AN ABUNDANCE OF BROTHERS

D. K. SUTTON

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2024 by D. K. Sutton

Cover art © 2024 by Samrat Archarjee

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Edited by: Abbie Nicole

Created with Vellum

AN ABUNDANCE OF BROTHERS

Two sets of identical twins mismatched at birth and raised as brothers.

Xander

Winning this baking competition will prove I can handle the pressure of running the family restaurant. But things go sideways right from the start. People I’ve never met act like they know me. Even my brother’s personality changes overnight. Add in a cute guy who hates me with a passion usually reserved for your worst enemy…and my ability to focus is severely tested.

I need this win, but we might not make it through the first round.

Dom

My focus is on helping Xander win and uncovering the truth about our past. But when my socially awkward brother changes overnight into a sexy beast of a man, I have bigger problems. How can my body betray me like this? These feelings are dangerous and wrong. And reciprocated.

Except, not all the time. My brother switches personalities like he does shirts—several times a day. Xander and I are out of sync and almost out of time.

As the competition heats up, we come face-to-face with the truth. Literally. Two men identical to us. And my brother isn’t my brother? We swap places, but pretending to be the other twin is harder than expected. Can we reunite our broken family? Or will our secrets tear us further apart?

An Abundance of Brothers is a contemporary gay reimagining of Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors. It features enemies to lovers, mistaken identities, twins being twins, and inappropriate crushes.

Twisted Bard is a multi-author series that brings the Bard to the present! It's also Super Gay and full of drama and heat. Did I mention drama? Shakespeare? I think you mean Shakes-queer!

THE TWISTED BARD COLLECTION

Dreamers Often Lie by Shane Morton

Come As You Are by Marie Sinclair

Kiss Me, Kit by Lynn Van Dorn

Moor By Giovanna Reaves

An Abundance of Brothers by D. K. Sutton

Method In His Madness by Abigail Kade

Ambition by Elizabeth Silver

Much Ado About Everything by Drea Roman

AUTHOR NOTE & CONTENT WARNING

An Abundance of Brothers is an MM romance with two sets of identical twins, switched at birth. In this book, two couples get their HEA. And although there are moments of mistaken identity, at no point in the story do any of the biological brothers have intimate or romantic moments with each other.

This story also has an autistic main character. Every neurodivergent person is different. I have attempted to portray my character as accurately as possible while avoiding stereotypes.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

CHICAGO

Sophia Marchetti- owner of Vinni’s Italian Restaurant. Biological mother to twins Xander Cage of Chicago and Xander Cage of Grandville. Her son, Xander Cage of Grandville, was switched at birth with Dominic Toretto of Chicago. She does not know, or perhaps acknowledge, until the end of the story that the boys were switched. She believes her friend Callie March and her babies died during the tornado.

Xander Cage of Chicago (Xander)- identical twin to Xander Cage of Grandville and Sophia Marchetti’s son. He is socially awkward and quick to temper. Excellent baker and pastry chef. He desires to take over for his mother at her restaurant while she travels the world but has not yet proven himself. Until the end of the story, he believes Dominic Toretto is his fraternal twin.

Dominic Toretto of Chicago (Dom)- identical twin to Dominic Toretto of Grandville and (although he doesn’t know it) Callie March’s son. Outgoing and charismatic, he loves to laugh. He is concerned that he doesn’t look like his “mother” or “brother.” He finds a picture that sets him on a journey to find answers. He enrolls Xander and himself in a baking competition close to where they were born. He interacts with Xander Cage of Grandville and thinks it is Xander. Cage is completely different from the brother he knows, and Dom finds himself attracted to him. Until the end of the story, he believes Xander Cage is his fraternal twin.

Paxton Scott- Sophia Marchetti’s trusted advisor. He doesn’t think Xander has what it takes to run Vinni’s while Sophia travels.

Randi- employed at Vinni’s as the backup pastry chef, trained by Xander

Jeremy- the sous chef at Vinni’s. Clashes continuously with Xander

Iggy- server at Vinni’s

GRANDVILLE

Lucinda March- the matriarch of the March family. She is Callie March’s mother-in-law.

Callie March- owner of Sweet Obsessions, a bakery in Grandville. Biological mother to identical twins Dominic Toretto of Grandville and Dominic Toretto of Chicago. Her son, Dom, was switched at birth with Xander Cage of Grandville. She does not know, or perhaps acknowledge, until the end of the story that the boys were switched. She believes her friend Sophia Marchetti and her babies died during the tornado.

Xander Cage of Grandville (Cage)- identical twin to Xander Cage of Chicago and the son of Sophia Marchetti—although he doesn’t know it. He’s an introvert but can “people” well. He’s an excellent baker and used to work for his “mother” at Sweet Obsessions Bakery before he started his own catering service. Winning the baking competition will get him the money he needs for his business. At the competition, he interacts with Dominic Toretto of Chicago and thinks it is Tor, the brother he grew up with. Dom is completely different from Tor, and Cage finds himself attracted to him against his will. Which is also awkward because Cage has a boyfriend. Until the end of the story, he believes Dominic Toretto is his fraternal twin.

Dominic Toretto of Grandville (Tor)- identical twin to Dominic Toretto of Chicago and Callie March’s son. Outgoing and sarcastic, he loves to banter with others, not worried about hurting anyone’s feelings. He doesn’t care about the baking competition, but it’s important to Cage, so he makes it a priority. Tor realizes something unusual is going on right away and stokes the fire as much as he can for his own amusement. He only meets his match when a man comes to sort things out. A yummy man named Paxton.

Ren Edgewood- Cage’s boyfriend. A very pretty but possessive twink. He is frustrated by Cage’s lack of commitment to their relationship, even more so when they’re at the baking competition.

Erik Waters- baker and manager at Sweet Obsessions Bakery. He was Cage’s best friend growing up and his roommate in college. Erik is friendly and kind. He likes everyone but Cage. There’s too much bad blood between them. At the competition, Erik thinks Xander is Cage and treats him horribly. But this Xander isn’t the same and Erik is drawn to him. Until the end of the story, he believes Xander and Cage are the same person instead of identical twins.

Carinne Waters- Erik Water’s sister and partner in the baking competition.

DUNKLIN COUNTY BAKE-OFF

Dottie- the bake-off coordinator.

Raul- sassy server, very interested in Dom. Or Tor. Or whatever the hot guy calls himself today.

Perpetua- one of the judges. Hates Dunklin County and cheaters. Likes wearing strange hats. Even inside.

PROLOGUE

A NOTE FROM LUCINDA

This isn’t Kansas. Or the Wizard of Oz. Or Twister if I want to be a tad more current. But I’m going to tell you something. You may not believe me, for it is truly astonishing, but it is the absolute truth, I swear on my son’s grave. May he rest in peace. Or not.

My son was an ass.

He got that from his father. And he, from his father. Well, you get the picture. I never said anything when he married Callie. It was not my place, and the girl was a delight. We got along famously. Shared pain and all that, I suppose. My husband had already drunk himself to an early grave, and I never stood in the way. Who was I to deprive him?

When Callie became with child, I was the natural choice to take her to her doctor appointments. My son was much too busy for such things. There, she met another young woman, Sophia. They bonded immediately over having twins and a love of Vin Diesel. They set their appointments for the same dates and times and were fast friends by their twenty-eight-week checkups. Maybe more. Although they never shared it with me, I do believe they planned to run away together. Callie need not have worried. I would have helped her. I’ve caught Callie staring wistfully at the picture I took of them on more than one occasion.

They were terrified their husbands would find out about the other, but that wasn’t what tore them apart. That happened quite literally.

Plans were made. They decided to be induced on the same day and have their babies together. Twins tend to come early, and when they both made it to thirty-nine weeks, the doctors were ecstatic. But then tragedy struck.

I mentioned tornadoes. The twisters that day raged down and tore the hospital in half, right down the middle, as each mother was giving birth. The generator lights came on when the power went out. We lost track of Sophia and her babies in the chaos, and our fear was that they had not survived.

But as soon as I set eyes on my grandchildren, I knew a mistake had been made. The doctors had thought the twins would be identical, although they couldn’t say for sure. But Callie had one baby with fair skin and red hair like her. The other baby had dark hair and olive skin.

Like Sophia.

Did the switch happen when the power went out? The chaos of saving all the mothers and all the babies? It didn’t matter. Callie accepted both children as hers. She never even hinted they were not. Sophia was gone, likely dead. Callie used the names they had both decided on: Xander Cage and Dominic Toretto.

My son never questioned it. That would have taken a keener observation and more caring than he had. He followed in his father’s footsteps, and Callie mourned her husband for less than a week and in public only.

She mourned Sophia every minute of every day. It took years for her to recover enough to move forward, but I suspect she mourns her still.

They had picked out identical names for the kids. Xander Cage and Dominic Toretto. Sophia had planned on calling them by their first names, so Callie used their middle names.

We loved Cage and Toretto. And we never spoke of the possible mix-up.

But this story is not about Callie and Sophia. It is about their boys and begins twenty-five years after the tornadoes tore our world apart.

Miracle of miracles, Sophia and her sons survived.

Since this is not my story to tell, I’ll turn it over to those who know it best. The first is Sophia’s oldest son, Xander. He is an unlikely hero who struggles to find his place in the world and desperately wants to be loved and accepted.

The other is Dominic, raised as his brother. With red hair and pale skin, he looks nothing like his family and desperately wants to find the truth.

Their journey begins with that picture from long ago of both women smiling and happy. It ends with them realizing the truth I suspected all along.

Two sets of identical twins, switched at birth, resulting in both mothers having a matching set. One dark and mysterious. The other fair and gingered with a wicked sense of humor.

Do not misunderstand, my friends. Xander and Dominic are the narrators of this story of love and belonging, but they do not end up together. They were raised as brothers. But they each find their true love, and their unbelievable stories are each shared here with you.

I hope you enjoy this impossible tale. Those who have skipped this note might be confused as the story unfolds. But they have only themselves to blame. Perhaps they can piece it all together with just the clues left behind. I admire them for that.

Who am I to stand in their way?

Lucinda March

He that commends me to mine own content

Commends me to the thing I cannot get.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 1.2.33-34)

CHAPTER 1

XANDER

FRIDAY, MAY 20, 6 P.M.

The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity. We currently have twenty staff working the dinner rush. Four in front of the house and sixteen in back. I’m normally uncomfortable around this many people, so the owner hesitated to give me this chance. But since the owner is also my mother, I was able to wear her down. I need to get this right.

“Everything okay out here, Xander?” My mother, Sophia Marchetti, is beautiful and elegant. We have the same olive coloring and dark eyes, thanks to our Italian heritage. And while physically we’re similar, my mother is more charming and patient. But we have the same drive. Which is how she was able to make Vinni’s Italian Restaurant into such a success.

“I’m sure he’s got this, right, Xander?” My brother Dom looks nothing like us. Nothing like me. Which might seem strange since we’re twins. Fraternal twins. His hair is reddish blond and his light skin is freckled. I’ve always wondered if he looked more like our father, but Mom doesn’t talk about that or him. All we know is that he died in a fire when we were young, along with all his pictures.

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound reassuring instead of stressed. This isn’t my first attempt at managing the Friday night dinner rush. The last time ended with the sauce chef dumping a plate of spaghetti on me and walking out the door. “Everything’s going smoothly.”

My mother’s eyes narrow slightly, but her face remains impassive. She gives me a quick nod with a pointed look at Paxton, which I interpret as Keep an eye on him. “Dom and I will be in my office if you need us.”

Paxton watches my mother and Dom retreat down the hall and turns to me. “Smoothly?”

Everything hasn’t been smooth. But that’s an impossible dream with a restaurant this size on the busiest night of the week. Paxton’s about ten years older than me, my mother’s right-hand man, and a pain in my ass. His brown hair with caramel highlights is stylishly groomed and he has a short, neatly trimmed beard.

When I don’t respond, he shakes his head as if asking for patience and heads to the front of the restaurant. I relax, working out the tension in my neck, and take a deep breath. I can do this.

Barely ten minutes later, Paxton is back.

“The orders are dying on the pass. Do you know where your servers are?” Paxton asks, raising a judgmental brow. He doesn’t think I can do this.

I ignore him, for now, as I stomp through to the front and motion for Iggy, barely managing to keep my cool. Iggy is younger than me, with dark curly hair and a warm smile. But he acts older, like a mother hen, taking care of everyone. “What’s the hold up, Iggy?

“We got slammed in the last ten minutes.” But his eyes betray him as he glances at Rachel, one of our best servers. Lately, she’s been off. Is this her being slower? Or is Iggy trying to counsel her during the dinner rush?

“I don’t need excuses. Get the food out to the customers.”

He scrambles to do as I ask, and I check the front for further issues. The wall sconces and suspended globes create a warm, intimate feel to the place and highlight the murals of the Italian countryside. White tablecloths on top of red with flowered centerpieces create an elegant look. Mom did all this on her own. And now she needs me to step up. I have to get this right.

Once everything is under control, I return to the kitchen. “What’s on deck?” the sous chef asks the room, ignoring Paxton and me as he manages his team. The kitchen is full of noise and activity—shouts, the clank of dishes, the sizzle of meat, and people scurrying. Which would normally put me in sensory overload. But I grew up in this kitchen with these sounds. The smells of onions, seared meat, and Italian spices are comforting. I step back to avoid the porter barreling through and almost run into Paxton.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice is quiet, thankfully. His brown eyes watch me, and I keep my face impassive. “Won’t you miss baking?”

I glance at my station, where Randi is trying to get my attention. She seems small in the bustling kitchen. Is that her short stature or her greenness at this job? Her eyes catch mine and they’re wide with panic. I’ve been training her as the backup pastry chef for the last six weeks. She’s been doing well, but today has been a test. It’s her first time on her own, and we’re in the weeds, as my mother would say.

“Excuse me.” I leave Paxton with his doubts and stroll over to my protégé.

“Chef, I…” Her voice trails off, and I immediately see the problem. The cannoli filling is a bit too thin. Did she leave it in the refrigerator long enough for the ricotta to drain?

“Excellent job on the shells. If you add heavy cream to the filling, it will thicken the mixture and make them perfect.” We’ve gone over this before, but there’s a lot to learn and cooking for Vinni’s is not the same as cooking at the small bakery she used to work at. I’m confident she’ll get it. Randi is a quick learner.

She nods. Her eyes flash with gratitude and she hurries to grab the cream.

I can do this. It just takes connecting⁠—

“Fuck!”

My head jerks up. Fire shoots off one of the pans on the burner and the grill chef stumbles back. Jeremy and Paxton rush forward, but I shout at the man, “Put it out. What the hell are you doing?”

He grabs the pan, turning this way and that, as if he’s forgotten all our fire safety rules and the complete layout of the kitchen that he’s worked in for the last two years. This isn’t even his first fire gone wrong.

I storm over to him, and the staff jumps out of my way. They bow their heads, at least pretending to focus on their own work. Are they worried I’ll come after them next? Jeremy is already there, guiding him to an empty burner, where they douse the flames with baking soda.

The pounding in my ears drowns out everything else as I barrel toward the grill cook, seething with anger. “How can you be this clueless⁠—”

Jeremy blocks my path, his feet planted wide apart. I growl in frustration, but he gets in my face and jabs a finger in my chest. “Back off, Xander. I’ve got this.”

“By letting your chef burn down the restaurant?” Part of me knows challenging his authority in front of the staff is not the right way. Not the right time. But this was my chance, and they’re all messing it up. Heat flashes through my body, and I clench my hands to keep from throttling him and his chef. I’m aware of Paxton behind me, like an itch that won’t go away.

“Walk away, Xander.” Paxton touches my shoulder, and I jerk out of his reach.

My face burns hotter than the fire and my head buzzes with anger and regret. Everyone is watching. Staring. The kitchen is unusually quiet. I failed. Again. My body starts to shake and I can’t breathe. I need to get out before I break down completely.

But there are people everywhere.

I push past Paxton, and he doesn’t try to stop me as I race out the back door.

Every why hath a wherefore.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Syracuse 2.2.46)

CHAPTER 2

DOM

FRIDAY, MAY 20, 6 P.M.

As I leave my brother to take his shot and follow our mother, I can think of many things I’d rather do than declutter an office that looks like a tornado hit it. But watching my brother crash and burn again isn’t one of them. It’s not that I don’t think Xander can do it. I believe in him. Xander’s the one who needs to be convinced. He doesn’t believe he can do it. Neither does our mother.

Mom unlocks her office door. “I hope he doesn’t fire the entire kitchen staff.”

“He’s got this, Mom.”

Her frown turns into an amused smirk and her eyes sparkle. “You’re a good brother, Dom,” she says, leading me into the cramped room.

“And an even better son. Jesus, Mom. When’s the last time you went through this stuff?” I’m going for the laugh, but the light in her eyes dims.

Her chin goes up. “I can do this by myself.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll check on you in a few”—I glance at the watch that is not on my wrist because no one wears a watch these days—“hundred years. Will you want your meals brought in? Or is fasting included in this self-sacrifice?”

She laughs and slaps my arm playfully. That’s the reaction I was going for. “Let’s get to work. Lord knows you can’t miss a meal.”

“Nothing wrong with loving food, Mom.” I pat my flat stomach. I also love going to the gym.

My family is dramatic in a woe-is-me kind of way. That’s not my style. I’m more likely to find the humor in something than the drama. That’s not the only difference between me and the rest of my family. It’s hard to believe I have any Italian blood in me. I’d think I was adopted, except my brother and I were born on the same day at the same time from the same person. Hard to dispute those facts.

Maybe this was God’s plan. I’m obviously here to keep these two from drowning in their woes.

We sort through the desk first. These are the most pressing things. We use my system of organization. My mother’s idea of piling it out of the way didn’t work because everything fell over and we had to start again. Did I say it would take her one hundred years on her own? I meant two hundred.

My mother isn’t a hoarder. There’s no clutter in the house. Or her car. But for some reason, her office is a disaster. Although, we do have a housekeeper at home. No one’s allowed in Mom’s office here at the restaurant, so that might be it.

This room is always dark. Is it the gray paint and dark carpet? The closed blinds? Or Mom’s mood the minute she steps through the door? “We should paint.”

My mother arches a brow. “We barely have time for this.”

“You could hire someone, Mom. Brighten the place up.”

She’s already shaking her head, so I move on to the filing cabinet. The work is tedious and my suggestion of playing music is met with a heavy sigh. Like I said. Dramatic.

Or is it so she can hear if something goes wrong in the kitchen?

A shoe box at the back of the bottom drawer catches my attention. There’s no dust on the box, which seems strange. I had assumed Mom hadn’t gone through this cabinet in a while. I stand and stretch—my muscles are cramping—and then sit so the box is hidden from my mother’s view. In it are folded letters—which I don’t open—and a small notebook with sketches—which I do. A picture falls out, but I ignore it for now. The notebook is filled with drawings and scribbled plans. The pencil markings are smudged, but I bring the notebook closer and turn it this way and that. The drawings are of a restaurant or maybe a bakery. But not Vinni’s. Maybe the prototype?

The other notebook pages are filled with handwritten notes and even a budget. I recognize my mother’s handwriting. It’s neat and exact. But another messy scrawl that I’ve never seen before is interspersed throughout. One page contains a timeline of sorts with headings and a numbered goal. Build Capital- 5 years. Open- 6 years. I skim to the bottom. Travel- 25 years.

“Leave the bottom drawer. I can go through that one myself.” The thud of her chair hitting the bookcase is my only warning.

I slip the notebook back into the box and hold up a stack of invoices. “Okay. But why do you have these? They’re all on the computer, Mom. You don’t need paper copies.” Over my shoulder I see her slump forward in her chair. I hate seeing her so defeated. It’s completely unlike the powerhouse woman who raised my brother and me while building a successful business.

No more dawdling. The sooner we get this cleaned up, the sooner Mom can do what she’s always wanted. Travel the world. Explore the places she’s only dreamed about. Italy and Ireland are at the top of that list. I slip the notebook back into the box, intending to return it all to Mom’s hiding place, when I notice the picture from the notebook on the floor. Two women side by side. A detailed illustration of a baby in utero behind them. Are they in a doctor’s office? One of the women is my mom. The lady next to her has red hair and fair skin. They are both very pregnant.

I swallow the emotion in my throat, unsure why this picture is affecting me. Should I ask Mom about it? About the woman? And if I do, will she brush it off and take the photo? I can’t take that chance.

“Did you find something?”

