Chapter One
Emery
“There she is. Our girl, home at last!” I hear him long before I see him—everyone on this so-slow-it-might-be-moving-backward escalator taller than me, blocking my view—but I’d recognize Cole Keller’s voice anywhere. I know it as well as I do my own.
He bulldozes his way through the crowd effortlessly, ready and waiting to lift me right off my feet, short of them descending the final, moving step. His massive arms of steel wrap me up in the familiar comfort that I missed even more than I expected, and he spins us around like nobody’s watching.
Not that I care if they are… I’d do anything, anyplace, with Cole.
“Woman, you’ve got no idea how good it is to have you back.” He brings us to a stop, kissing my forehead as he sets me to the floor, gently gripping my shoulders. He gives me a once-over, twice, making sure for himself that I am, in fact, home—safe and sound. “Week was way too long, Em. Felt like forever.”
Guilt jabs hard at my insides, but I paint a smile on the outside, running a calm, caring hand down his arm. “I missed you too, so much. Both of you…” my voice fades as I look around, coming up empty.
“Couldn’t find a parking spot,” he laughs knowingly and takes my hand. “He’s out there driving around in circles, probably cussin’ up a blue streak by now. We best get your luggage, and our asses, out there, before he causes a scene.”
I snicker, picturing just that, as he leads us toward baggage claim. Oh, Cabot… Not one to be told what to do or equipped with even a reasonable amount of patience, I can easily see him deciding he’s made the last circle he’s going to and slamming the truck into park—anywhere he wants—flipping off security as he comes storming in here, screaming our names.
It’s a very real possibility; I’ve seen him do much worse… many times.
Cole’s certainly not what anyone, who knows the definition, would call “mild mannered” himself. He did just part a large crowd as if non-existent, but his edges are a tiny bit smoother than his brother’s.
Those are my guys, though… Cabot and Cole Keller. My very best friends since junior high, identical twins—both rough, rogue, and irresistible—yet different in several ways... easy to spot, if your eyes are trained… like mine. And I wouldn’t change a single thing about either one of them.
Cole grabs my suitcase off the carousel, not needing told which it is, and again, finds my hand with his free one and weaves our fingers together. And as always, the gesture brings with it an ache of battle—one half of my heart beating faster while the other remains numb and neutral—a reminder that it’s for the best he doesn’t feel the same kindred, carnal, undeniable perfection that I do Every. Single. Time. he touches me. And though painful to accept, ignore, constantly shove to the very back of my repeatedly battered, split-down-the-middle heart, it is, in fact, an absolute must… because Cabot dazzles and cripples me in the exact same way.
Identically.
And there lies the problem.
I could never choose between them, if it was an option afforded me; which it’s not. I’ve been madly in love with both Keller twins since… well, since the pivotal, life-changing epiphany of what being in love meant finally hit me. Like a Mack truck. Followed closely by the crushing realization that their love for me, while wonderful and boundless, is of a different kind. They think of me as a little sister, a best friend. And even when I’m alone with one of them, be it Cole or Cabot, they both, always, refer to me as “theirs”… just reinforcing the fact that only one of them isn’t a possibility.
“Hey, you.” Cole jiggles my hand. “Awful quiet. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I blow out a deep breath, and with it, my futile thoughts. “Just worn out from all the traveling, I guess.”
“See? That’s why you shouldn’t go leaving us.” He grins, squeezing my hand as we walk outside.
And sure as the sun will rise, there he waits… every bit as coolly confident as the day I left… Cabot James Keller, leaning against the side of his black Chevy pickup, parked in the clearly-marked yellow zone right in front of the main doors. With his ball cap pulled down low and arms crossed over his barrel of a chest, he’s a sight straight out of the best kind of dreams.
Déjà vu… double vision… the same sizzle of excitement when my eyes found Cole in the crowd zinging through me once more.
“Minnow,” Cabot sighs the nickname he’d given me decades ago—refuse to bait your own hook one freakin’ time and you never live it down—his relief resonating. And for the split-second he sets them free, I’m captivated by his sexy smirk and the rare twinkle in his emerald eyes… until he tucks them away, remembering what he thinks he’s supposed to be—“the serious one.”
And here we go…
He clears his throat, prepping to toss out some classic “Cabot’s care and concern camouflaged in condescension” in a somber pitch, adjusting his expression to match. “Don’t see anything pierced, tatted, or broken on ya from here; helluva lot better than I was expecting. Guess I oughta be grateful, huh? What happened, somebody finally find sense enough to strap an ankle monitor on that friend of yours? Slow her sorry ass down some?”
In time-honored tradition, that I’m next to certain he enjoys as much as me, I don’t even flinch at his beat-a-dead-horse surliness, always more than ready to go head-to-head with Cabot Keller. “What, you don’t like Tracy? Why haven’t you ever mentioned it before?” I fight back my smile, batting my eyelashes in mocking, innocent ignorance.
Cole snorts, ever-amused by our tug-of-war, as he loads up my suitcase. “I’ll be waitin’ in the truck, you know, just twiddling my damn thumbs, whenever y’all are finished.”
