I’m still angry now, but with this new information, this new deception, I’m seriously at a loss as to what to think and who to believe. Since my dad died, trust hasn’t been an easy thing for me. Losing him at such a young age was like life’s ultimate slap in the face. Subconsciously I learned that the fewer people you let get close to you, the less chance you have of being let down by them, or by life. In the past few weeks, I’ve been reminded of this more so than ever. The secrets and lies with Luke, Marnie, even London have been punishing.

My inner circle has always been small, and I realized pretty quickly that in this industry, the smart people who live to tell the tale play their cards close to their chests and trust almost nobody. Mom, Gramps, Luke, the guys, Hunter, and yes, Marnie—that was pretty much it. Even though sex had been the glue that kept mine and Marnie’s friendship together, it was still a connection. Apart from my mom, she was the only woman I was close to in any way until London.

No, we didn’t date, or spoon, or hold hands in public, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t share things with her that I didn’t disclose to anyone else. She was the first goddamn person I told that I love London, for Christ’s sake, and look how that turned out. We had started sleeping together just after Dad’s death. I was young and angry, and at a total loss as to what to do with the toxic mix of emotions raging inside me. I channeled most of that negative energy into music, but what I couldn’t express in the form of a song, I poured into her. She had been a crutch when I would have otherwise fallen down. I learned that music and sex cured pretty much all my ills.

What I could never really understand, but also was never concerned enough to think about more than briefly, was what was in it for her apart from multiple orgasms. She served a purpose for me, but what was she getting in return?

Luke carries on. “Right. So you can understand that exposing her to you in that state of mind would have hurt her. I made the call not to let that happen. I also honestly wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t say or do something that both of you would both regret. Ironically, I was trapped between a rock and a hard place, trying to look out for both of you.”

I want to kill him.

“Hurt her? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right? You’ve seen what this whole thing has done to London, and therefore to me, and you want to worry about hurting her? You get that she’s the antagonist in all this, right? The one who betrayed my trust?” I spit the words his way.

“Yeah, I get it, but I worry about her… and want to protect her regardless. Even more so now that I know you’re planning to fucking sue her ass from here to China. I mean, Jesus, she’s fragile as fuck and hanging on by a thread as it is. Dragging her name through a court case would probably break her completely, not to mention the financial implications. She’s done well from modeling over the years, of course she has, but her contract has ended and the future for her is uncertain. A lawsuit like this would be water off a duck’s back to you, but it could ruin her in so many different ways. Is that what you really want?”

I’m in utter disbelief at what I’m hearing. There have been times in my life when I have literally hated Luke. I mean, we couldn’t live under the same roof because our parents genuinely feared for our safety. We were testosterone-filled, ego-driven punks. Not much has changed over the years, but the homicidal tendencies have mostly passed, and even though I don’t always like him, I know I can rely on him no matter what.

Well, that’s the snake oil he’s been peddling all these years, but now I see that’s all it was. An illusion. A front. Luke was the ultimate wolf in sheep’s clothing. A conjurer. To the whole world, I was the bad boy of the two of us. The one who couldn’t be trusted. The one who needed to be watched, while Luke was the “nice” one, the responsible, selfless one. The one people would happily bring home to Mom. I was the black sheep.

They say that if a magician shows you their right hand, you should always look at their left. Well, I’m the right hand to Luke’s left. While all the world has been gawking at me, he has been busy fucking everyone over, including and especially me.

“Maybe she should have thought about someone other than herself when she shot that video, and then there wouldn’t have been anything to protect her from in the first place. Man, I know we have our moments, but you’re my brother. My twin fucking brother, and you want to put her before me. Really? You’re meant to have my back, but you really dropped the brotherly love ball on this one, big-time. You know, I may not have always liked you at various points in our lives, but I always thought I could trust you. Turns out I was a fucking fool.” I guess that means my already small circle of trust is reduced to the other guys, Mom, and Gramps. Well, fuck. I pace the small space available to me, now that Ryan is blocking me off, my features set for a fight.