The room is hot, and even my deodorant isn’t helping. “No.” I return the box to the cabinet and hide the picture under my leg.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Then Paxton’s voice. “Sophia?”

Did Xander mess up already? It’s barely been an hour. This might be a new record for him.

Mom calls for him to come in and stands.

“We have a problem.”

She sighs. “Did anyone quit?”

“Not yet. I begged Jeremy to stay.”

“Do I even want to know what happened?”

He studies the wall behind her and shakes his head. “Another fire not handled well.”

“Jesus. How many times do we have to do this?” She rubs her forehead. “Let me guess. Xander did not react well.”

“No. He did not.”

As they talk, I grab the notebook I brought with me to take notes on how to better organize the office and slip the picture inside.

“Where is he now?”

“The usual.”

“All right,” she says, pressing her fist against her forehead. “Thanks, Paxton.”

After he departs, Mom sighs. “We’re done for today, Dom. I need to head off any further kitchen disasters. Can you check on your brother?” As she walks around her desk, I scramble to my feet, holding my notebook close to my chest.

“Sure. No problem.”

Mom stares past me at the travel poster of Milan, Italy, on her wall. “What am I going to do? I have three months to decide, and your brother—” She stops, clamping her lips together.

But I hear the words she can’t say. Xander might not be ready by then. May never be ready.

I squeeze her arm. “Let me take care of this.” We both know I don’t mean taking over for her. I have zero interest in that. “I have a few ideas.”

Although I’ve never understood her self-imposed deadline of traveling the world at the end of October or the deep sadness she experiences at this time every year, one thing I’m sure of is that Mom needs and deserves a break.

I’ve been looking at baking competitions to boost Xander’s confidence. They have everything he needs: pressure to succeed in the moment. Having to make quick decisions. And relying on someone else. All without Mom and Paxton watching over his shoulder.

I believe in my brother. He can do this. And if he isn’t ready in time, this might help convince him to let Paxton take over until he is.

I’ve checked out several competitions in the area, including the Chicago Bake-Off. But I also found one in Dunklin County, Missouri, a college town near Grandville. The place where Xander and I were born. It wasn’t a top contender at the time, but now?

Now, I want to find out everything I can about the woman in this picture.

And why she looks so much like me.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 8 P.M.

Xander is in an area in the back of the restaurant that has a few tables and chairs. More importantly, there’s a small tree off to the side and no people. He’s slumped in the chair with one hand covering his face and the other holding on to the tree.

I once asked him about that. He said the rough texture of the bark helps ground him. I drag a chair over, the metal scrapping over the stone patio, and he doesn’t even look up. “Go away, Dom.”

“Not happening.” I don’t touch him. He’s not fond of being touched. “You’re not covered in sauce. I’d call that a success.”

“Did Jeremy quit?” His voice is low. Defeated. And I hate it.

“Nope. Just complained a lot. So, not much different from usual.”

He snorts. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard my brother full-on laugh, but I’d like to. It’s one of my life goals. “I don’t need you to cheer me up,” he says with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s not why I’m here. I want the blow-by-blow. Did Jeremy throw anything? Did Paxton get a hair out of place?” No reaction, but he’s no longer clutching the tree, so I take it as a win. “Did Rachel faint? She did that the other day. By the way, she’s pregnant and afraid to tell Mom for some reason.”

That works. He glances up at me. “Really? How do you know that?”

“People tell me things.”

“Right.” The resignation is back in his voice, and I’m having none of it.

“Stop. You can do this, Xander. You just need to get out of your own way.”

His eyes dart to my face and away. My brother also isn’t fond of eye contact, but in that brief second, I see hope. Or at least a desire to hope. “And you have a plan.”

I grin. We know each other so well. “Dunklin County is having a bake-off this summer. I think we should enter.”

“What? Why?”

The more I think about it, the more excited I get, and I let that bleed through to my words. “This one is a four-day competition and bakers come from all over. It can showcase your abilities. Surviving the pressure without blowing your cool. Teamwork. Getting along with others. Following directions and being a leader.”

“What if I can’t do all those things?”

“You can, Xander. And I swear it will be easier because you won’t be around people you see every day. Mom and Paxton won’t be breathing down your neck, waiting for you to fail.”

He sits up. Is he warming to the idea? “Isn’t there one closer? This is Chicago. Surely there’s one here.”

He nods. “There is. But baby steps, bro.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks, crossing his arms.

I’ve gotten this look many times from my brother over the years. He always knows when I’m lying. Like when I borrowed his Zelda game and blamed it on Paxton. “Grandville is only thirty minutes away.”

“So? It’s not like we actually lived there.”

I pull out my notebook and hold up the picture, hesitating for a second before giving it to him.

In true Xander fashion, he examines it thoroughly. “Callie and Mom?”

“Hold up,” I say, excitement building in my chest. “Do you know her?”

“No.” He returns the picture to me. “It’s written on the back.”

My stomach sinks, but I ignore it. On the back, someone has written two first names and a date. Three weeks before we were born.

“This is the reason you want to do this competition?”

“No, idiot. I want to do this for you. Solving a mystery in the process is just a perk.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Well, get sure because I’m signing us up. And I’ll bring my marker just in case.”

He scowls as expected. “I’m not a child, Dom. I don’t need you to hold my hand or leave me notes of encouragement.”

“First off,” I say, gathering my notebook and standing. I’m itching to get us signed up for the competition. “You don’t let anyone hold your hand. I’ve tried over the years. And second, if you’d let me leave you a note, all of this kitchen drama could have been avoided.”

He shakes his head and stands. “That’s not remotely true.”

I shrug. “It’s a theory. My theory.”

“But it’s not evidence-based. Where’s your proof?”

I don’t list the many times it has worked over the years. That’s not the point. “I’m currently gathering my data. I’ll let you know the results after we win the Dunklin County Bake-Off.”

He scowls again. But he’s not slumped in a chair, hanging on to a crabapple tree for dear life.

I accomplished my goal. Get Xander out of his head and focused.

Everyone has been in a slump the last few months. This competition is just what we need to make a fresh start.

I to the world am like a drop of water

That in the ocean seeks another drop,

Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,

Unseen, inquisitive - confounds himself.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 1.2.35-38)

CHAPTER 3

XANDER

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17, 9:30 A.M.

Did I fall into an alternate universe? Or, like Link from Zelda, have I been dropped in the middle of a strange place as I complete my mission? This is how I feel most days, to be honest. But today has been worse. Much worse. And it’s not even ten in the morning.

Maybe it’s the small-town thing. In Chicago, people pretend you don’t exist, which I prefer. But here, I’ve had more than one person smile at me as if they know me.

Case in point: a woman with long braids on either side of her face is waving at me. I check behind me. But no one else is there.

“Welcome to the Dunklin County Bake-Off. I’m Dottie.”

I start at the blonde woman suddenly in front of me. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. I take a step back.

She glances at the name badge hanging around my neck. “Xander. Ready to get baking?” She nods as she talks and her hair bounces along. It’s distracting.

I focus instead on her questions. I’m not sure why I’m here. No matter how many times Dom explains it. How does winning a bake-off translate into my mother choosing me to run the restaurant? But Dom is better at things like this. If he thinks winning this thing will convince our mom, then that’s what I’ll do.

My main obstacle to reaching my goals has always been people. But this time, with Dom’s assistance, I came prepared.

“Yes.” I smooth the lone wrinkle out of my dress shirt. How did that get there? The woman blinks at me. “Thank you,” I add, resisting the urge to pull out my phone and check my spreadsheet.

She tilts her head. “You look familiar. And your name is quite distinctive.”

Having a twin can’t be the reason for her confusion. Dom and I do not get mistaken for one another.

Does she expect a response? If so, what? I swallow, hoping I don’t start to sweat. I wore extra deodorant. Perhaps too much. It feels cakey. “Is that a statement or a question?”

She blinks again.

Determining what constitutes a question is on my spreadsheet, but I’m not sure it will help in this situation. And isn’t that why I’m here?

She gives up trying to figure me out—I get that a lot—and hands me a stapled packet of papers. “Here are your instructions. Your station is over there. They’re all numbered, so it should be easy to find. Is your baking partner here?”

“He’ll be here soon,” I say, trying to reassure her, even when I’m not sure myself. I last saw Dom at breakfast. He promised he’d be on time. Not that he’s ever been able to keep that particular promise, but this was his idea, and he knows how important this is to me.

Dottie nods and moves on to the next person. I check the paper for our station number and head in that direction. I don’t get very far. A man around my age—mid-twenties—runs toward me. I stop, hoping he’ll run past me. He doesn’t.

“I know I’m late,” he says, gasping for breath. “Sorry, sweetie.” His eyes are fond—but why? I have never seen him before in my life.

The man is standing in my space. But my private bubble might be bigger than most. He leans in as if he’s going to…what? Kiss me? I recoil. I’m not fond of touching or being touched by strangers. Or their lips.

My spreadsheet is woefully inadequate for this.

“Who are you?” I ask, no longer caring if it’s an acceptable response.

He laughs. It’s more of a giggle, actually, and annoying. “Very funny, Cage⁠—”

“Don’t call me that.” I’m not fond of my middle name. It reminds me I was named after a Vin Diesel character.

“Come on, Xan. Don’t be mad.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

He pouts. His pout seems fake. Even to me. As if he’s after something. But what?

I cross my arms, mostly to put space between us. He inches closer.

“Sweetie, baby, honey…” His smile is unnerving as he looks at me from under his lashes. My stomach does this weird flippy thing, and it’s not pleasant. At all. What is the appropriate response here? One that will get him to back away? Will he think it odd if I pull out my phone and search my spreadsheet? I know I added this one. He seems to be flirting, but it’s more forward than that.

My brain screams for me to run or push him away, but I’m working on my peopling skills. His hand skims lightly over my arm, and I jerk away, knocking into a thin woman wearing a pink pillbox hat with an oversized lacy disk. It reminds me of helicopter blades. Those would be handy right now. “Sorry,” I say, getting a harrumph in return. I swallow the anxiety crawling out of my throat and turn to the clingy stranger.

He blinks, letting out a quick, high-pitched laugh, as his hand reaches out again. “Babe…”

I take a step back and then another, just to be safe, until I’m completely out of his reach. “Please don’t touch me,” I say in the calmest voice I can muster. “And Xander is the only appropriate way to address me.”

All pretense of sweetness vanishes as he narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw. Anger. This one I recognize. I have no idea why he’s angry when he’s accosting me, but I think Dom will agree that I’ve tried an appropriate number of times to be nice.

“Fine,” he says with a huff. “Be a jerk.” He brushes his fingers over his hair. I hadn’t noticed before, but his hair appears to be sculpted into a style of some sort. He’s also wearing makeup. “I thought you were in the third group, not the fifth.” This sounds like an accusation, as if his mistake is somehow my fault.

“I’m not sure what⁠—”

“Relax, Xander.” His gaze moves to something behind me. I turn and find Dom strolling toward us. Feeling slightly giddy with relief, I blow out a breath. The stranger shakes his head and, in a mocking tone, says, “Your brother is here to save you.”

He flounces away—that word seems to fit perfectly—and I squeeze my hands into fists and release, crumpling the papers in my hand. Focus on the competition, Xander. Not the weird alien people. I’ve decided they are the problem, not me. At least not this time. No one seems to be acting normal.

“Hey, numb-nuts. Ready to go?”

I sigh. Except my brother. I might be happier if someone took over his body and changed his personality. “Don’t call me that.”

He laughs. At least his smile is real. Honest. Some of my worry dissipates. Dom never lets me down. Not in the big ways. Yes, he’s ten minutes late—because we were meeting early—but he’s here. And acting like himself. “Who’s the hottie?”

“What are you talking about?” I lead him to our station so we can prepare. Thankfully, he follows. Unfortunately, he continues his questions.

“The cute guy attaching himself to you.”

I don’t bother denying it since that did seem to be the man’s goal. “I have no idea who that was.”

He laughs again. Louder. Heads turn and watch us. I walk faster. Which isn’t helpful because he raises his voice. “You did say you’d try to mingle⁠—”

“I have never used that word in my life.”

“—but this is so much more than I hoped for.”

I ignore my brother and inspect the station. It has everything we need, but I miss having my own equipment. The stations around us fill up and excitement zips through me. This wasn’t my idea, but I’m very competitive. Winning is tangible. I can see myself holding the trophy. Feel its weight in my hand. I smooth the now-mangled instructions out on the countertop. “Can we focus on the competition?” I push the negativity away and catch his eye. “Please?”

“Yeah, sure, bro.” He grins and bumps my elbow with his. “Let’s win this bitch.”

In the first round, everyone follows the same recipe. A blackberry-lemon mascarpone tart. Dom and I work seamlessly together, but the events of the day have me distracted, and I make several mistakes. Not actual mistakes, but it’s not as perfect as I want.

We still win first place, but my mistakes haunt me. Our crust wasn’t as flakey as it should have been. I go over every moment, thinking about what I could have done differently.

Dom’s hand on my arm stops my internal flogging. “Seriously? We won first. And the only thing that matters at this point is qualifying. We’re in. Stop stressing.”

Out of fifty teams, only forty make it in. Dom is right, as usual.

But we still have three more days of the competition. If we get eliminated early, it will prove I can’t work under pressure. Letting the stress get to me has been my biggest problem. And of course, the peopling.

He pulls out a purple marker and grins.

I shake my head. “I’m an adult.” Which just makes him laugh. He holds out his hand, and after a few minutes—experience tells me he won’t give up—I give him my arm. In school, they separated us into different classrooms, starting with kindergarten. Dom drew a happy face on my arm that first day. When I was eight, I was forced to participate in the third-grade play, and Dom drew a clown on my wrist. And at fourteen, when I was strongly encouraged to go to the Homecoming dance, Dom drew music symbols on each of my fingers.

The marker tickles, and I try not to squirm. When he finishes, I stretch out my arm to make out the tiny words written just below the crease of my elbow.

U GOT THIS

I smile despite how stupid and juvenile it is. Some of the unease in my stomach settles. We’re a team. Dom will always be on my side.

“Don’t wipe that off,” he says, pointing his marker at me. I roll my eyes. My emotions are a jumbled mess, so speaking isn’t possible. He puts the marker away and waves his hand. “I’ll finish up here, bro. Go meditate or something.”

October 17th 12:30

There’s a small courtyard in the back of the conference center. It’s empty, and I choose a bench near a large oak tree. It’s warm for October, but the heat doesn’t bother me. The sun warms my face. And touching the bark of the tree helps ground me. This is the only way I keep from reacting to everything around me. Limit the stimuli. Focus on positive energy.

When it’s time for the next challenge, I march inside, not letting anything distract me. The crowd hasn’t thinned, and as I weave around various groups of people, someone laughs. Which isn’t unusual. But something about the sound, the pure joy of it, captures my attention. I glance around a woman holding a squirming child and spot a man with messy blond hair, crinkles around his eyes—from all that laughing?—perfect lips, and a T-shirt that says BAKERS LIKE TO POUND THINGS. He’s…stunning.

“I swear, Carinne, I’m not fucking with you. Every bit of that is true.”

The woman has brown hair in two braids. I think she’s the one who waved at me earlier, but I’m too focused on him to know for sure. She says something I can’t hear, and he laughs again. “Honest to God.”

Someone rushes past me, knocking me into a trash can. I grab it before it can fall, but the noise has everyone staring, including the guy. His eyes reach mine and the smile drops from his face. Does he think I did that on purpose? My mouth is dry as my pulse jumps, undoing all the benefits of meditating. He touches the woman’s arm and says something quietly. She nods, glancing at me, as they walk away and get lost in the crowd.

I’m standing—not hiding—behind a pop-up banner advertising cooking spray when my brother finds me.

“Finally. I’ve been looking for you—” His mouth snaps shut. He tilts his head and studies me. I resist squirming. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, unable to use my voice. I’m a terrible liar, but I can’t admit the truth: I was stalking someone. I wring out my hands. “Nothing.” He doesn’t believe me, but that’s fine. This is the game we sometimes play.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” This is safer ground, and I relax. I head toward the left side of the building, and he gently grabs my arm. I resist the urge to shake off his hand.

“Hold on. We’re on the north side this time.”

“Not according to this.” I hold up the revised schedule.

“For fuck’s sake. Why don’t they make up their mind?”

I ignore his complaints and lead the way to our next challenge. Once we’re checked in and set up, I skim the audience members, but the blond man isn’t there. That’s a relief. So why does it feel like all the excitement has been sucked out of the day?

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem distracted.”

I blow out a slow breath. “I’m fine, Dom. You don’t need to worry.”

He nods, but his eyes squint as if he’s unsure. “Dom? Man, it’s been a hot minute⁠—”

Beeeeep. The timer signals that we have five minutes until we start. In this challenge, we’re making cupcakes using our own recipes. Dom and I decided last night to do our maple-bacon cupcakes with buttercream frosting, but he frowns as I gather supplies.

“I thought we were doing the salted-caramel cupcakes.”

“You said we should wait for that one⁠—”

“Why would we wait? We could be thrown out this round.” He stares at me with his hands on his hips as if I’m the clueless one. His nails are painted a sparkly purple. I’ve never seen his nails painted, which throws me for a second.

I push away those thoughts. “It’s too late to change now, Dom⁠—”

“Tor,” he says through gritted teeth. “I don’t like being called Dom.”

Since when? “Fine. It’s too late, Tor,” I spit back.

“Jesus, you’re tense as fuck. Maybe you should grab Ren for a quickie to take the edge off.”

His words make no sense at all—have the aliens gotten to my brother?—but it doesn’t matter because the buzzer sounds, and we’re starting.

Our teamwork is shot. On the surface, it probably seems the same, but our timing is off. Like a timing belt or a clock. Just a little out of sync. This has never happened before, but we’ve been through a lot of stress, so maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s all me. The laughing guy threw me off. I push all that away and focus on our task. We get our cupcakes in the oven on schedule and start on the icing. We finally fall into a rhythm. It’s not our usual, but it’s much better than it was at the start. When the cupcakes have cooled, we add the buttercream topping with bits of bacon to decorate. We finish the last one as the final buzzer goes off. They look good, but the cupcakes needed to cool a bit longer. The buttercream doesn’t hold up as well as it should. They aren’t bad. Just not perfect. Did we do well enough to stay in?

My main goal this entire time was to win first place.

But now? My stomach lurches.

Dom and I might go home today.

O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name!

The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle blame.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Ephesus 3.1.64-65)

CHAPTER 4

DOM

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2 P.M.

Something is wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it. Actually, that’s exactly what I can do. One minute, I’m in sync with Xander, and the next…my world is spinning. Like actually spinning.

It doesn’t help that Xander changed the cupcakes we planned on making from maple bacon to salted caramel. The trick is getting the perfect amount of saltiness. Not easy. Why would we do this one now?

While Xander makes the batter and gets the cupcakes in the oven, I focus on the salted-caramel filling. When the sugar is a deep amber, I stir in the butter and add the heavy cream. I whisk the mixture, trying to get all the lumps out. My brother and I aren’t in sync for the first time…ever, which has me on edge. Xander pulls the cupcakes out of the oven as I’m removing the filling from the heat so it can cool. I shake out my hands to get rid of the nervous energy.

“You okay?” Xander asks, wrapping his hand around my forearm. He normally avoids touching unless absolutely necessary, so this freaks me out a bit. The message, calm down, isn’t a problem. I get that I need to take a fucking breath. It’s the zap of electric current that stuns me. I’m not being dramatic here. I stop everything, darting a glance at my brother. He turns away, a slight blush on his olive complexion. Did he feel it too? Or is he reacting to the fact that we’re going to lose this competition and possibly go home after the first day?

That shifts me into gear. This is important to Xander. I can’t fuck it up. Xander fills the cupcakes as I focus on not getting the buttercream frosting too salty. The trick is to use one unsalted stick of butter and a salted one. I follow the steps we’ve done together a million times.

Things get better then. I focus on the frosting, not Xander’s proximity or my body’s weird reaction to him.

Muscle memory takes over. Routine takes over. Not wanting to disappoint my brother takes over. We get the cupcakes frosted just in time, and I take a breath. It should be good enough to move to the next round. Not that Xander has ever been happy with good enough. But I can talk him down. As long as we stay in the competition.

The judges taste our cupcakes and give each other looks I can’t decipher. I push away my annoyance. This isn’t Cupcake Wars. Or even the Chicago Baking Competition. This is Dunklin County, for fuck’s sake.

I’m not usually a worrier, but I feel like I might be sick…wouldn’t that ruin everything.

