, it felt more like they’d all just plain forgotten I was also nursing a broken heart. Sure, it’d almost been six months and I was totally over that cheating dickhead asshat. But the deceit and betrayal part still felt like yesterday to me, especially after watching Haven cry today.

We had tried to talk her into rebounding with another guy. Actually, I had been more on team vibrator and anti-man, but whatevs. I’d eventually sided with the others and encouraged her to take a c***k at getting under one man in order to get over another. I mean, it couldn’t hurt her any more than she was already hurting to taste-test her hot new male roommate, because Wick was super-hot. And super male. And since she now lived with him, super easy access.

It was really too bad I didn’t have my own Wick to help me get over Ethan—er, not Ethan himself, but what I thought I’d had with Ethan. Because, f**k Ethan, you know? That douche had been dead to me since the moment I’d found the skank in bed with him while our engagement picture sat on the nightstand right next to her passed-out, two-timing face. But I couldn’t seem to get over this new inability to trust anything, not even myself. My confidence had taken a serious nosedive since then. And I hadn’t been able to even crave s*x with another person. Which made me feel broken.

I didn’t want to be broken.

Broken made me irritable. And who wanted to be irritable?

I made a sour face at the dildo in my hand and then chucked it into my still-open nightstand drawer next to me before shoving it closed. Cold plastic just didn’t sound appealing right now. It was all that damn Teagan’s fault, too. Pregnancy must spike the hormones to unbelievable heights because T had made s*x-with-a-live-person sound pretty damn appealing a couple of hours ago in Haven’s kitchen, which I hadn’t thought was possible for me anymore.

But now…

Now, I couldn’t get the idea of hot, urgent hands, a wet, seeking mouth, and firm, sculpted abs out of my brain. Except pure panic clutched my throat every time I tried to picture a face connected to any kind of pleasure.

Argh! I hated being this messed up.

Maybe I should try what Haven was currently trying and just force myself back onto that horse. Yeah, then I’d realize s*x did not equate getting your trust and pride stomped on and shattered. It didn’t mean I was a broken, naive i***t. And everything would be okay again.

Yeah, I could do this. I’d just have to find a willing guy and—

Oh, right.

Guys.

Boo, hiss, never mind.

I didn’t want anything to do with a bearer of p*****s right now. Except maybe one. But he was my brother, so he totally didn’t count. Because brothers didn’t even have real, working boy parts. Or at least, they shouldn’t. That would just be weird. And I was going to stop thinking about weird and odd drunk things now.

Knowing I could always depend on my Gracen, I turned to my nightstand and reached for my phone on top, accidentally knocking over the glass of bourbon and Coke I had sitting next to it.

“Shit.”

Wow, how much had I had to drink? My vision was royally messed up. Trying to blink the foggy world from my eyes, I crawled to the edge of the bed and draped myself over the side, trying to reach for the spilled glass. It hadn’t broken, thank goodness, but a puddle of alcohol and melting ice was staining my carpet.

Ah, f**k it. My fingers couldn’t reach. I’d just deal with cleaning s**t up tomorrow.

Returning my attention to my phone, I gave the screen a goofy grin to wake it up, only to snort at the messaging app I still had open, revealing a group text with the girls.

HAVEN: Then what am I supposed to do?

BENTLEY: Whenever he comes back from shopping, just try again. And if you get so close that he tries to escape…

LUCY: Don’t let him.

BELLA: Don’t let him.

TEAGAN: Girl, don’t you dare let him!

Poor Haven had been getting cold feet about seducing her roommate, but we’d encouraged her to try again, anyway.

If all was right in the world, Haven and Wick were currently having a hell of a good time at their place.

Which made misery rumble through my stomach. I wanted to have a good time, too. But a totally different kind. Ergo, I needed my Gracen. Bad.

Flicking my way out of the text messages, I went into my address book to call him. As soon as I saw the Gs, I pushed on his name. At least, I think it was his name.

Close enough.

“Hello?” he answered a few seconds later.

Huh, he sounded funny. Or maybe that was just my drunk ears hearing funny things. Whatever. As soon as he was here, curled up on the couch with me, stuffing me full of hot chocolate and popcorn while we watched reruns of our favorite show together, he could sound as funny as he wanted to.

So I said, “Can you come over? Right now? I really need you tonight.”

And I hung up the phone before he could answer.