“What kind of Judas motherfucker puts some chick before their own flesh and blood? Their twin?”

“‘Some chick’? It’s not some chick, Arlo. It’s Marnie. She’s practically family. You’ve been sleeping with her since you were fifteen, remember?”

“So? Who gives a crap? She’s still ‘some chick.’ I don’t care if I was fucking her for a hundred years. Apart from London, they’re all just some chick. Don’t you get that?”

Luke’s face turns a pretty shade of crimson, and I see the rage building within him. A vein in the side of his temple tics as he cracks his neck from side to side. So different, yet so alike.

The cherries on the slot machine of my mind finally unleash their jackpot, and realization slowly dawns on me. How can I have been so stupid and so blind for so long? It’s starting to be a theme lately.

“Wait. Dude. How long?”

“How long what?” It’s a piss-poor attempt at casual indifference, and it’s fooling nobody. Least of all me. I may have been in some kind of coma not to see what was going on right in front of my face before, but I’m sure as shit wide awake now.

“Don’t play games with me, Luke. How. Fucking. Long?” My impatience comes across in my tone. Loud. And. Clear.

He sighs heavily before answering. “Always.”

“What?” The actual…?

“You heard me. Always. From the very start. The first moment. Remember how she and I met when she was new at school? She transferred from out of state when her parents… died, and she had come to live with her grandmother. I was assigned as her buddy, which was a godsend—there’s no way I would have approached her otherwise. You were out for two weeks with… chicken pox, was it? Something like that. Another gift from the gods—no offense, but I had never been so glad to see you sick.”

So his backstabbing tendencies went way back. This just gets better and better.

“I felt something as soon as I laid eyes on her, and I know she felt it too. We just clicked from the very start. We had two glorious weeks together without you in the picture, and I was all in from day one. I fell for her like a sack of shit off a cliff. In all my clumsy teenage innocence, I wanted to make a move, wanted to do something more than just think about her 24/7, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. You remember how I was, right? Cripplingly fucking shy.

How could I forget? As identical twins, obviously people used to find it difficult to tell us apart from our features, and even for the few who could see the minute differences, they’d struggle to remember which name went to which face. What really seemed to set us apart more than anything was our behavior—the massive differences in our personalities. We were often dubbed Arlo and the Quiet Twin.

Everyone knew if you wanted to speak to Luke about something, you came through me. Likewise, if Luke wanted something negotiated or otherwise managed, he came to me. Although Luke was technically older—by thirteen stupid minutes, which he never let me forget—back then, I was the one who played the big brother role. Unless we needed the real big guns. Those were the times we called on Brad to step in. He always had our backs, without fail.

That’s one thing everyone knew about the Jones boys. If you fucked with one, you’d better be damn sure you could take them all on, because that’s what you were getting. Even when we were dueling to the death in private, in public we were solid. Always.

“Then you came swaggering back into school like you owned the joint, which you kinda did, radiating confidence and taking no prisoners, as ever. I’ll never forget the way she looked at you that first time, like you’d just hung the fucking moon. She was a moth to a flame. She never stood a chance, and neither did I. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Man, I can’t believe you could keep this from me. Something this fucking major in your life. Why the hell have you never said anything?”

“What do you mean, why haven’t I said anything? Don’t you wonder why you haven’t seen anything? How this could have been right here, under your nose, and you had no fucking idea?” He rakes his hands through his hair repeatedly.

He has a point. My anger is directed at him, but I’m angry at myself as much as anyone. How could Luke have been harboring secret feelings for Marnie for half our lives and I’ve only just realized now? Even in the events of the past few months, let alone all the water under the bridge in the past between the three of us, how did I not see that Luke’s reactions and behaviors went well beyond concerned friend level?