Xander doesn’t look at me. He’s too professional for that, but it’s my fault, and we both know it. The consistency isn’t perfect. What if they’re too salty? God. If we go home because I messed up…my heart pounds faster as they go through each entry. Then, they confer for a few long minutes. Officially, I think they have five minutes for each team, but it feels much, much longer. Xander stands rigidly beside me. Eyes forward as they announce the winners.

Second place. That should keep us in the competition, at least. Xander doesn’t relax, and I practice the words he needs to hear to get him out of his funk. Second place isn’t bad. We’re going forward.

We clean up after, and it’s awkward. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt nervous around my brother. Is he really that upset? He’s avoiding me. Trying not to touch me. Even more than normal. And the words I scribbled on his arm are gone.

“Xan—”

He shakes his head, a clear signal to wait. I clamp my lips shut and we finish in an uneasy silence. My skin is crawling in an itchy, what-the-fuck-is-happening way.

Xander leads us to the elevators for some reason, and I grab his arm to stop him. I jerk my hand away just as quickly because the electricity is back. Maybe it’s the building. “We can take the stairs.”

Xander hates elevators. It’s the likelihood we’ll be trapped with people and forced to interact.

His brow scrunches. “It’s fine. You’re acting weird.”

I’m acting weird? It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, but I swallow the words.

The elevator is larger than most, but that doesn’t usually matter to my brother. Only a few people are in the back. Xander ignores them and moves to the side. I stand next to him, more aware of his presence next to me than I’ve ever been. The warmth from his body. The scent of his vanilla shampoo. The air feels heavy between us. Weighed down by something.

Which makes no sense at all.

Stop spiraling, Dom. That’s Xander’s thing. Am I just upset that I messed up? I grab onto the reason and hold tight.

The elevator voice announces the second floor and the door opens. People file out, but thankfully, no one is waiting to get on and the elevator door closes.

Leaving us completely alone. Which is normally when I’m the most relaxed. But the air around us is still supercharged. Thick. Making it difficult to breathe. What the fuck is happening? And how can I fix it?

“I’m sorry.” The words burst out of me, shattering the quiet.

Xander gives me a nervous smile, but his voice is calm. “This isn’t your fault. I lost focus⁠—”

“The consistency of the frosting was off,” I say, shaking my head.

“All that matters is that we made it to the next round. At least that’s what someone keeps telling me.” His eyes crinkle in amusement, and I get lost for a second. His eyes are the same dark color they’ve always been, with the tints of gold I know so well, but something is different. Is it the fact that Xander never keeps eye contact this long, even with me? Or that he’s amused? Or that he’s comforting me—with my own words?

I open my mouth to argue and then stop. Instead, I nod, my throat clogged with an emotion I can’t name.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” this new version of my brother says. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Fifth floor,” the elevator announces, and the doors pop open. Xander gives me a reassuring smile before placing his hand on the back of my neck and squeezing. Then he walks out of the elevator as if he does that all the time. As if it’s routine. As if he hasn’t just shattered my world. My mind finally catches up with what my body has been shouting this entire time.

Others get on the elevator and Xander moves his head around them to catch my gaze. “Are you coming?”

I clear my throat. “I forgot something. I’ll be right up.”

The concern eases from his face. He nods and strolls away.

I crowd into the corner of the elevator. Not wanting to be close to anyone. Not caring where we’re going.

The fighting in my head has begun without me. My mind shouting how can this be. My body not knowing the answer but acknowledging the truth.

Xander’s hand on the back of my neck. The squeeze. Just thinking about it takes me back, and once again, my body reacts in a way it never has before. Not to my brother.

I’m embarrassingly and unequivocally hard.

What the fuck do I do now?

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 5 P.M.

I roam the convention center, trying to get my head on straight but really just avoiding my brother. Until the texts start coming in. All from Xander.

Xander:

Where are you?

What are you doing?

This isn’t funny.

The last one makes me laugh. It’s so Xander that I relax. No matter what, Xander is still my brother. Stress can cause your body to react in weird ways, right?

I’m not quite ready to face him, so I pull out the photo I took from my mother’s office. I’ve been so busy with the competition and Xander that I forgot the other reason I set this up. To find out as much as possible about the woman in the picture. All I have is her first name and the date. Callie. The photo was taken three weeks before Xander and I were born. How does that help me? I wrack my brain, trying to remember if Mom ever talked about her.

I have no answers when I finally go up to the room to face Xander. He’s standing at the kitchenette in our suite and glares at me when I enter the room. “Where have you been?”

“Checking out the competition.” I did some of that so I could say I did since I’m not great at lying to my brother. My body is behaving, at least. No spontaneous erections.

Testing my body’s reaction because I can’t let anything go, I watch him take a bottle of water out of the tiny fridge and down it. Nothing. Thank fuck.

“Stop staring.”

I laugh, feeling almost giddy with relief. “Were you thirsty? Jesus, Xander.”

He side-eyes me. “Why are you acting weird?”

The suite has two bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a common area with a couch and a couple of armchairs. I slump onto the couch, suddenly tired.

He sits in one of the matching chairs across from me. “You were acting weird this afternoon too.”

Oh God. He noticed. I drape my arms over my eyes. “Just let me die here. On the couch.”

“Stop being dramatic…” Which is rich coming from him. But his pause catches my attention. “Are we going to the reception? I thought you’d want to celebrate making it in.”

I sit up and stare at him. “You want to be around people? Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?” I’m only partly kidding at this point.

He stares at his hands. “If I want to take over for Mom, I need to be able to do that…eat around people. Be around people.”

“True.” My goal had been to eat alone. Avoid Xander. Which would make him suspicious. More suspicious. But I don’t want to risk being alone with him for too long. What if my weird stuff returns? But going to the reception together would be perfect.

I know from experience Xander will have to take a shower. The man is obsessed with being clean. “Fine. Wake me when you’re ready.”

A half-hour later, Xander clears his throat. He doesn’t touch me, but that’s normal. I jump up, not wanting to risk it. I’ve had enough testing for one day.

But when I stop at the elevator, he puts his hand on my back and guides me toward the stairs. “No way. One breakthrough at a time.” Which seems weird when he took the elevator earlier.

My body has no reaction to his touch, and I sigh in relief. It was a fluke. Nothing to worry about. Just one of those things. My muscles relax, and I feel lighter. I wasn’t even aware of how keyed up I’d been.

As we make our way to the dining area, I make a plan. Drink plenty of water with dinner. Take a relaxing shower before bed. Get at least eight hours of sleep tonight.

And maybe a quick jerk-off session to my favorite porn video.

Anything to keep my body happy.

I can’t risk this ever happening again.

Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?

Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advised?

Known unto these and to myself disguised?

I’ll say as they say, and persever so,

And in this mist at all adventures go.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 2.2.225-229)

CHAPTER 5

XANDER

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 6 P.M.

The reception isn’t formal, but it isn’t casual either. “Crocs? Seriously?” I point to the woman in front of us, who’s suddenly stopped, and Dom pushes my hand down. The overcrowded reception area hums with conversation and laughter. Butterflies—no caterpillars, each having a thousand legs—are crawling all over my body.

“Relax, Xander. I swear you’re going to have an ulcer by the time you’re thirty,” he says, nodding at an open table.

“I’ve changed my mind. There’s no reason for us to be here. We could be in our room relaxing. Conserving our energy.”

The noise in the conference center rises and falls in waves, swelling to a crescendo one moment as more people arrive and crashing the next. “It’s very loud,” I say, still complaining as if this wasn’t my idea.

“There are over a hundred people here—if we count the judges and event staff.” The last bit he interjects before I can correct him on the number of contestants. Which is something I would normally do. His gaze sweeps the room. “But the Chicago Bake-Off would have been quadruple this size. Or more.”

“It would have been worth it. Winning the Dunklin County Bake-Off doesn’t hold the same prestige.”

“True.” He shrugs and bites the tip of his thumb. I’ve told him it’s unsanitary, but he has his coping mechanisms and I have mine. We’re very in tune because we’re twins. I know his tells. He bites his thumb when he’s unsure about something or⁠—

My eyes dart to his face. As far as I know, my brother has never lied to me. Is he lying about something? Something to do with Mom? Or Paxton? Now, the caterpillars are marching across my skin. I clasp my hands in my lap, remembering my rules for the night. Not fidgeting is close to number one. Not murdering my brother is closer.

“Relax, Xander, I know this freaks you out, but it’s going to be fine. You’re the most talented baker here, and bonus, you have me as your sidekick. What could go wrong?”

I sigh. So many things. Before I can say that or anything, his phone buzzes, grabbing his attention. I don’t wonder who it is. The fond irritation on his face gives it away. “Mom?” I ask.

“She says good luck. And that we don’t need it.”

I make some sound that appeases him. My response is automatic. Mom supports our plan even though it leaves the restaurant short. Is it because she believes it will demonstrate my abilities or because it gets me out of the way?

I’ve always felt like the odd one out, even though I look more like Mom than Dom does. Odd is the perfect word to describe me. It has nothing to do with hair color. It’s more about not saying the right thing. Not thinking the right thing.

This is my chance to prove to myself and them that I can do this. Break out of the cocoon I’m wrapped in.

It’s not about the baking. I’m talented. Mom talks about being humble, but I don’t really understand the point. Is it so others feel better about not being as good? I work hard. Baking for hours on top of working at the restaurant. Hours of paying attention to what Mom, Jeremy, and Paxton do so I can take over for Mom someday.

“What about him?” Dom asks, interrupting my spiraling. He points at a man a few tables away.

A man I recognize. The guy from earlier. Blond. Kind eyes. Easy smile. Boy next door. I’m not a fan of labels, but they are, at times, useful. Especially for me.

I also remember the scowl on his face when he looked at me. “What about him?”

“You know…go talk to him.”

Not a chance. “I’m not looking for sex.”

Dom chokes on his drink. “Holy hell, Xander. Warn a guy.” He moves his head and catches my gaze. “Not a hookup. You agreed to this. Making connections with people.” He holds his hand out, stopping the words I’m about to say. “Not sex. A friend.”

“I don’t need any friends. I have friends.”

“You do need them, brother. You absolutely do. Because I don’t count.”

My darker coloring usually hides my blush. As heat creeps under my skin, I hope it’s not visible. “I’m older than you by five minutes. And I’m not in kindergarten, needing you to find me someone to play with.”

He sighs, staring off. “Gosh, I miss kindergarten. No pressure. Naps. Snacks. Recess. Georgina Preston sharing her crayons with me. Those were good times.”

“No, they weren’t good times. At all.” Dom is messing with me. Maybe. I can’t always tell. “And spending time with Georgina was the reason you tried to foist me onto someone else.” My eyes stray to the man with the blond hair. He nods at the woman next to him. The same woman with the long braids. Are they together? He tilts his head as if he absolutely needs to hear whatever she’s saying.

A squeak startles me, and I jump in my seat.

Is it from shoes squeaking on the tiled floor? Dottie is carrying an arm full of binders. Then another squeak—from their lips, not their shoes—and she goes down with a crash.

I rise in my seat and stop. Am I really going to help her? Make myself the center of attention and possibly cause further catastrophe? Not that it matters because the blond man is already on his feet and collecting the fallen binders before I can even decide what to do.

“See? He’s a nice guy. You don’t need to make a best friend, Xander. Just connect with someone. Anyone. Not related to you.”

“Why him?”

He shrugs. “The guy seems cool.”

Which means Dom doesn’t think the man will tell me to shut the fuck up. Unlike the last person I tried to talk to who told me exactly that. Meeting new people is difficult. And I have enough stress with the bake-off. Why do I need to do both at the same time? But asking my brother that will earn me another heavy sigh. Getting this over with isn’t a bad idea. Then he’ll be satisfied and not bother me for the rest of the weekend.

It’s not because I want to talk to this particular guy. That’s not the reason I wanted to come to the reception in the first place.

“Fine.” I stand, holding my head high. I take a step forward. Then another.

My brother grabs my arm and lets go just as quickly. “Xander?”

“What?”

He grins. At me? Or my irritation? Probably both. “Smile.”

I bare my teeth, and he bursts out laughing. Some of the tension drains from my body, and I feel lighter. I smile, and this time, it feels natural.

I can do this. My body thrums with excitement and my usual anxiety. Are the caterpillars dancing? The guy is talking to the woman again. Will he smile at me the way he smiles at her? What will it feel like to have all his attention on me?

I maneuver around people, careful not to touch them, until I reach the open pathway that tripped Dottie. The stranger turns at that exact moment. His smile is wide. His eyes warm. Dancing with humor. My heart and the caterpillars skip a few beats. I trip and catch myself before I fall, feeling a kinship with Dottie and her binders. This man could make anyone stumble.

His eyes meet mine, and…everything stops.

His smile vanishes. The warmth in his eyes ices over. He glares at me with such animosity that my chest aches with the force of it.

What do I do now? I turn to go back to my brother, but I can’t face him. Humiliation swallows me whole. This man has been kind to everyone. Everyone but me.

I turn left. No particular destination in mind. Just needing to get away from him. And my brother’s prying eyes.

My escape is hindered by bodies everywhere. Did the number of people increase over the last few minutes? I head for an open area, which brings me outside the men’s restroom. I rush inside, thankful when I find it empty.

I gulp air, trying to get my bearings. His reaction to me isn’t all that unusual except for the intensity.

I’ve never had anyone dislike me on sight. I’m good-looking—not bragging, just stating facts—so people usually like me until I open my mouth to speak.

Shake it off, Xander. No matter what Dom says, you are not here to make friends. You’re here to win the competition. Prove you can handle high-pressure situations.

Like this one?

I lean over the sink and mumble words of encouragement over and over because hearing them aloud helps me process. A scuff of shoes on the tile—this time, it is the shoes—snaps my head up. The blond man stands behind me, and our eyes meet. Is this a coincidence, or did he follow me?

He folds his arms across his chest and his mouth sets in a tight line. His eyes darken with…anger? I whip around to face him. And say what? Why are you staring? I hate when people ask me that.

I grip the sink to ground myself. “Hello.”

He snorts. “Seriously? Shut the fuck up.”

If I wasn’t so rattled, I’d be amused that Dom is completely wrong about this man. Shutting up and leaving seem to be the best options. I sidestep to go around him, but he blocks my path. Despite his animosity, I don’t feel threatened. Which is odd.

“Excuse me.” I move again to get past him.

But he once more steps in my way. “I need an explanation. Why are you here?”

I press my lips together to hold in my words. They’ll only get me in trouble. But if he doesn’t want the answer, he wouldn’t have asked the question. “I’m—” I look around the restroom, reassuring myself that I’m representing things accurately. “I came in here to pee.”

He scoffs. “You came in here to avoid me.”

“Yes. That is true. And to pee.”

He stands close. So close that the tiny stain on the collar of his dress shirt is visible. My gaze catches on the white of his teeth. The freckle on his chin. This close, he seems almost human. “You promised you wouldn’t do this.”

“I never promised⁠—”

“Fine. Said, not promised. Fuck. Is that why Tor is here?”

His words make no sense. I reassemble them in my head, but it doesn’t help. “Do I know you?”

His mouth drops open, and the energy around him intensifies. He balls his hands into fists. Controlled fury comes to mind. “You lied to me,” he says, poking my chest with his finger.

Instead of being frightened, relief washes over me. His words finally make sense. Not actual sense, but now I understand. This confrontation is personal. Too personal. I smile, hoping it helps defuse the situation. “I’m sorry, but you’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else.”

“Oh, okay. Is this the game you want to play?”

“It’s not a game. If you’ll let me explain⁠—”

“I think living together for three years and then you fucking me over should count for something. So yeah, you do know me. But I’m not sure I ever really knew you.”

“No. That’s not—you’re wrong.”

“About which part?” He looms over me, and I want to back up, but there’s nowhere to go.

“You clearly think you know me. But I’m not that person.”

His nostrils flare. “So, you’re not Xander?”

Shock holds me in place as I try to figure out what’s happening. The door opens and someone enters, whistling the tune from Zelda. They stop. And then, with a “Sorry,” they’re gone, and we’re alone again. Does the person think I’m in trouble or that this is a romantic encounter of some kind? That thought sends heat through my body. Unexpected heat. This isn’t like me at all. None of this makes sense. But he’s still waiting for my answer. “I am Xander.”

“Yes. You are. And your middle name is Cage. After the Vin Diesel character in Triple X.”

I lick my dry lips. Am I imagining all this? “That information is also correct, but⁠—”

“But nothing. You’re exactly who I think you are. Down to the tiny mole on your hip in the shape of a clover.”

I stare at him in stunned silence. His hands settle on my hips, and those poor caterpillars are instantly burned to a crisp. My skin is scorching hot. His thumb dips below my waistline. No one has ever touched me like this, and my body reacts accordingly. Am I overheated with embarrassment or because I’m so turned on? He pulls at the waistband on my pants—I don’t wear a belt. I can’t stand the feel of them—and exposes my hip.

“See?” he says, his voice low and husky. And that isn’t helping at all.

But I glance down. His hands look as strong as they feel. His lighter skin against my darker as he touches me has my body in overload.

His touch is gentle as he brushes his thumb over my skin. Over the mole I’ve always hated on my hip. “Xander…?” There are so many questions in his eyes. His voice. I don’t know him, but I wish I did.

I lick my dry lips and will my voice to work. His eyes are hot on me. Finally, I ask, “Who are you?”

His soft gaze hardens and he jerks his hands away. The noise from the convention center filters back in. Muted laughter and talking. As if everything is normal. “You almost had me. Fuck you, Xander Cage. That’s who I am.”

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 8 A.M.

The next morning, I leave before breakfast to escape my brother’s worried looks. He asked me what was wrong several times last night and a few this morning. I need time to myself. That’s the explanation I give Dom, but instead, I roam the convention center.

My brother would be thrilled I’m among the masses, so there’s no reason to hide what I’m doing. Except, I’d have to explain why.

I can’t even explain it to myself.

Our next match isn’t until eleven, but some teams are already competing. I watch a few, but I’m in people overload when I find the blond man wearing an apron at one of the stations. Now, it all makes sense. He’s a contestant. Was he trying to throw me off? Did he target all the teams that got first?

But he knew things. Things he couldn’t have known. And his anger had seemed real. His confidence that he was speaking the truth.

This is the reason I’m roaming the convention halls when I should be preparing for our next challenge. Something is going on, and I have to find out what it is.

The blond guy is working with the girl with braids. They work well together. The smiles he gives her cause my heart to ache in an unexpected way.

I’m not interested in him. Or any guy. Dating is not something I care about. But his arms flex as he rolls the dough. His hands are sure and steady as he chops strawberries. Strong hands I can still feel gripping my hip. He crimps the edges of the pie, reminding me of the way his thumb brushed over my skin. A thrill of excitement similar to last night rushes through me.

His knife slips out of his hand and hits the floor, taking away precious seconds. He quickly gets another one, not showing an ounce of frustration. Or anger. Not even when their team gets second place.

They announce the names of each team and team members. My heart beats faster and I hold my breath as I wait for his name.

Erik Waters.

His teammate is Carinne Waters. He hugs her, and I suddenly feel cold. I rub my arms. Are Erik and Carinne together? Married? I’d assumed he was unattached and gay. Or bi. But if he is married and attached, it should make everything easier.

As Erik removes his apron, he glances up. I’m staring so intently that I’m not prepared. His gaze catches mine, and he frowns. I move out of sight and out of the area as quickly as possible. I can’t deal with him yelling at me again. Telling me how I’ve ruined his life. The man hates me—although his touch seemed to say something different—and forgetting about him would be the best thing to do.

This is the fairy land. O spite of spites!

We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites.

If we obey them not, this will ensue:

They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Syracuse 2.2.200-203)

CHAPTER 6

DOM

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 6 P.M.

The next day goes much like the first. Xander and I compete and do better than before. We’re in sync, and I can almost pretend yesterday didn’t happen. No unwanted bodily functions. I even test it just to be sure. A touch. A pat on the back. Until Xander glares at me and tells me to stop. We’re back to climbing stairs, but I can’t even be upset about that.

During our downtime, I think about the woman in the photo. Should I go to Grandville? It’s not that big. I could probably pass her photo around. Maybe after the competition. I don’t want to do anything to throw us off. Especially now that we are back to normal.

We win the morning challenge that requires everyone to make the same thing. In the afternoon, we get third. This time, it’s Xander’s fault. He’s distracted. Should I ask him about it or let it go?

By the time dinner rolls around, I’m starved. Convincing Xander to eat with me is surprisingly easy.