That was all I ever needed to say when talking to my twin. He always showed up, just as I knew he would tonight.

Because he got me. We were like—well, imagine me crossing my fingers right now. Yes, we were like that together. People called our close sibling bond weird and unnatural. But we didn’t care. We were each other’s best friend, and we were content with that.

Twenty minutes later, my doorbell rang.

“About damn time,” I grumbled, frowning over the fact that he’d rung the bell. Why in God’s name was Gracen ringing the doorbell? He typically just walked right in whenever he dropped by. Even if the place was locked, he had a freaking key.

“Why are you ringing the—Oh!” I blinked when I saw who was standing on the other side of the entrance.

Definitely not my twin brother.

My shoulders slumped. I shot the uninvited guest a scowl. “What’re you doing here?”

“Uh…” His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You called me.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

“Yes,” he countered. “You did.” Stepping past me into the front room without waiting for me to even let him in, he glanced around as if looking for more people, since there were always other people around whenever he came over.

But tonight, there was just me.

And Jim Beam.

Plus, now him.

Strange.

Turning back, he added, “You asked me to come over, saying you really needed me.”

“No.” My brow knit with confusion. I kept shaking my head. And was it just me, or did it seem like I was shaking my head a lot here? “I called Gracen. I said that to Gracen.”

Catching my face between his hands to get me to stop with the whole back-and-forth head action I had going on, he looked me straight in the eye and answered, “You called me.”

Narrowing my eyes, I slapped his hand away and whined, “But I don’t want you.”

He was not my sweet, reliable, goofball twin brother.

“Wow.” He tipped his chin just enough to shade his eyes under the bill of his hat. It was a look he gave people whenever he thought they’d said something incredibly stupid. “Thank God I have a healthy self-esteem. That might’ve actually stung.”

“I thought I was talking to Gracen,” I ground out. “Your name is just one off from his on my phone. It was a stupid misdial.”

“Well, you got me anyway, baby doll.” Rubbing his hands together, he started for the kitchen. “Please tell me there’s some decent food around here. I’m starving.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” I called after him, totally aghast. “You can’t stay. You weren’t invited.”

To which he called back from the kitchen, “Was too.”

“Ugh.” Throwing my head back, I glared up at the ceiling a moment, then slumped my shoulders and trailed my uninvited, pain-in-the-neck guest back to my kitchen.

Self-consciously wrapping the robe I was wearing tighter around my stained T-shirt and sweatpants, because I totally wasn’t dressed to receive visitors who were not Gracen, I plopped heavily into a chair and crossed my legs so I could madly swing one bare foot back and forth to display my annoyance.

Completely ignoring me, the turd just kept snooping through my fridge. So I sighed—loudly—and irritably watched the cloth of his jeans pull snug across his butt as he bent over, searching for God knows what.

I was about to complain about him just making himself at home in my kitchen, but I got a little distracted by the pleasant scenery, so I ended up simply blinking and wondering when he’d gotten such a nice ass.

Then, because I was drunk, I blurted, “When did you get such a nice ass?”

He straightened in surprise and spun around, shooting me a startled glance. But a second later, he sniffed indignantly. “What’re you talking about? I’ve always had a nice ass.”

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.

His butt definitely hadn’t been that appealing when he was little. That I could attest to. When we’d been kids, he and Gracen, along with a couple of the other boys, would run around bare-ass naked in our backyard and have water fights. We girls—voyeurs that we were—would totally spy on them through the windows and giggle behind our hands. It had been agreed upon by all, save for his sister, that Beau had the cutest butt in those days.

Turning back to my fridge, my guest ignored me and shut the door, obviously finding nothing of interest there. He opened the freezer next.

I nearly whined with disappointment because his butt looked way better when he was bending over. Not that it was awful when he was standing upright, but his jeans had become too loose to properly see the awesome curvature he’d had before.

“You know, those frozen push-pop things you buy are seriously the best,” he was saying from the depths of chilly air. “My favorite flavor’s peach.”

“Is it? Hmm. Well, I’m out,” I was evilly pleased to report. Served him right for barging in without an invitation and not bending over in front of me anymore.

“But are you? Really?” Grinning broadly, he backed from the freezer so he could turn and triumphantly hold up a peach push pop.

My mouth fell open. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Under a bag of frozen peas.” He winked. “Right where I stashed it the last time I was here.”