His dogged insistence for all these years that my arrangement with Marnie was going to end in tears should surely have been an epic red flag. How far up my own ass had I jammed my head not to have seen the angry flashing warning signs? What else had I missed? Not just with Luke, either. At this point I’m prepared to believe that everything I thought I knew about everyone is way off base.

On the other hand, I’m not ready to assume total blame for this one yet. Luke obviously went out of his way to hide this from me, and clearly he’s a better actor, or liar, than I ever gave him credit for.

“Were you ever going to tell me? More to the point, have you told her?”

“No, and no. What exactly was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Marnie, I know you’ve been carrying a torch for my sociopathic twin brother since cavemen invented fire, but hey, what about me? I’m over here in love with you, and I’m not a self-centered asshole. Unlike him, I’ll treat you with the respect you deserve, not like you’re just some kind of rent-a-pussy. Why don’t you give me a try?’ Or what about ‘Hey, Arlo, you know that chick who is totally in love with you, whose cherry you popped like a fucking Tic-Tac? The one you’ve been ‘casually’ screwing since you were teens but actually give zero fucks about as a human being? Well, I’m in love with her, and always have been. Do you mind stepping aside so I can make a move?’” More hair pulling.

“What was going to be the outcome of that conversation, exactly, pray tell, dear brother? We all know that everything in your life revolves around you—for you, and for everyone around you. You don’t share, you don’t compromise, and you don’t do anything unless it has a clear benefit for you.”

Well damn. I started this conversation by saying my shit was out of control, and nobody—with the possible exception of Mom, and definite exception of Gramps—would tell it to me like it is. Now that Luke is hitting me with the real talk, and pulling no punches, I’m learning to be careful what I wish for. He’s firing truths from both barrels, no holds barred, and I don’t like what he has to say. It’s all true, of course—my life and the lives of those around me have been all about me for way too long. I knew something had to give, and in epic Arlo Jones fashion, it’s all giving at once. Luke, Marnie, London, Squirt. The whole house of cards is about to come crashing down around me if I don’t do something to stop it.

“I’ve been telling you for years that her feelings go beyond the casual hookup, and you’ve been stonewalling me that whole time because ultimately you don’t give a fuck about anything unless it serves your agenda. Would it have been any different if I’d told you how I felt? I highly doubt it, apart from the fact that I would have looked like a sad fuck, and you would never have let me forget it. Excuse me for wanting to hang on to at least a shred of dignity in all this. So here we are.”

Would I have done anything differently if he had told me years ago? Probably not. Like he said, the arrangement with Marnie worked for me, and that was all that had mattered as far as I was concerned. If that meant telling myself that she was just as happy with the way things stood as I was, then I was fine with that. Knowing that in screwing Marnie, both figuratively and literally, I was also screwing Luke is unlikely to have been enough of a deterrent—there’s always a way to rationalize my behavior if I try hard enough.

Ryan interjects, “C’mon, Arlo, you can’t seriously tell me you had no idea? I mean, I had an inkling and we don’t share DNA. Fuck, he may be your identical twin, but unlike you, his poker face ain’t for shit, even less so when we were kids. He looked like a kicked dog when you and Marnie started hanging out, then hooking up. You really must be high on your own supply to have missed that after all these years. Even as adults, the way he looks at her when he thinks nobody is watching, the way he talks about her, the way he talks to her. The way he’d walk to the ends of the earth across molten lava if she needed him to. It’s all there if you ever bothered to take notice, or give a fuck about something or someone other than yourself.”

Ouch. I guess it’s open season on telling me what a dick I am. With everything that’s been going on, clearly it has been long overdue. I started out angry at Marnie for her betrayal, then at Luke for his, but then I cycled through a myriad of emotions: confusion, resentment, bitterness, guilt, regret. Now I’m feeling a weird sense of relief. Because pretty much everything except the band has gone to shit, I can start picking up the pieces of my life and putting it back together again.