The restaurant of the hotel is nice but not overly fancy. Xander and I follow the server to the left side of the dining area, and we sit in a nice booth with black vinyl seats.

The host takes our drink orders. Xander always gets unsweetened tea. I order a Diet Coke. And, thank fuck, they have it. Diet Pepsi isn’t the same. As I study the menu, I say as casually as possible, “Do you remember Mom talking about Callie?”

My brother straightens. I can feel it more than see it. The air gets tense. But not in the way it was before. This tension, I’m used to. “Why are you so interested in this woman?”

“Why aren’t you?”

He rubs his forehead. “I hate when you do that, Dom. Just tell me.”

I can’t say the reason. Because she looks like me. And I want to know if she’s related. And if she’s somehow the key to helping our mother. “Mom always gets sad after our birthday, but it’s been worse this year.” I shrug. “She kept this picture hidden away.”

“And you can’t resist a mystery.”

I laugh. “And there’s that.”

The server arrives. Raul is his name, which he tells us with a bat of his pretty eyelashes. Normally, I’d be more than interested in this guy, but I’m pissed at my dick for being so weird before. No cute guys. No anything until I’m sure the fucker can behave for more than a day. I order a cheeseburger medium rare. And Xander has…nothing.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Um, Raul?” I ask as the server turns away. “Can we get an order of mozzarella sticks?”

“Of course, sweetie. Anything for you.”

He flounces away, and I watch. I’m not dead. Just on strike. Besides, Raul has a fine ass and wants to show it off. Who am I to deny him?

“Really?” Xander asks with a shake of his head.

“Why are you starving yourself?”

He shrugs, but his eyes give him away. They dart to a table across the room. The blond guy from before. The one Xander was going to talk to before he chickened out. I open my mouth to ask about him, but Xander interrupts me. “I’m fine. Just not hungry.”

“Whatever, dude. Just eat a mozzarella stick. Or five.”

“One.”

I give him my best pleading look.

“Fine. Two.”

The appetizer comes and he has one. But he eats it slowly, his eyes sliding over to the blond guy when he thinks I’m not watching. Interesting.

“So, about this woman.”

“What woman?”

I slap the table. “Bro, pay attention to me. This woman is important.”

He sips his tea and shrugs. “I think she might have died.”

His casualness feels like a slap in the face, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I know her.

“Why would you say that?” I ask with a bite in my words I don’t try to curb.

His brow furrows. “You asked.” Something catches his eye, and he jumps to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

As he briskly walks away, I glance at the blond man. His chair is empty.

What in the hell is my brother doing?

When the food arrives, I don’t wait. I’m not sure Xander is coming back. It’s not like he ordered anything. I don’t eat the remaining mozzarella sticks. Just in case.

Everyone else is sitting with someone, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind eating alone. I’m just not used to it. Xander and I do most things together. Which is why my earlier reaction to him freaked me out. Thankfully, everything is back to normal.

My focus returns to the woman. Maybe she’s Mom’s sister or cousin? That makes the most sense as to why we look alike. But why wouldn’t Mom talk about her? Unless Xander is right and the woman died.

“Hey, did you start without me?” Xander slips into the booth, a smile on his face. It throws me. Things must have gone well with the blond guy.

“What?”

He motions to my half-eaten plate of food. “You’re almost done.”

“Yeah. You were taking a while.”

“Nice, bro. Nice.”

My response gets stuck in my throat. What is happening? “Bro?” I squeak out.

He gives me a funny look and settles into his seat—making himself comfortable. He rolls his sleeves up with his long fingers, baring his strong arms. I ignore the flutter in my stomach and focus on the fact that he changed clothes.

“What are you doing?” I ask, glaring at him. Is this his way of messing with me? Not that Xander has ever done anything like this before. It’s more my style, but it’s the only sensible explanation.

He studies my face, glances down at his empty placemat, and then at my food. “I was going to eat. Is that okay?” Then his eyes widen almost comically. “Wait, did you have a date or something?”

“What? No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem, bro, is that you said you didn’t want to eat. I tried waiting for you, but I was hungry. And now you’re back⁠—”

“Back?”

“Don’t interrupt. Now you’re back and acting weird.”

“I’m acting weird? You’re the one yelling.”

That’s when I realize I am actually yelling. We’re getting looks from people and Raul is standing a few feet away like he’s waiting for a safe time to interrupt.

“Did you need something?” I snap and instantly regret it. It’s not Raul’s fault. “Sorry—I’m just—sorry.”

“Is everything okay?” Raul asks. “Do you need anything?”

“Don’t mind my brother.” Xander grins at the guy. Actually grins. What in the fuck is going on? “I’d like to order.”

“Yes, sir.” If Raul is surprised Xander has changed his mind, he doesn’t show it. My brother is a picky eater, and this time is no different. Raul’s smile slips just a bit as Xander struggles to find something to his liking. And the world seems almost right.

After the third time he changes his mind, I’ve had enough. I put as much exasperation as I can in my voice. “For fuck’s sake. Just order.”

Xander glares at me and finishes up. Raul gives me a grateful, flirty smile and drifts away. This time, I don’t watch. I’m too busy glaring at my brother as he grabs the last mozzarella stick.

“What?” he asks, catching my eyes on him. He runs his hand over his mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

And now I’m focused on his lips. They’re red and plump—and nope. I study the half-eaten burger on my plate.

He sighs. “Tor⁠—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“We’re back to this? What’s going on, Dom?”

You tell me. But I keep the words to myself. Am I going crazy here? “I don’t know. Everything feels off.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, sipping his tea and then scowling. “This has no sugar in it. At all. Do they think I’m a barbarian?” He searches through the sugar and sweetener packets and pulls out the ones he wants. “Our timing was shit in the last challenge.”

“Shit?”

“You don’t think so?” He dumps about six sugar packets into his tea and stirs. Xander doesn’t eat sugar. Or sweets.

“I’m just not used to you saying”—shit—“it. I’m just surprised.”

He doesn’t respond. He sips his tea and watches Raul flirt with the guys at the next table over. “I think I know what your problem is.”

“My problem.” This is unreal. I must be dreaming. That has to be it.

“Yes, your problem.” He nods at our cute server. “That guy likes you.”

“That’s my problem?”

He laughs. My brother has a nice laugh. I just hardly ever hear it. But the world is now topsy-turvy and nothing matters anymore. “No. He’s your solution. Though it doesn’t have to be him.”

“What are you talking about?” I pick my burger apart, not sure I can eat anymore. When he doesn’t answer, I lean my head back to catch his gaze. It’s surprisingly easy.

“You, my dear brother,” he says, putting his hand over mine, causing my brain to stutter and my traitorous cock to swell, “need a good dicking.”

My heart thunders as our eyes lock and his grin fades. The questions are there in his eyes. Join the fucking club. Then his gaze drops to my mouth, resting there for a second. “Dom?” he whispers, his voice filled with panic and lust.

I yank my hand away. The world continues to spin. Nothing is right. I ignore my brother, my food, and Raul’s questioning look as I rush out of the restaurant.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,

We bid be quiet when we hear it cry,

But were we burdened with like weight of pain,

As much or more we should ourselves complain.

(The Comedy of Errors, Adriana 2.1.34-37)

CHAPTER 7

XANDER

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 6:30 P.M.

I hate not being in control. It’s an itch under my skin. My brother and I did better today, but how long will it last? What if tomorrow we’re out of sync again? There’s nothing I can do about that. But this guy, Erik? The one that hates me because he thinks he knows me? That I can do something about.

And it might make everything worse.

After excusing myself from dinner—if you can call one mozzarella stick dinner—I follow the man out of the restaurant with a single goal: figure out what his problem is. I don’t focus on why I need to do this. Just… If I can figure this out, maybe things can return to normal.

He seems to be moving with purpose as he exits the hotel. Am I really going to follow him all over town? But he doesn’t get in a car. Instead, he walks several blocks away. It’s not like Chicago. There aren’t a lot of people around. I worry he’ll look back and see me. But isn’t that what I want? Why I’m following him?

Erik barely looks at the buildings around him, walking past a secondhand clothing store and a small diner. The pet store grabs his attention, and he stops and watches… Are those kittens? He laughs, and although I can barely hear it, I can see the smile on his face. His head flings back, exposing his neck. My thoughts are clear. Find out what this man is after. My emotions are jumbled. I don’t like this guy, but something about him draws me in.

He glances back, and I duck behind a light pole, turning so my face is hidden. Then he moves on, and I run to catch up. Two blocks down on the corner, he stops and rubs his face. Standing taller, he goes into a building with tinted windows. It’s not until I’m closer and at a good angle that I can tell where he’s gone. Rick’s Pawnshop.

As I step through the door, a musty smell hits me. Classic rock is playing over the speakers. I duck out of sight behind shelves holding dolls and action figures in collectible boxes. Why is he here?

The aisles are narrow, and as I try to catch a glimpse of Erik, I knock into an old ashtray stand. I grab it before it can fall and freeze, waiting for the accusations to start. When nothing happens, I move closer to the front. I can see Erik at the checkout counter through stacks of old records. He’s talking to a bald man in a bright-orange shirt. They’re talking quietly, so I can’t make out specific words, but the man shakes his head and points at something on the counter.

“That’s double the price,” Erik says, his voice carrying through the store.

The man crosses his arms and shrugs. “Do you want it or not? Doesn’t matter to me.”

Erik practically throws the cash at him, and the man hands him something on a chain. A necklace, maybe? I can’t really tell. He slips the object into his pocket and strides toward the door. As he passes by, I pretend to study an old guitar. Once he’s out the door, I sigh in relief.

Jingling keys alert me to someone behind me. “Can I help you?” The man at the counter. He stares at me, and I pluck the guitar strings a few times as if it’s the deciding factor in purchasing this guitar.

“No, thank you.” I give the guitar one final plunk and speed walk out the door before he can ask me anything else.

Erik isn’t anywhere in sight. I sigh in frustration and start walking back to the conference center. Did I gain anything from stalking this man? Not really.

I walk by the pet shop and watch the kittens play for a few moments before moving on. Someone grabs me and yanks me into the alley. I jerk away from my assailant, push them against the brick wall of the pet store, and press my arm against their throat.

Erik.

My heart pounds, my body still coiled and ready to fight as I let him go. “What the hell?”

His hands touch his throat. “You fucking attacked me.”

“You grabbed me first.”

“You were following me. Why don’t we start there?”

Now that I’m face-to-face with him, I’m not sure what to say. “You hate me. Let’s start there.”

He rubs his face. He looks tired. More than he did yesterday. How is it that this man’s default setting is to smile like he’s amused by everything? Like the world isn’t cold and people aren’t annoying. Except when it comes to me. “Jesus, Cage⁠—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever. Xander, don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

The air is warm and humid, even though it’s late at night and the end of September. The scent of Chinese food from the restaurant across the road mixes with the rank smell of garbage from the overflowing dumpster in the alley. Erik watches me, his brown eyes wary. “The past is over. I’m not reliving it. I’m happy. You’re happy. No need to mess with that.”

You don’t seem happy. That’s what I want to tell him, but it’s not what comes out. “I’m not happy.”

“Well, that’s on you, isn’t it? Most people are as happy as they want to be. Maybe you just don’t want to be happy. That’s your boyfriend’s problem, not mine.”

I start to argue with him. Why does he think I have a boyfriend?

But I can’t say anything because he grabs my hand and turns it over. His eyes are on me as he takes something out of his pocket and slaps it in my hand. “Here you go.”

The flat stone is cool against my skin. I hold it up. A medallion. With a symbol that has two vertical lines with a curved line on top and on bottom. Almost like a closed pi symbol. It looks familiar, but I can’t place it. Why is he giving me this? “I don’t know what to say.”

He snorts. “That’s a first. There’s nothing to say. I mean, it’s yours.”

“Mine?” I repeat the words as if I can somehow make sense of them.

“I’m tired of fighting. This is a peace offering. Okay?”

A car zooms by going way too fast, but it gives me a moment to think. Who does he think I am? But I’m not sure I want to know anymore. A small part of me wants one of his smiles just for me, but I ignore that part.

“Erik, I…thank you.” I’m not sure what to say. This connection between us seems fragile.

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes bright with pain. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “God, I miss you.” The words are whispered. Whoever he thinks I am, this is real for him. It makes my heart ache.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Why did I say that? I didn’t hurt him. But that doesn’t matter if he thinks I did.

He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut. “No. You don’t fucking get to do this.” And then he storms past, checking my shoulder.

There’s no one around. No people. No cars driving by. I’m alone in an alley in a small town in Missouri. What the hell is going on? But more importantly, how can I make it right again?

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 9:00 P.M.

I still don’t have any answers as I trudge back to the hotel. The necklace weighs down my pocket and bounces against my leg as I walk.

Nothing makes sense. Erik goes to a pawnshop to buy me a necklace? And then thrusts it at me angrily? A peace offering, he says. But it doesn’t bring me peace. Only more questions.

The table Dom and I were at is empty, so I climb the stairs and try to come up with something plausible to tell my brother. Why not the truth? Since when am I hiding things from him? But something is off between us, and I’m not sure what.

I tap the key card against the lock and open the door to our room. Hopefully, we can get some semblance of synchronicity back before tomorrow.

Dom jumps up from the couch and glares at me, his hands on his hips. “What the fuck, Xander?” Great. Full diva mode.

I almost leave again. I’m not fond of confrontation, no matter what Paxton thinks. I just don’t put up with people not doing their jobs. Or trying to burn down the kitchen. And my run-in with Erik has drained me. Except for some reason, I’m still amped.

“Don’t.” The door shuts behind me, and I walk past him, rubbing my forehead. A low throbbing ache started behind my eyes on the walk back to the hotel, and it’s becoming more insistent. I feel the jangling of the necklace more than hear it. Is it audible? Will Dom ask me about it?

“Xander, I have questions.”

“Can they wait? I’m tired—” My stomach alerts me that I had one mozzarella stick for dinner, and that was hours ago.

His eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch. “You’re still hungry?”

Still? I check the small fridge. I’m not fond of leftovers, but my brother refuses to waste food. I grab the only food container in there. It has half a meatball sub from lunch today. Did he eat all of this burger from dinner?

Sharing food is another thing I’m super picky about. But my brother is the exception. At least in this instance. Because the alternative is going out again or ordering in. Both options involve other people and time. “Can I have this?”

His eyebrows rise even higher. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” While I heat up the meatball sub, I face the microwave and the small kitchen area. It contains a sink, microwave, and fridge. I can feel my brother’s frustration. My back prickles with the heat from his stares. I’m just not sure I can deal with it.

One thing about my brother. He’ll wait. Forever if needed.

Might as well get it over with. After food. “Stop staring at me. Let me get something in my stomach other than mozzarella sticks. And then you can ask your questions.”

“And now I have more.”

The scent of tomato sauce hangs in the air as I take my food to the sitting area. It’s a nice suite. Not Chicago nice, but for a town of barely ten thousand people, it’s nice enough. My brain tells me to eat slowly, but my stomach wins that skirmish.

When I’m finished with the sub and the area is clean, I can’t stall any longer. I return to the blue couch with the surprisingly soft fabric. Mentally, I prepare myself. Honesty would be the easiest, or at least the most expedient. When I’m ready, I take a deep breath. “Ask your questions.”

He sits straighter. Preparing himself. For my answers? Or does he think I’ll lie? “Why did you change your shirt?”

A laugh bursts out of me, and he flinches. Just a bit, but I can see it. “That’s what you want to know?” Is there something I’m missing? I can feel the edges of it. Jagged. I hate not knowing. This is a feeling I know well, but usually with others. Never with my brother. “I was sweaty after our last round.” He’d changed too. Why is he focused on that?

“No…forget the clothes. Why are you eating again?”

Clothes? Food? My brother isn’t usually hesitant about anything. Unlike me. “For God’s sake, Dominic. Stop stalling and ask me the real question.”

His gaze shifts to the windows, and he rubs his hand on his jeans like he’s trying to remove something. “The real question?”

“Why I followed Erik?”

His shoulders relax and his laugh sounds relieved. But when his gaze meets mine there are more questions there. His brows furrow. “Erik?”

What did he think I meant? A twinge of guilt twists with the meatballs sitting in a lump in my stomach. Why didn’t I confide in him sooner? “The blond guy from the reception.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubs both hands on his jeans this time and clears his throat. What is going on with him? “Why did you?”

“He doesn’t like me.”

He smiles looking more like the Dom I know. “There’s so much to unpack in that statement.”

But I’m done. “Let’s unpack tomorrow.”

My brother is in front of me before I can get halfway across the room. His hand touches my shoulder and then drops. “It can’t wait, Xander. We’re—I don’t know what we are—but we can’t compete like this.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right. “Fine.” I set my jaw and stare past him. I can do this. “He doesn’t like me. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I don’t know why, so don’t ask.” I catch his eye, and he mimics zipping his lips. Maybe I can get through this. “But sometimes he looks at me like he doesn’t dislike me. Like he’s seeing me for the first time.” I raise my hand, already knowing what he’s going to say. “We don’t know each other. But for some weird reason, he thinks we do.”

“So you talked to him? Tonight, I mean?”

“Not at first. I followed him from the hotel. I wanted to see where he was going.”

“My brother the stalker, ladies and gentlemen.”

The tightness in my chest eases even as I throw him a dirty look. We’re fine. Or going to be. This is Dom. “Do you want to hear this?”

“Please continue.” His eyes sparkle in amusement. He’s going to milk this for a while. Great.

“He walked a few blocks away to a pawnshop. He bought—something.”

“Something?” he says with a laugh. “So cryptic.”

I pull out the medallion and hold it out for him to see.

His eyes widen. “Did you move from stalking to mugging? Jesus, Xander.”

“What? No. He gave it to me.”

“You’ve obviously skimmed over some parts of the story.”

Right. Because I don’t want to tell them. But we need to get back in sync. And I need my brother’s advice. I sure as hell don’t know what to do.

After I go through the rest, he crosses his arms and studies me. “You like this guy?”

“What? No. I think he’s married or with the woman—his partner in the competition.” But do I still believe that?

“Not what I asked.”

My head shakes in denial before I even think the words. “I don’t like him.” I sigh. “But I don’t dislike him either. And I should. Right?”

“Not necessarily,” he says with a shrug and holds his hand out. I give him the medallion, already itching to snatch it back. He turns it over and examines the front. “How did he know?”

I blink. “How did he know what?”

He holds it up so the front is facing me. “Gemini. Our Zodiac sign. Did he randomly pick out the right one? At a pawnshop?” He thrusts it back into my hands as if it’s cursed and backs up. “What the fuck is going on in this town, Xander? I feel like I’m in the freaking Twilight Zone. People think they know us—yes, it’s happened to me too. Everyone is acting weird. You didn’t even mention the medallion at dinner and the changing clothes and handholding thing? I’m freaking out here.”

My brother is losing it. He bites his thumb and looks like he’s going to start screaming any minute. His words make even less sense. He knows I didn’t follow Erik until after we went to the restaurant, so how could I have told him? And holding hands? He’s definitely losing it. “No. Only one brother freaking out at a time. This is my meltdown.”

That gets a chuckle out of him. It turns into a laugh. And then he’s gasping for air as tears stream down his face from laughing so hard. At least, I hope it’s from laughing. I can’t help but join in. “Missouri sucks,” I finally say. It’s my only explanation.

“God, it really does.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, ignoring his slight flinch. This isn’t something I usually do, but I need that connection with him. Something familiar. Real. “I’m going to take a shower. After that, can we go over the plan for tomorrow? As much as I’d like to get out of this town, I don’t want to leave because we were eliminated.”

His smile is genuine. And I realize then that the earlier ones weren’t as genuine. I hadn’t noticed at the time, but the difference is apparent. Stark. “I fucking love that plan.”

After a shower, I change into comfortable joggers and a tag-less T-shirt. Dom glances at the necklace as I slip it around my neck. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask for an explanation. I’m not sure I could give him one.

We go over the plan. Discuss the recipes we have planned and if there are any modifications needed. It’s familiar and productive, and I feel energized. As a team, Dom and I are unstoppable. As long as we stick together, we can win this competition.

Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself?

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromino of Syracuse 3.2.79-80)

CHAPTER 8

DOM

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 9 A.M.

Xander and I part in the hallway. He heads toward the stairs, and I turn left toward the elevators, pushing the button to go down. Things are better this morning. We feel in sync. And a bit of separation might ensure we don’t do or say anything to mess that up.

When have I ever needed a break from my brother? Never.