“Funny,” Cabot growls at me, ignoring Cole. “That girl’s a loose cannon, bad influence. Why you’d go visit her beats the hell outta me.”
“Because, she’s an old friend. And, guess you haven’t been keeping up, but I surpassed the age of being influenced into doing anything I don’t want to several birthdays ago. Besides, getting away from the same ol’ thing every once in a while is refreshing; good for the soul. Speaking of same ol’, didn’t we already have this exact conversation before I left?” I hitch up my brows in saucy challenge and jut out a hip while waiting for his counter.
Almost there…
He’ll crack first, he always does, and having not seen me in a week… should be any second now.
My broody, bossy Cabot’s only weakness? Me.
“Cole get a hug?” Crack. He begrudgingly changes the subject to what he actually cares about, taking a few steps toward me.
My lips twitch, dying to smile at his advance of surrender, knowing he’ll bring along the sweet rewards of victory. “Mhmm,” I hum, slowly nodding.
Another step, putting him close enough now for me to inhale his signature scent of fresh masculinity. “Then why the hell are my arms still empty? You waitin’ on an invitation?”
“I could ask you the same,” I try to sass right back, falling just a bit shy of sassy with my entranced whisper.
Something’s… different about Cabot. I haven’t had time to start figuring out what yet, but it’s definitely there—a shift —in him, in us.
“I don’t need a fucking invitation. You’re my Minnow. I’ll hold you any goddamn time I want.” With one authoritative, sexy as hell move, he hoists me up and snug against his divinely solid body. A big man, my head barely comes to his chin, so he has to lean back in order to peer down at me, making sure I see his cocky grin. “Any objections?”
“None.” It’s but a breath.
“Glad to hear it.” That grin grows, his hold on me tightening, as he rests his forehead on mine. “I missed you, Emery.”
He pauses, his deep breaths felt as though my own, while he searches my eyes… looking for gravity. Verification that I truly understood the weight of his confession.
I did.
“Nothin’ felt right without our girl here. Promise me you’re done with the world travelin’, abandoning us.”
As badly as I want to laugh at his theatrics—I took one trip, in the same country and time zone—deceitful sorrow takes the forefront.
I can’t bring myself to do it… promise him, or lie straight to his face. So I quickly cover, forging a soft giggle and giving his chest a playful pat. “Cabot Keller, you better watch out. The real you and all your sweetness is starting to show.”
He hugs me impossibly closer, his mouth finding my ear, warm breath and smoky timbre beckoning goose bumps to cover my body as he whispers, “Only for you, Minnow. I’ll only ever show you.”
****
“You sure you don’t wanna go eat, hang out, something?” Cole pouts, adorably, when we get to my house. “You just got home, Em, and you’re already disappearing again. Gotta say, not likin’ whatever fuckin’ phase this is you’re going through.”
“Oh, stop,” I laugh. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, bright and early, promise. In fact, how about I make us a big, reunion breakfast? Sound good?”
“Not as good as a reunion dinner and movie marathon, now, does,” he grouches.
“Jesus, Cole, enough,” Cabot snaps, shaking his head. “Lady wants to be alone. Accept it, quit your bellyaching, and make yourself useful. Grab her bag while I walk her to the door.”
“Or, I have a better idea,” Cole sneers, “how about you go fuck yourself?”
Funny (except not really funny) thing is, Cabot’s the one most upset right now —but he’d just as soon have his leg chopped off before admitting it. His brooding may be done in silence, but I hear it, feel it, rolling off him in tidal swells. But I’m as used to it as I am their banter, so I leave them to it and go unlock the front door, flipping on a few lights and taking in my quaint little cottage with a whimsical sigh.
Within seconds, Cole’s right behind me, still grumbling to himself as he sets my things down in the living room. Then, punishing me… in the only way he’s capable, he gives me a tense hug and peck on the cheek… incapable of being anything short of kind and gallant, even when upset. “Welcome home, Em. See ya at breakfast. I’ll be waiting in the truck, again.” And out he stomps.
“He just missed ya, is all.” Cabot’s deep voice snags my focus from Cole’s pronounced departure back to him. “He’ll be good as new by breakfast.”
“I know.” I nod. “And you? Mad at me too?”
“Why would I be? I get it. Been away from your house, your space, stuck on a plane with a bunch of sweaty, smelly strangers; you want a breather. And, knowing you, I’d say… a hot bath, those ugly-ass flower pajamas you love, a book, and your own bed. Am I right?” He can’t help his prideful smirk.
“Eh, you get an ‘A’ for effort,” I snicker. “I packed those beautiful pajamas, so they’re dirty, and I’m too tired for a book. Excellent try, though.” A low rumble of defeat rattles his chest and I bite down on my laugh—if I goad the beast any further, we’ll be here all night.
“Lock the door behind me,” he demands, extra sternly… his consolation.
“I will.”
“Right behind me.”
“Yes, Cabot, I know.”