The elevator doors open, and I stare at all the people. Of course it’s busy today. Xander would have freaked out. He definitely made the right choice in taking the stairs.

“Going down?” a woman asks. It’s hard to take her seriously with a chicken on her head. It’s off to the side, an adornment to her hat, but still. She is bird-thin with a sharp nose and chin. And a frown.

I jump in the elevator and move to the back between a young girl around ten or eleven with short curls and wide eyes and a heavy-set man who smells like flour. Another contestant, perhaps?

As the door slides shut, a hand slips through to stop it. The woman huffs, and I feel sorry for the person jumping on at the last minute.

Except it’s Xander.

Did he change his mind? I expect him to turn back around. This car already has more than he’s comfortable with—usually anyone more than me—but he strides in without hesitation. He smiles at the little girl and moves beside me.

“Brother.”

“What are you doing?” I hiss. I swear he’s messing with me, but that’s not something he does. Ever.

He glances around and then back at me. His head tilts. “I think that’s fairly obvious.”

“No. I mean…” But I stop. The answer I get won’t help, and I’m resolved not to throw each other off our game today.

If only Xander had resolved the same. He stares at the woman in front of us, tilting his head this way and that to get a better view of the hat. His eyes dart to mine, full of amusement, and he bites his lips to keep from laughing out loud. The girl giggles. And he winks at her. What the fuck?

He leans in. “Close your mouth, brother.”

I snap it shut, only then realizing I’ve been staring at him. But this isn’t like Xander. “Cage?”

“Yes?” he answers right away. “Are you all right? You look deranged.”

I lift my chin and glare at him. “I do not.”

“Do so.”

The girl giggles again. The elevator car stops, announcing the first floor, and everyone exits. The woman glares at us on her way out. The bird jiggles as if trying to free itself, and by the time we are out of the elevator, Cage and I are laughing hysterically.

This is not my brother. However, there really is no other explanation. Maybe he’s developed dissociative identity disorder.

I don’t have time to figure it out. The competition is starting soon. I let Cage lead me to our station, and we discuss our plan. Which is not at all what we discussed at length last night.

“Cage?”

“Yes?” His dark eyes meet mine, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.

“Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Before this competition, no. Now? I’d like to. Honestly, this entire experience has been weird as shit, but I’m just going with it.”

“I like that plan.”

“Excellent.” He winks again, and my stomach swoops. “Let’s win this.”

We work well together. Not as well as before because I can’t anticipate this Xander. But I can make this pastry in my sleep, so I let my muscle memory take over. The rest of me wants to focus on Cage and the sheer confidence he has. It’s sexy as hell. Even though it shouldn’t be.

I feel good about the end result until I see the judges. The woman with the bird hat. Of course. She smiles when she tastes our lemon blueberry tart until the end when they announce our names. Then she frowns.

Thank goodness for anonymity. We win second. Again. I turn to Cage, ready to apologize, but he scoops me into a hug, and all thoughts leave my head. His arms feel good around me, and I press my face against his neck and shoulder. He smells amazing. Vanilla and a spicy cologne I’ve never smelled on him before. Xander doesn’t usually like strong scents, but he should wear this one more often. Or maybe not.

I scramble out of his embrace before my problem becomes apparent.

As we clean up, I try to put my reaction to Cage out of my mind. I turn right instead of left and smack right into him.

“Oh. Sorry.” My hands reach out to steady him and land on his broad chest.

He grabs my arms to keep me from falling. “No worries.”

It’s too much. Being this close to him again? His scent hits me like the end result of three shots of tequila. I’m liquid putty. Melted by his musky scent and the heat from his body, I can’t catch my breath. I keep my eyes on his chest. That’s not safe either, but I’m afraid of what he’ll see in my eyes if I look at him.

“Dom?” he asks casually, not like he’s about to accuse me of being a creeper.

“Yes?” I regain my senses and step out of his embrace. I look up because it would be weird if I didn’t. He smiles, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Want to grab a coffee with me?”

My brain should not interpret this as a date since it’s my freaking brother. But it feels different from all the other times we’ve gotten coffee or done anything together. “Sure.”

“Do you mind if we go somewhere out of the hotel?”

I barely keep from gasping. Xander never wants to leave the hotel. But that’s not really true anymore. What the hell is happening? “Okay. I might need to change first.”

He scratches his head, which messes up his hair, and…leaves it. I have never in my life seen Xander do this. “It’s just…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He’s turning away, so I grab his hand, ignoring the delicious tingles. “What?”

“It’s silly.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I guess I could go with you. I’m just worried that if we separate, I’ll lose you.”

How fucked up is it that I completely understand? “It’s fine. I can wear this,” I say in a rush. “I’m all yours, Cage.”

He grins and leads the way out of the hotel.

What the fuck is wrong with me? My brain and my body are obviously broken.

And I don’t have any desire to fix them.

What I should think of this I cannot tell,

But this I think: there’s no man is so vain

That would refuse so fair an offered chain.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 3.2.197-199)

CHAPTER 9

XANDER

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 9 A.M.

Dom taking the elevator while I take the stairs is unusual, but I don’t let it throw me. We worked out a plan last night, and I need to focus on it.

Once I reach the lobby, I head for the coffee shop across the street. We have a few moments, and I need fresh air and coffee. And in this small town, the air is actually fresh. Not like Chicago with its varying scents of people, exhaust, and, on a good day, chocolate brownies as the smell wafts off Blommer Chocolate Company, the largest cocoa bean processor in North America.

The coffee shop is more crowded than I had expected. I move to the back of the line, checking my phone for the time. Dom will complain incessantly if I’m late.

Although, lately, he’s just avoided me. Not like him at all. Is it something in the water? Or the air?

The line has slowed considerably, and I shift so I can see around the two girls chattering in front of me. A razor-thin woman is at the counter giving her order. “Soy milk,” she says in a high-pitched voice. “No, wait…” She holds up her hand while everyone waits.

I check the clock on the wall and my anxiety shoots up at the time. I need to be at our station early to set up. To work out any issues with Dom. We cannot be eliminated today. I tap my foot, only aware I’m doing it when the girl in front of me glares.

“Oak milk,” the woman finally says, and the entire line of people lets out a collective sigh. “Although…”

“Your total is seven fifty-eight.” The clerk’s confidence is admirable. He glances at the long line now reaching the door without even flinching.

“Thank you.” As the woman walks to the pickup area, I notice the thing I missed while she was ordering. Her hat. Blue. With a chicken on the top that bounces when she walks. And they say people from Chicago are odd.

A chuckle behind me has the hair on my body standing up. I’ve heard that laugh before. But if I turn, who will be behind me? The angry man insinuating I’ve ruined his life? Or the guy who gave me—practically threw—a medallion at me? Or will it be the guy who touched the mole on my hip like he wanted to memorize it? Doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I can resist any version of the man.

I turn and smile, trying to make it look normal and not creepy. Not sure how successful I am. I’ve practiced smiling. Still not good at it. “Erik. Good morning.”

His brows narrow and I have a hint of what’s to come. I steel myself for his anger. But then his gaze slides down. “You’re wearing the medallion.”

Heat floods my face. And I’m not sure why. This is the very reason I wore it. An acceptance of his peace offering. I raise my chin. “Thank you for giving it to me.”

“I…okay.” He tilts his head and lets out another laugh. “I don’t get you, Cage⁠—”

“Xander. I hate my middle name.” And I’m not that fond of my first name. Really, Mom? Couldn’t you have picked an actor other than Vin Diesel?

“See, this is what I mean. You…” He waves his hand a bit, and I still don’t understand what he means. “You seem different.”

Different. We met two days ago, but I don’t challenge his incongruency. “Is that a bad thing?”

He starts to answer and his eyes dart behind me. “The line is moving.”

“Right.” I advance a few feet in line and turn back. The now giggling girls are the only thing standing between me and my coffee, but I’m no longer in a hurry. I don’t want this conversation to end. “Is it?” I ask again. “A bad thing that I’m different?”

“You were an asshole before, so not really.”

I laugh loud enough to get everyone’s attention. His wide grin is worth the embarrassment. “Glad I could exceed your expectations.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smirks as he glances up at me. “They were pretty low.”

“What would I have to do to get them higher?” I’m practically floating as I watch the dimples in his face pop out at my question. Am I flirting with him? Dom would be proud.

“I might have to think about that.” Oh God. Is he flirting back? If I pull out my spreadsheet to check, would he think it weird?

Probably. Be cool, Xander.

“Next,” the clerk says, and I turn quickly, almost knocking over a display. The unimpressed clerk raises a brow in question.

I fumble through my order, not even sure what I’m getting. My face feels as hot as the espresso machine. As I step out of Erik’s way, he leans in, ignoring the sigh from the clerk. “Maybe we could discuss those expectations later?”

“That would be fine.” Fine? Great. Perfect. Wonderful. But no, I go with fine. The guy who is nice to everyone but me is finally nice to me, and I short-circuit. I glance at the time and realize I’m going to be late. Dom is going to murder me. As soon as my coffee is ready, I’m out the door, grinning like an idiot.

Dom grabs me as soon as I enter the lobby of the conference center. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Coffee.”

“Jesus, Cage.”

“Xander,” I correct him, but he ignores me as he pulls me toward our station. No, not our station. Did they change it again? How do they expect people to compete like this? The other weird thing? Dom is again wearing nail polish. Black-and-white stripes. He definitely wasn’t wearing it this morning when we left our room.

I gather ingredients to set up, but Dom grabs my arm. “We’re doing the lemon blueberry poundcake, remember?”

“We are?” At this point, my mind is barely surviving, so I go along with whatever he wants. It’s just easier. Maybe it’s this happy feeling I’m not used to that’s messing with me. “Dom⁠—”

“Tor,” he growls.

“Five minutes, everyone.”

We aren’t even close to being in sync, but we get second place. Normally, I’d be upset and pick apart every little thing we did wrong. But we aren’t going home, and that’s what counts.

I focus on my goals. Winning this competition and showing Mom I’m the best person to manage the restaurant.

Except that’s not where my mind goes. It’s on laughing brown eyes and adorable dimples.

I am possessed with an adulterate blot;

My blood is mingled with the crime of lust;

For if we two be one, and thou play false,

I do digest the poison of thy flesh,

Being strumpeted by thy contagion.

(The Comedy of Errors, Adriana 2.2.151-155)

CHAPTER 10

DOM

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 12:30 P.M.

Cage takes my hand and leads me into a small café with an old-time diner feel. The black-and-white tiles gleam and the stools lining the counter are red vinyl. It’s lunchtime, so the diner is packed. But Cage speaks to the host to get us a table. I’m barely listening. His big hand wrapped around mine feels right. More than that. Exciting. Promising. And that isn’t fucked up at all. But I don’t let go. And neither does Cage. Not until we’re standing by a table for two tucked in the corner. My stomach flutters with excitement and nervousness.

This is my brother. But I don’t believe that. Or at least my body doesn’t. I don’t understand the how or why, but I’m going with my gut on this one and just enjoying it. His eyes are on my face as he settles in his chair. I lift my hand to check if there’s something there. A crumb I’ve missed. Strawberry filling.

He grabs my hand and holds it on the table. No one here knows us. At least, I tell myself that. “Dom…” he starts, but I don’t want the bubble to burst.

“Let’s talk about your dreams, Cage. What do you want?” Am I testing him? This? My heart pounds as he considers my question.

“I’ve talked about them often enough.”

“Once more won’t hurt then.”

He smiles, and I want to kiss him. What the fuck? I glance away before I give in to my impulse.

“I want to be the one in charge. Not the one taking orders. I love baking, but I want more than that.”

I nod, confused by the sadness pulling my body down like a weight on my heart. Am I disappointed?

“Owning my own business has been my dream for a while.”

My eyes dart to his. The hope flaring to life like the candle on the table. But maybe Xander didn’t mention this part of his dream?

His voice drops to a whisper. “Right now, I want something I shouldn’t.”

My face catches the flame and heats up. His eyes shine with something I hesitate to name. To want. “Cage, I⁠—”

“Are you ready to order?”

I jerk my hand away like it’s been caught in the cookie jar. Or stealing one of my mother’s brownies. Our mother. I fumble with the menu while Cage instructs the server to give us a few minutes.

My thoughts are jumbled. How can I think about food? About eating? I’m hungry for something I can’t have. Can’t want. This is so hopeless. Why am I even here?

Cage taps the table to get my attention, and I let him have it. Would I let him have anything and everything he wants? Probably. He turns his hand over palm up on the table, and I return my hand to his.

“I don’t understand what’s going on, Dom. But I refuse to believe we’re doing anything wrong.”

We’re brothers. Holding hands. Wanting more. But I don’t point that out. I don’t want to break the spell. Or stop what’s happening. Even though I should.

“Let’s order.” I smile so he understands I’m not disagreeing with him. But the server will return. And I need a minute. But I don’t pull away. My hand likes where it is.

When the server returns, I mumble something. Not sure what or if it even matters since eating seems impossible. Have I said that already?

Once the server steps away, Cage squeezes my hand. “What about you?”

I pull my hand away and wipe it on my pants. Is he asking if I think we’re doing anything wrong? The words stick in my throat.

“It’s only fair you share your dreams, right?”

Relief floods my body. I’m not the dramatic one, but my emotions are over the top right now. “My dreams?” Do I have dreams of my own? I can feel Cage’s eyes on me as I pull out my wallet and set the picture on the table. “I want to know more about our family. Who the other woman in the picture is.” I’ve discussed this with Xander. But have I discussed it with Cage? God, my life is messed up.

Cage pulls the picture closer and turns it so it’s facing him. “Mom looks so happy here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile like this. And lately, she seems…” He shrugs.

“Sad.” No one talks about it, but Mom has been getting sadder, and this year has been the worst.

“Yes.” His brow furrows and a line I’ve seen a lot less with Cage appears on his forehead. “You carry this picture around?”

I swallow, hoping against hope that he isn’t the brother I’ve known for the last twenty-five years because it seems impossible. “I want to know what happened.”

“After the tornado?”

I sit up straighter, my eyes on his face. “Tornado?”

He starts to answer when the server appears with our food. I want to tell him to go away. Or at least hurry up. Cage smiles at him—so unlike Xander that it strikes me again. The man leaves and Cage takes a bite of his fry.

“Tornado?” I try to keep my voice calm. Casual. But he gives me a confused look.

“The day we were born, remember?”

“No. I can’t say I remember that day.”

He doesn’t laugh. “But…Mom…” Instead of explaining, he takes out his phone and fiddles with it before handing it to me.

An article. The headline reads Tornado Hits Grandville. The date is the day we were born. The article talks about the devastation to the town and how the twister tore the hospital apart. Many lives were lost.

How did I not know about this? Mom never said anything.

“I think Mom lost her friend that day,” Cage says, “and that’s why she’s so sad.”

Lunch goes smoother after that. We don’t talk about Mom or feelings or anything charged with emotion. We eat our food. I manage to get it down and talk about things not so important. Movies. Ice cream. The best way to make an apple turnover.

I never want to let this Xander go. As we walk back to the hotel, my steps feel heavier the closer we get. Once inside, he lets go of my hand. Which is smart, but it still stings. We don’t discuss where we’re going, but when we get to the hallway, I head toward the elevator.

Cage puts his hand on my back. “Let’s take the stairs.”

Emotion overwhelms me. Do I have it all wrong? Is this my brother? Am I a terrible person? But as soon as we step into the stairwell, he crowds me against the wall.

“Is this okay, Dom? I just want a moment alone with you.”

Which, on the surface, makes no sense. We could go to our room and have all the privacy we wanted. But neither of us believes that. My voice doesn’t want to work, so I nod instead.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he whispers, gently cupping my face. “You’re always the voice of reason.” His thumb brushes my cheek as we share a breath.

“Don’t stop.” I push up on my toes, my hands going to his waist. His eyes drop to my mouth, and that’s all the permission I need. I surge forward, kissing him before either of us can change our minds. He gasps and my mind short-circuits as we share open-mouth kisses. The sounds he makes, the taste of him, spurs me on. His hand wraps in my hair, pulling me closer. Taking charge. Possessing me. We explore each other’s mouths, and it’s like breathing for the first time. Being alive for the first time. I’ve never felt like this before. This man—whoever he is—is my everything. My hands wrap around him, pulling him closer as I cling to his strong back.

His beard scratches my face, turning me on even more. I’m needy and desperate as I fuse our bodies together. His hard cock presses against my hip, and I spread my legs, wanting more. He moves until our bodies are slotted together like pieces of a puzzle. The friction has me gasping as he kisses my neck. I press our mouths together again. Needing his mouth on mine. We kiss like this is the only chance we’ll get. It’s desperate and messy and hot as fuck.

The door to the stairwell swings open and we jump apart. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. It’s no one we know, thank God. But what if someone had caught us? Brother kissing brother?

The person runs down the stairs, leaving us alone. But the spell is broken. What have we done? I can’t read his expression. Shock? Regret? Want?

“Say something, Cage.”

“Holy shit. That was hot,” he says with a laugh. Maybe we’re okay. “Don’t overthink it.” He kisses me again. Softer. Sweeter. “I’m going to walk around for a bit. I’ll see you later, okay?”

I nod. As he turns, I grab him again for one last kiss and then let him go. Hoping with everything I have that he’s right. That I will see him later.

My Cage.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak.

Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,

Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

The folded meaning of your words’ deceit.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 3.2.3-36)

CHAPTER 11

XANDER

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 4 P.M.

Things are going well. We’re still in the competition. And have a good chance of winning. Erik doesn’t hate me. My brother is still acting weird, but he’s allowed to go through things. It might even be his turn.

So, of course, I freak out. Self-sabotage? Or are there just too many people around?

It’s the end of the day, and our last event went perfectly. Dom and I were in sync, just like old times. Better, actually, because I don’t think I’ve seen him smile this much in a while.

But then everyone converged in the lobby, and I lost track of my brother. I thought I saw him, but he was dressed in a different color shirt, so maybe it wasn’t him. I do not people well on a good day. On a stressful day when the people seem to multiply? Not well at all.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a meltdown. A month at least. But when my chest tightens, and I can’t seem to get air in my lungs, I know it’s a bad one. I take deep breaths…or I try to, but a woman with a huge purse knocks into me, and I can’t—anything.

Curling up against the wall, I try to escape. It’s either the wall or the floor. And getting trampled is too much of a possibility. My body shakes as my heart tries to burst out of my chest like an alien life form. The pain is sharp and unbearable. I’m dying. I know I’m dying. Even when the logical part of my brain points out I’ve been through this before and I’m not actually dying. But the rest of my brain isn’t listening. It’s not been this bad before.

This time, I’m actually dying.

I need my brother. Dom will help me. Why isn’t he here? Is he deserting me too? I can feel the tears on my face, but it would take more energy than I have to wipe them away.

“Xander?”

The voice is warm. Reassuring. I lean into it. Needing to feel grounded. An arm goes around me and leads me…somewhere. I don’t really care where. As long as there are fewer people and a heart doctor to save me.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, pulling me closer against him as we walk.

“I’m dying.”

“Let’s find someplace quiet.”

I nod because talking takes too much energy. The din of the crowd gets softer. Then the arm is gone and I hear the click of a door shutting. Nothing but my harsh breaths. Did he leave me? My eyes open in panic. “Erik?”

He’s next to me in an instant. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

“I’m dying.” This time, I say the words with more sass.

He bites back a grin. “I know.”

“Then why did you let go?” I hold out my hand, needing to touch him. To feel his strength.

His eyes soften and he takes my hand. Then wraps me in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

I’ll be embarrassed later. That thought sits in the back of my mind, but my focus is on feeling safe. Cared for. And that’s all that matters right now. “I need you.”

He breathes in sharply. “Xander…”

The warning in his voice raises my heartbeat by a thousand percent. “Don’t leave. Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “I should, but I won’t.” His fingers brush away the tears on one side of my face. His lips brush away the others. As he holds me, the tightness in my chest loosens and breathing becomes.

Awareness returns, bringing with it the sting of shame. “I’m sorry.” I start to pull away, but Erik holds me tighter.

“No, you’re fine. I’ve got you.” He kisses my temple again. Then my cheek. My jaw. The corner of my mouth. My heartbeat changes. Less frantic and more needy.

“Erik, please.” I’m not sure what I’m even asking for, but I turn toward him and our lips brush together, causing a fire inside me. I press my lips against his and he moans. Erik’s strong hands cup my face as he kisses me harder. But it lasts only seconds before he pulls away and I try to follow.

“Wait, Xander.” He steps out of my grasp and takes my hands. To remain connected? Or to keep me from grabbing him again?

Hot humiliation stings my cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Look at me.” Erik tugs on my hands until I meet his gaze. “Stop apologizing. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s my fault.” He swallows. “I…shouldn’t have kissed you.”

That’s when I get it. The woman with the braids. They’re together. “You’re married.” I try to pull my hands away before I break down completely, but he doesn’t let go.

“What? No. Why would you think that?” He stares at me, and then his face clears. “Carinne? Xander, she’s my sister.”

All the tension building up again floats away, and I feel lighter. I let out a shaky laugh. “Your sister.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you because you were upset and vulnerable.” He closes his eyes, his lips pinched together in pain. “I’m so sorry, Xander.”

I squeeze his hands. “Erik, hey. I’m okay now.”

His eyes dart to my face and away again. “But you weren’t⁠—”

I catch his gaze. “I’m fine.” He searches my face, and I give him a reassuring smile. “Do you believe me?”

The tightness around his eyes smooths out and his shoulders relax. “Yes.”

“Good,” I say, giving him a smile. “I’m going to kiss you again.” And before he can protest, I brush my lips against his. It’s sweet for a second and then turns searing as he wraps his hands in my hair and pulls me closer. I clutch his waist as I deepen the kiss.

I’ve only kissed a few guys over the years. My first at a Homecoming dance when I was fourteen. But never like this. All consuming. Mouths open. Tongues touching. Getting as much of him as I can. He tastes like apples and cinnamon and goodness, and I can’t get enough. Erik’s hands move to my shoulder. He turns us and presses me against the wall. His body follows, and every inch of him pushes into me. He shifts slightly, slotting our legs together. I gasp as his leg rubs against my erection, catching my body on fire. The need for more consumes me, and I clutch his shirt as I try to get more friction.

“God, baby. Need to slow down. I’ve wanted you…this for so long.”

His words don’t make sense, but at this point, I don’t care. “Can I touch you?”

A sharp intake of breath. “Xander.” He groans.

“Please?”

He takes my hand and holds it to his chest. Not quite what I wanted. His heart is pounding. “First…I need to know. Are you still with Ren?”

“What? I’m not…I’m not with anyone.” I don’t tell him I’ve never been with anyone. No need for that added humiliation.

“Thank fuck,” he says with a relieved sigh. He moves my hand down to the bulge in his pants, and my breath catches. He’s so hard. Because of me? His hand covers mine and squeezes. The sight of both our hands wrapped around him…around his…dick…

A thrill shoots through me as he curls his fingers around mine and guides me until together we stroke him. I rest my forehead on his shoulder, enjoying the sight. The feel of his hard length. His groans of pleasure. He bucks against our hands and gasps. Damn, all these clothes. Frantic energy zips through me. I want to feel his hot, velvety length. Hear his cries of pleasure. Watch his face as he lets go.

All because of me.

“You’re so beautiful. Sexy.” I kiss the join of his neck and shoulder. When did I get so brave?

His hand tightens, stopping our movement. Is this it? The moment—but he lets go and steps back. I whine in protest. Erik shakes his head. “I can’t. This isn’t what I want.”

Humiliation washes over me. God. What was I thinking? Why would he want me? Did I push him into this? “I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No, Xander. Wait.” He tips my chin to catch my gaze. “I want this more than anything. But not a quick hand job in a dingy office.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. I’ve fantasized about this. About you.” He pushes my waistband down and brushes his thumb over my mole. “Having my mouth on you right here.”

“Just there?” Where is this courage coming from?

His eyes darken and his hand tightens on my hip. “Not just there.” His hand cups my throbbing erection. I thrust against his hand, needing so much more.

“Erik, please.”

He squeezes and the pleasure has me feeling faint. I let out a sound I’ve never made before. “God, you’re right,” he says, his voice rough. “Waiting is overrated. I should just suck you off. Right now. Would you like that?”

I make that sound again. It’s high-pitched and needy, and at any other time, I’d be embarrassed. But my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of his hands on me. His mouth on me. What do I want more? I sag against the wall and spread my arms out. Surrendering to him. “Whatever you want.”

“Fuck, Xander,” he says breathlessly as he surges in and kisses me hard. Then he sinks to his knees, his eyes on me.

I close my eyes, needing to last longer than this moment. He tugs my waistband down, exposing my hips. No belts or zippers. I can’t stand the feel of them so there’s nothing for him to undo. His warm lips kiss my mole, and I groan. I want his mouth somewhere else. He licks a circle around it, and I gasp, my eyes popping open. His head bent over me. His mouth on my skin. Oh God. I’m not going to last.

Erik kisses down my hip bone, moving my pants down as he goes. The anticipation is killing me. I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for my throbbing erection, but he slaps my hand away.

“Look at me, Xander.” His voice is rough, and his hands tighten on my hips. “I want you thinking of me.”

Who else would I think of? But that thought is fleeting. Erik’s hungry eyes are on me, and then he pulls my pants and briefs down, exposing my leaking erection. I’m not embarrassed. How can I be when he’s staring at me like that and licking his lips? I’m about to beg him, but then his mouth wraps around my cock and all thoughts are gone. Just pleasure like I’ve never felt before. He sucks me down. His mouth hot. His tongue teasing. Pleasure builds, and I press against the wall and thrust into his mouth. His hand cups my sac, and I’m gone. The orgasm hits, scrambling all my circuits. I can only feel as Erik grabs my ass and takes me all the way in, swallowing as I empty my release down his throat. As I come down from the high, panic sets in. I should have warned him.

I search his face for irritation. Anger. But there’s none. His smile warms my heart and eases my nerves. “You’re incredible,” I say, touching his lips. He slowly gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving mine. His kiss is sweet, and I taste myself on his lips. It’s different. But not in a bad way.

Ringing startles us apart. Erik pulls out his phone and stares at the screen as if in a daze. Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath and puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, sis.” He nods and listens.

Awkwardness starts to seep in. My pants are still around my legs. Should I pull them up? Wait for him to finish? Should I go?

“Is it really?” Erik checks the screen and returns to his call. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” His eyes crinkle in a smile as they lock on mine. “Just focused on what I was doing.” He winks, and heat floods my face. “Okay, Carinne. I’ll be right there.”

Okay. We’re done. I quickly pull up my pants. There isn’t much of a mess since Erik got most of it. My face heats again at the thought.

He hangs up and studies me. “I gotta go. Are you okay?” His eyes are warm and caring, with no regret that I can find.

I nod. My smile grows bigger. “I’m great.”

He grins and pulls on the medallion around my neck. His knuckles graze my chest, threatening to start another fire, as his thumb traces the symbol. His eyes return to mine. “Yes, you are.” He kisses me again, his lips lingering for a second.

And then he’s gone.

I get myself together, checking my clothes, and prepare to walk out among the masses. My anxiety seems to have vanished, and I laugh.

That was, hands-down, my favorite way to recover from a meltdown.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 5 P.M.

My good mood vanishes as soon as I reach the lobby. The crowds are gone but in their place is Paxton. Pacing. I stop and stare at him. What the hell is he doing here? Is this his way of making sure I fail? Or is something wrong with Mom? My pulse increases at that thought.

He spots me, and I have the urge to run back to the dingy office. “Xander. Thank fuck.” He rushes over, and I take a step back. “We need to talk. Where’s Dom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you text him? Call him?”

I scowl at him and cross my arms. “What’s going on? And why don’t you text him?”

His hands go to his hips, and he stares me down. “I did text him,” he snaps. “He ignored me.” Why am I the one always called out when Paxton clearly has an attitude most of the time?

“Look. I need to get cleaned up.” Heat floods my face, and I try not to think about what just happened with Erik. “Can I meet you somewhere?”

His eyes narrow as he studies me. Can he tell I had an orgasm less than fifteen minutes ago? Can he smell it? Oh God. I back up, intending to make a quick getaway. He must sense my need to escape because he jabs a finger at me. “The restaurant. Twenty minutes, Xander.”

Thankfully, Dom isn’t in the room, and I take a quick shower before heading downstairs. The restaurant is full, which isn’t a surprise. I spot Paxton at the bar. Great. He’s arguing with Dom.

“You’re a bit of a prick, aren’t you?” Dom says, standing in a sassy pose with his hands on his hips. His nails are now painted a turquoise color. This isn’t going to go well.

“What’s gotten into you, Dom?”

He waves a finger. “Don’t act like you know me, Mr. Tall Dark and Dickish.” His eyes rake over Paxton in a way I’ve never seen before, and he waves his hand. “Although this is definitely working for me, so if you want to get in me, I’ll be your Dom any day.”

Paxton opens his mouth, but no words come out. His wide-eyed gaze shifts to me, and I shrug.

“This new Dom likes to be called Tor.”

He puts up his hands. “Stop. I can’t deal with this. I’m here about your mother.”

“What’s going on with Mom?” Tor asks, all attitude gone from his voice and his body. “Is she okay?”

Paxton sighs. “She’s okay. Just depressed. She sits in her office and cries.”

Tor nods as if this isn’t unusual. “She gets this way every year.”

“But never this bad.” I’ve never understood why she always gets sad after our birthday. Dom thinks it has something to do with the picture. But I don’t bring it up. Not in front of Paxton.

“Giving birth during a tornado has to be traumatizing and then to lose her best friend,” Tor says, sounding more reasonable than he had moments before. Then I catch up with his words. What tornado?

Paxton leans in. “How do you know about that?”

Tor glares, and I’ve never seen that look on his face. He jabs a finger in Paxton’s chest. “How do you know about it?”

How do they both know this and I don’t? “This isn’t helping.” I put an arm between them. “What do we do?”

“Xander is right,” Paxton says, and I wish I could record him saying those words because it will never happen again. “It’s never been this bad. She needs a break. But to do that, she needs to know her business is in good hands.”

Tor tilts his head as if trying to figure out what Paxton isn’t saying. But his meaning is clear to me. We need to win this thing and prove to Mom we can do it. I can do it. Or I need to let it go and let Paxton take over.

Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Syracuse 4.3.65-66)

CHAPTER 12

DOM

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 5:30 P.M.

After our amazing day, I’m surprised to see a frown on Cage’s face. I check to make sure it’s not Xander. But there’s no medallion. Lunch and everything that happened on the stairwell was amazing. Is he now regretting it?

I got a text from Paxton but ignored it. He’s attempted in the past to get me to see reason and talk Xander out of taking over Vinni’s. That will never happen.

Cage sits at a booth in the crowded restaurant with a woman I don’t recognize. She’s older, with blonde hair and eyes that seem familiar. The way she holds herself, her shoulders straight and her chin slightly raised, commands attention. She seems cold until her gaze settles on me. The warmth and affection in her eyes stop me short, and a server—Raul, of course—almost runs into me.

“Careful, cutie,” he says with a wink, expertly balancing the tray of drinks and not spilling a drop. As he rushes around me, his free hand presses into my lower back.

Cage and the woman stand. He glares at Raul as she reaches out a hand to me. Cage is the one who speaks. “Dom—” He stops, and his cheeks turn pink. Is he remembering the stairwell? The woman’s eyes dart from Cage to me and back.

“Dom?” she asks, her words laced with confusion. She wiggles her hand impatiently, and I force my feet to work again. When I’m within reach, she grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “How are you, darling?”

Darling? Does she know me? “Um, fine.”

She nods and lifts my hand. “No polish today?”

Is she talking about nail polish or the fact I threw on joggers instead of dressing up? “No. Not today.” Or any day.

Another server rushes past, and she sighs. “Please sit down, Tor.” She nods at Cage. He scoots to make room for me. I swallow my nerves and wipe my hands on my joggers. I want to sit next to Cage, but it seems risky with someone else watching. How can I hide how much I want him? The pull is there even from this far away. Even with him not looking at me.

“Is there a problem?” the woman asks with a snap in her voice. “Have you two been fighting again?”

“No,” Cage responds. “We’re good. Right, Tor?”

I nod and sit next to him. When have we ever fought? Although things have been tense during the competition, it’s been with Xander. Not Cage. But aren’t they the same person? Reminding myself of that doesn’t help. I don’t believe it. Can’t believe it. I would never make out with my actual brother.

“Something’s going on,” she says mostly to herself as she picks up the menu.

I am so lost right now. Who is this woman? And how does she know me? I risk a glance at Cage. His smile is fond and quick. He squeezes my leg, sending heat to the last place I need it. Grabbing his hand off my leg, I put it back on his own. My hand doesn’t linger like it wants to because we need to get through this meal.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. I honestly think he’s trying to make conversation, but the words sound seductive to my desperate mind, and I suck in a breath. The woman glances over her menu and raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She obviously has them professionally done.

“A little.” I grab my menu and hide behind it. When Raul comes to take our order, I give my usual because thinking with the heat of Cage within reach and this woman’s eyes on me is impossible.

“No mozzarella sticks?” Raul asks in his flirty voice he uses mostly with me.

“Did he ask for mozzarella sticks?” Cage glares at him, and I slap his leg, ignoring the looks from the woman across from us.

“Not today. Thanks, Raul.” I smile a little too warmly to make up for Cage’s rudeness. Cage pinches my leg, and I rub at the spot while ignoring him. He doesn’t get to be jealous. Although if Raul had been flirting with him, I might have reacted the same. Or worse.

The woman is still watching us. “What is going on?”

“I could ask you the same, Lucinda.” Cage leans closer. “Why are you here?”

“Your mother. She’s depressed⁠—”

“She hates the fall.”

“Don’t interrupt, Cage. It’s rude.”

He squirms in his seat, and I hold back a smile. But what he’s saying is true. Mom always gets sad around this time. As a boy, I thought it was the end of summer that made her sad. I didn’t want to believe our birthday was the reason. That she might regret having us.

Cage and I have talked about how it’s worse now. The tornado. The one he knew about, and I didn’t.

“She’s tired of running a business,” Lucinda says, sipping her coffee. “She’s thinking about selling.”

“She can’t sell.” The words burst out of me. Xander would be devastated. “Why wouldn’t she let us take over for her?”

She folds her hands and stares at me. “You were never interested in taking over. Why would that change now?”

True. But how does she know that? Who is this woman?

Our food comes, causing a distraction. I don’t have an answer to her question, but hopefully, she’ll drop it.

Lucinda cuts her veal parmesan into little pieces and delicately takes a bite. After a few more bites, she clears her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to sell. She does need to step away. Too many memories.” Just for a second, her lips tremble and her eyes are filled with pain. Then she lifts her chin, and it’s gone. Did I imagine it? “But selling at this moment when she’s not thinking clearly…is a bad idea.”

“What does Pax say?”

Her brows furrow and Cage gives me a strange look. “Pax?”

“Never mind.” Alternate universe. Keep up, Dom. In this world, Paxton doesn’t exist. Xander would love that. I laugh at the thought.

“Tor.” Her voice is sharp. “Can you please take this seriously?”

“I am.” After that, I focus on my food. Their conversation washes over me. Mom. The tornado. Several things stand out, but I’m too confused and weirded out to question them. Erik. The bakery. Ren. Hadn’t Xander mentioned Erik and Ren?

“Are you okay?” Cage asks, his voice low and full of warmth. I glance at Lucinda, but she’s not there. “She went up to her room. You zoned out on us.”

“It’s too much. I don’t understand any of this.”

He takes my hand, and I feel better. Grounded. And more confused.

“Especially this.” I lift our hands. “How can this ever work? We’re brothers.”

“Don’t give up on me⁠—”

The table jostles as someone slips into the booth. I expect Lucinda, but it’s the guy who was all over Xander that first day. “I see you didn’t wait for me.” His face pinches with anger as he glares at our clasped hands and then at us. “What’s going on?”

Cage releases my hand and scoots closer to the wall. “Nothing.”

I ignore the hurt twisting my gut. We’re brothers. Everyone says so. We can’t be seen holding hands. The guy tilts his pretty head and the glitter on his eyes sparkles in the light from the table lamp. He scoffs. “Nothing. Right.”

“Ren, Lucinda was just here,” Cage says, distracting him. He explains Lucinda’s concerns, and Ren shrugs.

“Erik will flip out, but maybe it’s a good thing.”

“It is not a good thing.” Who does this guy think he is? I glare at him, which is not like me at all. He laughs, and I think about smashing his pretty face into the sturdy wooden tabletop. And that definitely isn’t like me.

“Since when do you care? About anything?” he asks, waving at a server. Once he’s ordered, he turns back to me with a self-satisfied grin.

I glare at him. I am not a fan of this guy. “Rude. I care about lots of things.” And wow. That sounds lame.

“My mistake. Other than your brother.”

“Stop, Ren.” Cage’s jaw is tight, and he looks ready to jump over the table. I’m not proud of the jolt of satisfaction that gives me.

“Right. This is the problem in our relationship, Cage. You always choose your brother over your boyfriend.”

Wait. Boyfriend? Cage has a boyfriend? Xander hasn’t ever dated that I know of. But this isn’t Xander, right? I’m so confused. I jump out of my seat. “I’m going back to the room.”

“I’ll join you.” Cage tries to take my hand, but I pull it out of his reach.

“Ha.” Ren’s shout startles me, and I turn and knock into a server. Plates of spaghetti and salad fall to the ground with a clatter.

My hands cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry.” But I’m not sure the woman can hear my words. She cleans up the mess, and I should help her, but I’m done.

“Wait, Dom,” Cage says, but I ignore him.

And Ren’s confused, “Since when do you call him Dom?”

I rush out of the restaurant and up to my room, hoping no one follows me.

Once in the room, I throw myself on the bed and hide my face in the pillow. How can I be this upset that Xander has a boyfriend? I’ve been encouraging him to meet people. But not this Xander. Not my Cage. And then I remember, he’s not my Cage. He didn’t even try to deny it.

He kissed me when he was with someone else.

Most mighty duke, behold a man much wronged.

(The Comedy of Errors, Abbess 5.1.341)

CHAPTER 13

XANDER

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 6:30 P.M.

It’s not unusual for Paxton and Dom to argue and bicker, but for some reason, this feels different. Normally, I’ll ask Dom when I don’t understand the subtext in social situations, but in this case, I’m sure he’ll tell me. Not this Dom. The one who wears nail polish, has a bite to his words, and likes to be called Tor.

Is it this weird space? Like the conference center was built over an ancient burial site or something. No matter what it is, I’m done. Worrying about Mom isn’t helpful. The only thing I can do is win this competition and prove to her that I can do this. Prove to myself. That’s what Dom always tells me. I can do it. I just have to believe.

I’m not sure why Dom and I are so out of sync, but it’s probably me since it’s always me. But this thing with Mom is nothing new. She gets upset this time of year. Paxton is a little overprotective. I mean, that’s his job. Take care of everything. He says he doesn’t want to take over the restaurant. He likes being more behind the scenes, but I’ve never believed it.

But those aren’t the things driving me. My body feels alive, with more energy than normal surging through me. Adrenaline.

All I can think about is Erik.

What would Dom say if he knew? The number of times I’ve gotten on to him for focusing on a guy instead of what’s important. He’d laugh and tell me to live a little. I get it now. The rush. The excitement of being with someone else. Them looking at you like you’re important. The all-consuming need to be with them not just in a sexual way but to be cared for. I don’t like it. But I also crave it. So that’s what I’m doing instead of focusing on the competition.

I’m not even sure where to find Erik. Is he here having dinner with his sister? And is he thinking about me? And what we did?

“Cage?”

I respond to the voice more than the name. Why do people keep calling me that? My heart jolts at the sound of Erik’s voice before my brain catches up. “Erik. I was looking for you.” Why did I say that? Not saying whatever I think is something I’ve been working on.

“Really? I thought I just saw you eating with your brother.”

“I was. But I wanted to see you.”

His eyes crinkle and he gives me a crooked smile, the one that seems to be reserved for me. It’s much better than the scowl I used to get. Used to get—just yesterday. Yet I feel like I’ve known him forever.

A group of teenagers enters the lobby, laughing and pushing each other. “Bruh. Did you see his face?” They’re all wearing Gordon Ramsey shirts that have the Hell’s Kitchen logo and say Go To Hell on the front.

Erik touches my arm, and I don’t even flinch. Am I making progress, or is it just with this man? He leans closer and keeps his voice low. “Can we go somewhere with fewer people?”

I nod, and then, in a moment of daring quite unlike me, I take his hand and thread our fingers together. Instead of feeling like a thousand caterpillars are crawling over my skin, it feels warm and comforting. And exciting.

I lead him to my favorite place. Fairy lights are strewn around the courtyard, and in the dark, it looks magical. I pull him over to the bench. My bench. Have I ever shared my meditation spots with anyone? Except for Dom. Not Mom. Definitely not Paxton.

Erik tugs on my hand. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“I’m worried about my mom.” And while that’s true, I’m also worried about this. Him. Not knowing what the heck I’m doing. He nods like he understands. But how can he? He doesn’t know my mom, but maybe he understands what it’s like to be worried about family. Stop overthinking everything, Xander. Dom’s voice is in my head, always there to guide me even when he’s gone. Even when he’s preoccupied and acting strange.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head, trying to come up with words. Suitable words, not stupid, mushy words. “I enjoyed what we did.”

My face bursts into flames. I’m not always a good judge, but that sounded awkward to me. And strange. Erik smiles, and there’s a dimple on his cheek that I want to kiss. Touch. Keep.

“I enjoyed it too. I like you.” He shakes his head. “Xander, you know that. I think you’ve always known that.”

The statement is odd. How could I have known it? But I don’t question him. This thing between us is delicate, and it can take some pressure, but not too much. And somehow, I know—or at least think I know because I’ve been plenty wrong before—how much poking this thing can take before it breaks.

“In fact,” he says, this time with a full-on grin, “I’m not opposed to doing it again.”

Excitement and fear cause my heart to pound harder. “Like, right now?”

He laughs. “Maybe not everything.” That fire in my face spreads through my body in quick, hot bursts. His eyes search my face. “Who are you?”

“Xander—”

“No, I mean…it’s like I don’t know you at all.” His hand tightens in mine. Is he afraid I’m going to leave? No chance of that. As long as he looks at me with that fond warmth, I’m not going anywhere. Even when he didn’t, I couldn’t resist him.

“Your eyes are the same—dark and sexy. But instead of mocking, there’s this innocence.”

My stomach sinks. I hate feeling vulnerable. Less than. I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. “Maybe I should⁠—”

“Wait. I’m not explaining it well. There’s a sweetness. A yearning. And maybe you’ve just hidden this side of you. But I like it.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I like you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. How to feel. “You do?”

“How can you doubt it?”

“It’s this thing I do. I doubt everything.”

He inches closer, and I don’t want to push him away. “Not everything. I’ve seen you bake…of course. But watching you earlier⁠—”

“You watched me?”

He grins. “You’re the competition.”

Right. I nod. “Of course.”

“That was a joke, Xander.” He tips my chin up and catches my eye. “I watched you because I like torturing myself. You’ve always been skilled at baking. But the confidence…the passion is sexy as hell.”

“Oh.” Should I thank him? My mouth is dry. I lick my lips, trying to get some moisture. His eyes follow the movement and flare with desire.

He palms my face, and I lean into his touch, needing it as much as my next breath. The scent of vanilla has me aching to taste him again. To lick his skin. Kiss his mouth. I cover his hand with mine and press a lingering kiss to the center of his palm. My heart pounds out a warning. Will he push me away?

His thumb presses lightly against my lips. And I resist the urge to close my eyes. To experience this fully, I need to see his face. His eyes. His mouth as he leans in and kisses the corner of mine. I turn to get more. My body amped up to a thousand in anticipation. When he kisses me, I melt against him. I open my mouth on the next kiss, using my tongue to explore. To get as much of him as I can.

“What the actual fuck?”

We scramble apart at the shriek of words. The guy from before. The handsy one from the first day. He stares at us with his mouth open and his eyes popping out of his head.

“Ren.” Erik jumps to his feet, an obvious bulge reminding me this really happened. His hands drop in front of him.

“I trusted you.”

The pieces are all there, just waiting for me to put them together. My stomach drops. They’re together.

“It just happened. God, that’s lame. But it’s not like you guys are together—it’s still not…” Erik trails off as Ren glares at him and then at me. The hurt is evident in his eyes.

“Not together? First I’m hearing of it. Or was that display at dinner my hint? And here I was, worried about you and your brother.”

“What?” My stomach churns, threatening to send my dinner back up. Nothing makes sense. But shouldn’t I be used to that by now? “Together?” As in Ren and I?

“Fuck off, Cage.” He storms out like a flash of lightning, leaving devastation in his wake. It’s there in Erik’s eyes.

He laughs harshly. “God, I’m such an idiot. Same ol’ Cage. Messing with people for your own enjoyment. And I fell for the innocent act.”

“I don’t know that guy.”

“Stop.” He holds up his hands and shakes his head. “Don’t talk to me ever again. I’ll be civil for Callie’s sake, but that’s it.” He storms off.

His words don’t make sense, but that’s not new. I should have known this wouldn’t work. The pain is as terrible as the thrill was wonderful. I yank off the medallion.

I was right before. I don’t need Erik or any man.

On my way back to the room, I run into Dom in the hallway. Thank God. My brother is the only one who gets me. I’m so relieved that a smile stretches across my face. “Hey, Dom.”

“Hi there.” His eyes crinkle as if we’re sharing a secret. He takes my hand and pulls me into the stairwell. Can he tell I’m over people today? Probably.

But his hand moves to my chest, and I stare at him. What is he doing? “I missed you,” he says, leaning in.

I squirm away from him as fast as I can. Was he going to kiss me? The hurt look on his face guts me. “What are you doing, Dom?”

“But—you’re not wearing the necklace.”

What does that have to do with anything? I pull it out of my pocket. I’ll probably never wear it again.

He stares at it and then at me. “Oh my God. I’m going to be sick.” He holds up a hand like he’s warding off demons. Then he rushes down the stairs, leaving me completely alone.

I manage to avoid Dom all night, and when I get up in the morning, he’s already gone. Today is the last day of the competition. There are only eight teams left. Four will get eliminated in the morning and the winners will compete in the afternoon. They’ll total the score of the remaining teams and announce the winners. The prize? Money and prestige.

Dom and I have to work this out, or there’s no point in even competing.

I spot Dom and Paxton arguing at a table. As Dom waves his hands around to make his point, purple nail polish catches the light. Great.

I sit in the chair across from my brother, but neither seems to notice.

“You’re wrong.” Paxton stabs a finger in my brother’s direction. “Absolutely and completely.”

“Let’s Google it.”

“I don’t have to Google it to know you’re wrong.” He turns to me. “How do you deal with this all the time?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Has Paxton ever empathized with me? A week ago, he would have been saying those words to Dom. Paxton’s phone rings, and he excuses himself to take the call, leaving Dom and me awkwardly alone.

But my brother eats his breakfast like last night never happened. I’m not reminding him. “What were you guys arguing about?”

“Whether Pikes Peak is in Colorado. I told him it isn’t.”

“But it is.”

He flashes me a grin. “I know.”

“But…why?”

He shrugs, but the smile lingers on his face. “Messing with Paxton is fun. His face turns this delicious shade of red.”

Maybe I am in another dimension. An alternate reality.

I order my food, and by the time it arrives, Paxton has returned.

“Back again?” Dom asks, or should I say Tor? “Why are you always around?”

“Why are you always such a brat?”

“Because it brings out this nervous tic you have right here.” He touches his forehead and Paxton knocks his hand away.

“Leave me alone.”

Tor scowls. “No problem.” He’s gone before I can stop him. We still need to coordinate for today.

But worrying about my brother can wait. “Was that Mom?” I ask, needing something to be normal.

His mouth is a thin line as he stares at his half-eaten food. “Yes.”

“And?” I prompt, waving my hand in a get-on-with-it motion.

“She’s not hiding in her office crying, so that’s a plus. But Jeremy is threatening to quit.” He sets his fork down with a sigh. “You guys need to stop letting things distract you. Get on the same page and win this thing. For your mom.”

But that’s easier said than done. Erik’s face when that guy showed up. He hates me now. And maybe that’s for the best.

“Did you change your shirt?”

I glance up at Paxton’s words. Dom is back in his seat and waving to the waiter. Did he change his shirt? I hadn’t even noticed what he was wearing. But the gray-striped Henley shirt he’s wearing now is one of his favorites.

“Can I get two eggs over easy? And bacon?”

Paxton and I stare at him. Dom already ate two eggs and pancakes. Is he really that hungry?

“What?” Dom asks. “I’m hungry. Is that a problem, Paxton?”

Paxton shakes his head. “Nope.”

Dom avoids looking at me. Or speaking to me. This is what I expected when I first sat down. The server brings Dom’s food, and he digs in again.

“I’m gone,” Paxton says, shaking his head. “You guys need to figure your shit out.”

After he leaves, Dom mumbles, “What’s his problem?”

“You. This place. Everything about this competition.” When he doesn’t respond, I lean forward to get his attention. “Dom. We have to fix this. Today is our last chance.”

He puts down his fork and wipes his mouth. “It’s fine. We’re fine. Just focus on doing your part, and I’ll do mine.”

He’s right. And this is exactly what Mom is worried about. That I’ll buckle under pressure. I have in the past. But that won’t happen today. I can do this. Ignore everyone being weird around us. Ignore the pain in my chest when I think about Erik. Ignore my brother and his weird moods. I leave Dom with his plate of food and find my favorite tree. Only now, it reminds me of Erik. Kissing him. Touching him.

I push those thoughts away and meditate.

After clearing my mind, I feel better. At least until I spot Erik in the hallway that leads to the elevators. Dom is with him and they’re in a heated discussion. But then Dom wraps his arms around Erik and hugs him.

How? Why? Do they even know each other? But it’s clear they do. And now I feel utterly alone.

Doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is crushing this competition and proving I’ve got what it takes.

If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink,

Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Ephesus 3.1.14-16)

CHAPTER 14

DOM

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 8 A.M.

Xander leaves me with my breakfast and thoughts, and I sigh in relief. I hate disappointing my brother. Both versions of him. But he’s right. We need to focus on winning this thing. After breakfast, I walk around checking out our competition.

We still have an hour until the next challenge. Nerves crawl up my spine. Maybe I should try some of Xander’s meditation techniques. I’ve never needed them before, but then again, I’ve never experienced the craziness of this weekend. I shake out my hands, resisting the urge to bite my thumb. I’ve got this. I’m not letting my brother down.

I turn the corner past the big display about the competition and stop. My nervous energy comes flying back. Xander. He’s staring off. What is he thinking about? The competition? Most likely. He turns and spots me, frowning as he stands straighter. Is it weird that I can’t tell which version of him this is? His dark eyes are moody, and with a scowl on his face and no hint of warmth, I just can’t be sure.

As he steps toward me, his eyes flick down to my hands. Weird. “Dom?” Also, weird. Who else would I be? “Can we talk?”

Really? He had plenty of time to talk at breakfast, but he ignored me. But I’m trying to be good. I swallow the emotion in my throat. “I’m sorry about before.”

He rushes over, his eyes warming. “Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. This is my fuck up.”

“Cage?” I ask and then huff out a laugh.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me through the crowds of people until we’re in a small, enclosed area with vending machines tucked into the corner. It gives us a modicum of privacy. He runs his hands through his hair, messing it up, and then ties it back. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have…”

“Kissed your brother?”

His eyes widened. Right. We’re not saying that part aloud. “No. It’s not because…that should be the reason, but you don’t feel like my brother. I shouldn’t have kissed you because of Ren. But that’s over now. I broke up with him.”

“Or he broke up with you?”

“I’d say it was mutual, but he’s given me opportunities to explain something I can’t explain. I mean honestly, he didn’t make much sense. It seemed to be more about Erik than you.”

Erik. Right. The guy Xander is obsessed with. But I can’t even focus on that right now. “So you broke up with him? Why?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He lowers his voice. “About kissing you. And, God forbid, wanting so much more.”

My heart thunders. I want that too, but right now, there are more important things. “We need to focus on the competition. On today⁠—”

“You don’t think I’m worried about that? I’m the whole reason we’re here. Winning is everything.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done. But this prize money is going to change my life.”

His words don’t make sense. When did he start caring about the prize money? “It’s only ten thousand dollars.” Xander and I grew up with money. It has never been an issue. Never been something we really thought about. Does that make us privileged? Yeah. So why is he worried about it now?

“Only ten thousand, he says. Ha.” His voice is fond as he takes my hands and pulls me closer. “I agree we need to focus on the competition. But right now, I need you. Can I kiss you?”

The answer should be no. Definitely not. How did I get to this point? Lusting over my brother? And then he gives me a playful smile. One I’ve never seen on Xander’s face. Not the Xander I’ve known all my life. My resistance melts away like butter in a hot skillet. I nod, unable to say the words aloud.

The words feel wrong. But Cage feels right. His hands cup my face, and he leans down and brushes a sweet kiss on my lips. If one kiss is all I’m getting for now, then I need more. I push forward, locking our mouths together, and the sound of surprise and need he makes goes right to my dick. His fingers wrap in my hair as he kisses me hard, taking what he wants. That he wants me feels like a gift. My hands settle on his broad chest as I get lost in the feel of him. The taste of him. His mouth on mine. I never want this to end.

“What in the holy fuck?”

We break apart and Paxton is staring at us. Staring at me, his eyes wide with shock and…hurt? He shakes his head like he can’t believe his eyes. I need to say something, but I can’t catch my breath. And then he turns and stomps off.

Fuck. Cage is pale as his gaze shifts from the hallway to me.

“I’ll go after him. Keep him from saying anything.” Would he tell our mother?

“Do you want me to go⁠—”

“No.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “I can do this.” I have to be the one to do this. Mostly because I don’t know which Xander would be talking to Paxton, and that is all kinds of fucked up. I squeeze Cage’s hand and race after Paxton.

I catch a glimpse of his blue shirt by the Dunklin County Gives Back display. I run to catch up, barely missing the tall, thin judge. Today, she has a giant sunflower on her hat.

“Paxton, wait.” I grab his arm, and he whips around with a furious look in his eyes.

“What? Are you going to tell me I didn’t see what I saw? That you weren’t kissing your brother? Jesus, I can’t believe I’m even saying those words.”

I take a step back at the fury in his voice and check around me. Did anyone else hear him? No one is paying us any attention. Then I notice the judge. She’s talking to a tall man in a lavender suit, but her eyes dart to me and back. Shit. I lower my voice. “I just want to explain.”

He folds his arms across his chest, his expression tight. His eyes are cold and hard. “Go ahead, Tor. Explain why you’ve been flirting with me every chance you get.”

“What? That’s not…” What is he talking about? I’ve never flirted with Paxton. And why is he now calling me Tor? There was a brief time when we were teens—yes, he’s been around that long—and he teased us by calling us by our middle names. But that was a while ago.

“I shouldn’t even be surprised. Go ahead, explain.”

And that’s where I get stuck because I have no explanation. Cage doesn’t feel like my brother. It’s like he’s someone else entirely. Maybe he’s been cloned. But I can’t say any of that to Paxton.

“Just what I thought.” He turns to leave, and I panic.

“Please don’t tell Mom.”

He stiffens and faces me again, his eyes flashing with anger. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll tell your mommy you made out with your brother?” He steps closer, and I back up. “Your mother has enough going on right now,” he says, his voice cold. “This would devastate her.” He jabs a finger in my chest. “Focus on winning this competition, not on fucking your brother.”

If everyone knows us, and we know none,

‘Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 3.2.169-170)

CHAPTER 15

XANDER

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 9 A.M.

The bell chimes for us to start, and we move flawlessly together. The crust. The crème. The spicy filling that gives it an extra zing. I focus on doing my part and not getting distracted. I’m not sure about Dom since he almost adds cumin instead of cinnamon, barely catching himself in time. “Focus, Dom,” I whisper, and he nods.

As we wait for the judges, Dom starts to shake. It’s the adrenaline wearing off. I wrap my arm around him, and it seems to help. He smiles gratefully at me. Then, something catches his eye, and I follow his gaze. Paxton frowns, and Dom shakes off my arm. What was that about?

The judges taste each creation. Now that there are only four teams competing in each match, it doesn’t take long. We have the girl who barely looks twelve but is a chef in a cooking show. The tall man often seen with the thin judge with the crazy hats. She must be judging one of the other meets. The third judge is a jolly man with dark skin from a famous New Orleans restaurant. He always has kind things to say.

“Okay.” Dottie gets our attention. “The judges have decided. Second place goes to the Marchetti Brothers. And first goes to Dacha Treats from Springfield, Missouri. They will both go on to the final round.”

We didn’t win first, but we’re going to the final round. I grab Dom and wrap my arms around him. He hesitates at first, which is unusual for him, but then hugs me back. I’m so thankful for my brother. He believes in me. Believes in us. Did I ever thank him for doing this with me?

After we clean up, I roll my neck. My muscles are tight, but I’m too happy to care. That round was stressful, but I kept my cool and remained calm.

Dom and I go our separate ways. Something we never used to do. But I want to find Erik, and my brother would just be in the way, asking me questions I don’t want to answer.

I find him talking to a red-haired woman who looks familiar. As she walks away, he turns and almost runs right into me.

“Cage.”

I frown. “Don’t⁠—”

“Xander, then. Not that it matters what I call you. Ren says you broke up with him.” He raises a brow, and his eyes look hopeful.

“Ren and I weren’t together.” I’m not sure what he wants me to say, but I’m not going to lie.

He scowls. “Does Ren know that?”

“I’m not sure. He’s possessive. Intense.” I reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back. “Why does it matter?” I ask, trying to hide the pain of his rejection.

“Why?” He gapes at me, gesturing wildly. “You’ve been in a relationship with Ren for the last three years, and now you’re telling me none of that mattered? I’m not a big Ren fan, but he cares about you. And that makes you an insensitive asshole.”

“I don’t understand the thing with Ren. I wish I did.” I sound desperate, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. “I care about you, Erik. About us⁠—”

He crosses his arms and steps back as if he’s afraid I’ll try to touch him again. “I just want to focus on the competition.”

“Fair enough.” We both need to focus, so I understand. But it still hurts. And I have so many unanswered questions. Why was he talking to Dom? Hugging him? Maybe after all of this, I can finally get some answers.

Maybe he’ll give me a chance.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1 P.M.

As Dom and I wait for the bell to announce the beginning of the final round, I let my eyes wander over the audience members. Paxton glares at us, but I ignore him. I look for the woman Erik was talking to. The one who looked familiar. But I don’t see her anywhere. Erik’s competing on the other side of the building, so she’s probably with him.

The judges are poised in their place of honor. We get the thin woman again. I think Dottie said her name is Perpetua.

“Think that sunflower will make a jump for it?” Dom whispers, and I hide my smile.

We’re again competing against the team from the Russian bakery. I visited Dacha Treats once when I was there for a conference. Their medovik was amazing. The honey cake melted in my mouth.

This round is going to be close.

As soon as the bell rings, we start. This is the easiest dish for us to make. It’s Mom’s secret recipe, and Dom and I have made it a thousand times over the years, starting when we were five. Mom always gets emotional when we make it for her.

We’re making an apple-cheddar strudel with a surprise ingredient that brings out the flavor of the apples. We’ve made it many times before, but I’m no longer as confident in our teamwork as I used to be. I focus on making the pastry crust and Dom focuses on the filling. I’m the better baker by far, something Dom tells me often.

But I disagree with his assessment. He’s just as good but not as passionate. His goal isn’t to be the best. Is that my issue? I expect perfection?

The disgust on Erik’s face worms its way in as I knead the dough. He hates me again. I’m not sure I can get used to that. And Mom is getting worse.

I push my worries out of my mind. I need to focus on not messing this up. On winning. Get it together, Xander.

I can’t stretch the strudel dough myself. It’s a two-person job. “Dom?”

He starts at the sound of my voice and turns, knocking the dough out of my hand. It hits the floor with a plop, and I stare at it in shock.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” He looks like he’s about to cry. I push back on my frustration at having to start over. Yelling at Dom won’t help. And it’s not really his fault. We’re both on edge.

“It’s fine. I can make a new batch.” I catch his gaze. “Focus, Dom. We’ve got this.”

Things get better after that. Dom and I fall into a familiar rhythm as if the last few days haven’t happened. I make another batch of dough, keeping an eye on the time since the dough needs to sit for thirty minutes. We’re cutting it close. Once we finish the filling and the dough is ready, Dom helps me stretch it as thin as it will go. I drizzle melted butter over it and Dom spoons in the apple filling, adds the apple-cheddar mixture, and rolls the strudel. We pop it in the oven once it’s ready.

It’s going to be close. When the strudel is finally done, I pull it out of the oven. We don’t have time to let it cool. I cut off the ends and start to cut the strudel into slices.

“One minute,” Dottie announces. And I jump, dropping the knife. Oh God. One minute. I need to hurry and cut the strudel. And still plate it. I move to grab another knife, and Dom touches my arm.

“We’ve got this,” he says, handing me a clean knife. I nod and cut the pastry into two-inch portions. My pulse speeds up as I plate three of the apple-cheddar strudel pastries. Dom drizzles caramel sauce over each pastry as the time counts down. Will he get all three before it goes off?

He finishes the last one just as the timer dings.

The hours have gone by much too quickly, but we’re ready when the final buzzer goes off. My heart pounds so hard I can barely think as the judges taste each one. The Russian bakery has made their medovik, and the young judge’s eyes flutter closed for a second.

We may not win. I’m resigned to that. And that’s okay. We did our best. And Perpetua seems to enjoy our pastry. Although it’s hard to tell. The sour look on her thin face seems permanent.

At last, the judges are ready. I squeeze Dom’s hand, and he smiles. He’s usually the one comforting me. That’s always been his job.

“It was very close. Both of you made delicious desserts. But this round is about originality. And the unexpected zing of the apple strudel made it stand out. Our winner is the Marchetti Brothers.”

We won. Dom stares at Dottie in shock before looking at me. I grin at him, and it feels awkward, like I’m not doing it right. Dom hugs me tight and the tension I’ve been holding on to breaks loose. We did it.

“All four of our remaining teams did well,” Dottie continues. “As you know, we’re doing things a little differently this year. The judges will now score the teams on their entire performance during the competition and choose a runner-up and an overall winner. They will take into account their scores on each of the challenges as well as their consistency and originality.”

The judges retreat to discuss their scores. The final winners will be announced in the room where the reception was held. Minutes feel like hours as the time ticks down. I grab two bottles of water and lead Dom to the front. He slumps into his seat. This isn’t like Dom. He doesn’t worry about anything. Or if he does, it doesn’t get to him like it does me. “Are you okay?”

Dom laughs. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I’m good. Really. We did our best.”

His eyes narrow. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

I laugh. “That seems to be the theme of the day. Hell, this entire weekend.”

Before Dom can respond, Dottie takes the stage.

“Thank you all for participating in the Dunklin County Bake-Off. The competition this year has been off the charts. Give yourselves a pat on the back.” She smiles expectantly. Is she waiting for us to actually pat ourselves on the back? She waves her hand. “But there can only be one winner. First, we’ll announce the runner-up and then the winner. Please stay after the announcements so we can get pictures.” She squeezes her hands together and squeals in excitement. “And now, without further ado, the runner-up in the Dunklin County Bake-Off is…Mars Catering from Grandville, Missouri!”

Everyone claps, but I hear a few groans off to the right behind me. They sound familiar, but my focus is back on Dottie as she announces the winner.

“And our winning team is…the Marchetti Brothers from Chicago, Illinois!”

I don’t feel anything for a few seconds. Shock. Is that what this is? Then, the thunder of applause rushes back in. I grin at my brother and grab his arm. “We did it, Dom.”

“Oh my God. We did. Mom is going to be so happy.”

My face feels like it’s splitting in two. Even Paxton is smiling and giving us a thumbs-up.

Perpetua, in her sunflower hat, steps onto the makeshift stage with the tall judge. As they converse with Dottie, unease flutters in my stomach.

“Hold on, everyone,” Dottie says with a frown. “We’ve just been made aware of an issue.” She talks to the woman again and then nods. “Two teams used the exact same recipe. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but this last round was for originality. I’m not sure who cheated off of whom, but since neither recipe can now be considered original, Mars Catering and the Marchetti Brothers are both disqualified. Our new winners are…” She scrunches her face as she studies the paper. “Our new first runner-up is Dacha Treats from Springfield, Missouri. And our new winner is Sweet Obsessions Bakery from Grandville, Missouri.”

The shock is back. Winning and then losing in a matter of minutes? Disqualified. As reality sinks in, all I can focus on is that Erik’s team won. And Dom had been hugging him earlier. Did Erik somehow do this? Was everything between us an act? The first time I talked to him, he’d been so angry. Was this his way of getting revenge?

And what do I do now?

Whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Ephesus 5.1.316-317)

CHAPTER 16

DOM

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 4:45 P.M.

“I’m so sorry, Xander.” I follow my brother into our room and shut the door. I really messed up. I’ve been distracted this entire time, mostly by Cage and his kisses. But we also talked about Mom’s apple-cheddar strudel in front of Lucinda. Did she leak the information to the other contestants? “This is all my fault.”

“I know.” His voice is calm as he puts his bag down and faces me. “I saw you.”

My heart trips over itself. “What?”

His expression is stony, except for his eyes. They’re filled with pain. “I saw the two of you this morning. Embracing.”

My stomach lurches, and I press my hand against my chest. “You saw us?”

“Why, Dom? I trusted you.”

What can I say? Nothing will make this better. And then reality catches up to me. How can we be talking about the same thing? If Xander saw me embracing him. Kissing him. He would be freaking out a bit more. “Wait, who did you see me with?”

His eyes narrow. How is it that he has the same eyes as Cage…has to be Cage, yet he’s so different. “Erik. You were hugging him. And then his bakery won the competition. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

I laugh incredulously because all of this is weird as shit. “Why would I hug Erik? I don’t even know him. I didn’t even know the name of his bakery.”

He shrugs. “I saw you too together.”

“Maybe Erik got the recipe from you. You’re the one obsessed with him.”

“Can you just go away?” he asks, turning his back and shutting me out. “I need time to think.”

Not gonna lie. It stings. “Fine. Whatever. It’s always about you anyway. No one cares what I want. So go ahead and devise more conspiracy theories. I’m finding out what’s going on.”

I try to slam the door on my way out, but hotel room doors don’t work like that. As I stomp down the stairs, I dash my tears away. How can Xander think I would intentionally give Mom’s recipe away? That I would betray him or do anything to hurt him. My chest aches at the thought.

But I’ve been distracted lately. And I almost messed up more than once. During the final round, I’d known the recipe by heart, so muscle memory kicked in, and my mind wandered to other things. Cage kissing me. The feel of his short beard as he trailed kisses down my neck. I almost messed up because of it, catching myself before I added the cumin.

The lobby is still packed, and I stop at the edge of the crowd. I don’t really have a plan. Maybe I should find this Erik and confront him. But he wasn’t the one who used our recipe. Should I look for Mars Catering? How hard could they be to find?

I stroll around looking for a blond man I barely remember, but my eyes also search for my Xander lookalike. The one who goes by Cage. Are there actually two of them? Or just one who changes personalities at the drop of a hat?

A woman with red hair catches my eye. She looks familiar. I follow her through the crowd, ducking around people to keep sight of her. When she turns and waves at someone, a smile lights up her face and tugs the memory loose. I suck in a breath. It’s the woman in the picture. She’s older, of course, but still beautiful. How is she here? Alive. I’d assumed by the way my mother acted that she’d died.

My head spins as I get closer. I want to talk to her, but I’m also terrified for some unknown reason.

Her eyes catch mine, and I feel like I can’t breathe. She tilts her head, a sad look on her face.

“Hi.” I raise my hand in the air and drop it just as quickly. Way to be awkward, Dom.

She covers her mouth with her hand and smiles. It reaches her eyes and warmth spreads through me. “Hi, sweetie,” she says, her voice soft with a Southern lilt. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Doing fine.”

There’s so much I want to ask her. Do you know my mother? Why do we look so much alike? Are we related? None of that comes out. I stare at her. And yell at myself to stop staring at her.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out. But you and your brother did an amazing job today. I’m so proud of you.”

I blink back the sudden tears. “You watched us?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Callie, can I talk to you for a minute?” The older lady from the other night places her hand on the woman’s arm.

“Of course.” She gives me a quick smile. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

I nod again. I want to race over to them both and demand answers, but I’m not sure I’m ready to hear them. My mind is working on the puzzle. The picture with Mom. The tornado. Everything that’s happened so far. Is it all related, or a bunch of coincidences?

And will I get to see her later? I really hope so.

I give up looking for Erik. It doesn’t matter. Xander needs me right now. That’s what I need to focus on.

He’s packing when I get back to the room. I sit on his bed and watch him neatly place clothes into his suitcase. His room is clean. Everything is in its place. Mine looks like a tornado hit it. I sigh.

Xander slumps beside me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

I knock my shoulder into his. “I’m sorry too.”

The room is quiet. Unlike Chicago, there are no sirens blaring. Horns honking. Wind blowing against the windows.

“I get caught up in my head,” Xander says, picking at the lint on his pants, “but I care about you and what you want. I know you wanted answers about Mom and that lady in the picture. In fact⁠—”

Bam. Bam. Bam.

We glance toward the door. And before we can question who it is, Paxton yells, “Open up, guys. It’s important.”

We hurry into the main area, and I let Paxton in. His hands are shaking, and he glances at the door and back at us.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He sinks into the couch and covers his face with his hands.

“Paxton?”

After rubbing his eyes, he stares at his hands and looks up at us. “I think I just saw a ghost.”

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note

To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears.

Sing, Siren, for thyself, and I will dote.

(The Comedy of Errors, Antipholus of Syracuse 3.2.47-49)

CHAPTER 17

XANDER

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 5 P.M.

Has Paxton completely lost his mind? “A ghost.” I cross my arms and stare at the man who’s made my life hell and enjoyed it. “Is this a joke?”

“What? No.” But then he laughs and shakes his head.

“What the hell, Paxton?” Dom plops down on one of the soft chairs.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says again but then giggles. Actually giggles. I share a look with Dom. Is he on something? “I’m fine. More than fine. I’m just…happy. Everything’s working out.”

“Everything?” I’m shouting, but I can’t help it. My life has imploded. “We lost the competition. I accused my brother of betraying me.” I gesture at Dom. “And someone now has Mom’s secret recipe that we swore we’d guard with our life. And…” Erik. The man hates me, but I’m not telling them that. Because for the first time in my life, losing a connection with someone hurts more than anything else. Is this love? If so, it sucks.

I just want to go home so I can hide in my room and not think about Erik. And the way it felt when he touched me. Kissed me.

“And what?” Paxton asks, a grin still on his face.

“Nothing. I’m going to finish packing.” I’m almost to my room when Paxton says, “I never thought I’d see the day when Xander Cage Marchetti gave up.”

I stop but don’t turn around. Don’t let him get to you.

“I mean, I tried to get you to give up. How many times did I try, Xander?”

I spin around to glare at him. “A lot. You never liked me.”

Paxton jumps up from the couch and walks over to me. “Not true. I thought you were a hothead and shouldn’t take over for your mom. Doesn’t mean I didn’t like you.”

“Right.”

“You’re missing the point. You did it. Even with everything going on. The craziness. The…” He waves his hand at Dom. “The stuff between the rounds. The distractions.” He grins. “Distractions. Perfect word. Even then, you guys won.”

“We were disqualified,” Dom says more patiently than I could have.

“That was weird but also telling.”

“You’re not making any sense, Paxton.”

He sighs. “What happened when Dom knocked into you, and you dropped the dough?”

“Hey,” Dom says, but Paxton ignores him.

“I made another batch.”

“And in the final round, when Dom was daydreaming and almost added the cumin instead of the cinnamon?”

“Hey,” Dom says again, this time louder.

Paxton waves him off. “Xander?”

“Nothing. He caught his error, and we moved on.”

“Exactly.” And then he adds, maybe because my hands are balled into fists, “You kept it together. No yelling. No ranting.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Take the compliment, Xander. This competition has been incredibly stressful for both of you. But you never wavered. You kept it together. That’s all your mother wants. She doesn’t care if you’re the Dunklin County Bake-Off champions.”

Paxton makes sense, which bothers me. I don’t like agreeing with the man.

“There’s more to it than that.” Dom stares at Paxton. “What aren’t you telling us?”

He looks Dom up and down like he’s studying him. “What happened to your quest, Dom? Don’t you want to know why things are so weird?”

“Do you know?”

“I have a theory.” He takes Dom’s hand and turns it around. “No nail polish today?”

Dom jerks his hand back. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Have I ever worn nail polish?”

I start to say yes, but something in my brother’s eyes stops me. He believes what he’s saying, yet we all saw him with purple nails. And he was flirting with Paxton. Something he is definitely not doing now. What is going on?

Paxton grins again. “Don’t you guys want to find out who stole your mother’s recipe?”

It was Erik. Nothing else makes sense. “I already know,” I say, ready to be done with this conversation.

“I highly doubt it.” Paxton heads for the door but then turns and motions for us to follow. “Come on. Let’s go find out.”

By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Syracuse 3.1.95-96)

CHAPTER 18

DOM

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 5:15 P.M.

Paxton leads us to a small room tucked in one corner of the hotel. Administration Room is above the door. How does he know all this? He runs a hand through his brown hair and takes a deep breath. Glancing over his shoulder at us, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Ready?”

Why all the theatrics? “Yes, we’re fucking ready,” I say, glaring at him. What happened to the professional Paxton we grew up with? That guy had no sense of humor. I miss that guy. “Knock on the damn door.”

Xander doesn’t say a word. Does he still blame me for everything? And will this somehow make it worse?

He knocks, and an exasperated voice says, “What?”

That’s invitation enough for Paxton. Dottie sits behind a desk covered with various things she’s stuffing into bags and boxes. Extra lanyards. Papers. Pamphlets. The hats and aprons they gave us to wear that are branded with Dunklin County Bake-Off. She looks up from her work and glares. Shaking her head, she holds up her hand. “Not again. Go away.”

“Rude. We just got here,” Paxton says, but he doesn’t sound offended.

“Ha! You’re hilarious. No, I don’t know how someone stole your mother’s secret recipe.” She uses air quotes on the word secret. I liked Dottie before, but now she’s getting on my nerves. “At least the pushy lady isn’t with you this time.”

“What pushy lady?” Paxton asks, planting his feet and holding his ground.

Dottie continues packing things away as if he hasn’t spoken. Is she going to pretend we’re not here?

“This time?” I ask since she’s ignoring Paxton. I don’t want to push her, but I’m tired and cranky, and the world is upside down.

She throws the apron she’s holding and slams her hands on the desk. “Xander Cage and Dominic Toretto. The March brothers. Right?”

“Marchetti,” I say, “but close enough.”

She scowls at me. The friendly woman at the start of the competition is nowhere in sight. “You were in here not ten minutes ago complaining. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what I told you before. I can’t help you.”

“Hold on a minute, Dottie,” Xander says, stepping around me and Paxton to get to her. “Are you all right? You seem a little flushed.”

Her eyes well up with tears. She waves one hand around while the other clutches an apron. “This is my fifth year organizing this event. And I’ve never, ever had anything like this happen before. Two original recipes, exactly the same. How? Why?” She stares at us like she expects an answer. Or a confession.

“None of this is your fault, Dottie.” Xander pats her hand, breaking his no-touching rule. “No one is blaming you. But something strange is going on. We just want to find out what it is.” He hands her a tissue from her desk, and she blots her eyes with it.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. The records seem to be mixed up. And Brad, he’s new. I just hired him because his uncle—” She shakes her head. “Never mind. But Brad spilled his tea, and now all the records are ruined.”

“All the paper records, you mean?” Paxton stares at her, losing some of his good humor. “Surely you have it backed up. Dominic and Xander each received an email. There have to be records somewhere.”

She sniffs at him. “I don’t have time to go searching for stuff. We announced the winner. The rest of it is not my problem.” She stands, pulls herself up to her full five-foot-two-ish height, and points at the door. “Please leave.”

“Great job, Paxton,” Xander says quietly as he moves toward the door. I love how confident my brother is now. And Paxton getting taken down a peg or two is always a good thing.

But instead of yelling, Paxton grins at him. And I don’t know what universe we’re in right now. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I know what happened.”

“You do?” Dottie asks, beating us to it. “Well, stop being so selfish with your information, mister, and share.”

“Why? You weren’t willing to share.”

I start to step in, but Xander gets there first. “Everyone settle down.” He smiles at Dottie. Then stares at Paxton with narrowed eyes. “Explain what you mean.”

“No one stole anything. Both teams had the same secret recipe, and they thought it belonged to them.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Dottie says. “If it’s a known recipe, it can’t be secret.”

“Are you sure?” Paxton turns to Xander. “How many people know your mom’s recipe?”

Xander and I look at each other. “Just family,” he says.

“How about you, Dom? Anyone you can think of that might have an old family recipe?”

How would I know? But then I remember the shoebox. The drawings of a bakery. The picture of Mom and a woman. “Callie.” Did Paxton know all this time? “I think Mom wanted to open a bakery with the girl in this picture.” I pull out the picture to show them and point at the red-haired girl. “Could she have had the recipe?”

“Was this person at the event?” Dottie asks, staring at the picture. “Or do you think she gave it to someone else?”

Xander holds out his hand and Dottie gives him the picture. “She was here. I talked to her. I didn’t even realize it was her. But I thought Mom’s friend died in a tornado or something.”

We all thought that. “I talked to her too,” I admit, trying to keep the sadness out of my voice. I feel like I’ve lost something.

“Well,” Dottie says, her face brightening, “that explains everything. Now, you guys can be on your way.” She makes shooing motions with her hands.

Something or someone bumps against the door. “Just go in. I know she’s in there.”

Dottie’s eyes widen. “Oh no. She’s back.”

“Who?” Xander asks, but the rattling of the door handle interrupts him.

“We should at least knock. Try to act civilized.”

Xander and I stare at each other. Impossible. That voice. He sounds like me.

Then the door bursts open, and two men and a woman fall into the room, arguing about who should take charge. The bickering stops as they glance around, staring at us. The sight before me doesn’t make sense. My gaze flickers from Xander to…Xander. And, even stranger, is seeing myself. An exact replica staring back at me. His nails are painted a bright pink. My gaze darts to Xander again. No…Cage. I recognize the laugh lines around his eyes. I step forward, ready to demand answers, but Dottie lets out a squeak and slumps to the floor.

Why look you strange on me? You know me well.

(The Comedy of Errors, Egeon 5.1.305)

CHAPTER 19

XANDER

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 5:30 P.M.

I rush over to Dottie. Her pulse is a little fast, but she seems to be breathing fine. “She just fainted.” I point to the guy wearing my face. “You…me…whoever. Can you get me some water?”

He nods, glances at Dom, and then races out of the room. I tuck an apron under her head. When he returns with the water, I pour some on another apron, hoping Dottie won’t care, and dab her face. She groans and looks up at me. Then her head swivels to the other me. Her eyes widen. Is she going to faint again? “It’s fine, Dottie. Everything’s fine.”

“But you…” Her gaze scoots over to the other guy. “And you.”

“For goodness’ sake, girl,” the older woman says. “Get up. It’s like you’ve never seen twins before.”

“Twins?” Dom shakes his head. “I already have a twin. Xander.”

She crosses her arms and raises an intimidating brow. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

I help Dottie to her chair and give her the rest of the water to drink. She downs it in one gulp.

The other Xander and Dom—or is it Tor?—sit on the couch. I take the chair next to Dom. Paxton and the older lady continue standing, each wearing a smug look I want to smack off their faces. I wave my hand for her to go on.

“I was never certain about any of this, mind you. But twenty-five years ago, my daughter-in-law Callie befriended another woman. Her name was Sophia.”

I’m expecting the words, but they still shock me. Or maybe it’s the implications. I want to know, but whatever she tells us will change everything.

I’m not good with change.

“They were both pregnant and bonded over their love for Vin Diesel and baking. They planned on opening a bakery together.” She sighs and gets a faraway look in her eyes. “A tornado tore through the town just as they were both giving birth. And their babies…” Her misty gaze rests on each of us. “They were both having twins, you see. The babies must have gotten mixed up. With each mother getting a dark-haired baby and a red-haired baby.”

“No,” Dom says, shaking his head. “You’re saying my mom isn’t my mom? That Xander isn’t my brother? I don’t believe you.”

She smiles sadly. “Yes, you do. But it doesn’t make it any easier. I’m sorry, Dom.”

“Why didn’t they tell us?” I ask, the spike of anger sudden and intense. They kept this from us.

“I don’t think they knew. Each thought the other mother and babies were lost in the storm. They accepted the children as their own. Believed it even. Believe it still.”

I take Dom’s hand. This is harder for him. I’ve lived with my biological mother. And I will always consider Dom my brother.

“Did you know, Lucinda?” the other Xander asks, his face a mask of fury and hurt. He’s my real brother? My twin?

“No, Not really, Cage. I mean, you resemble Sophia more than your mother. But I couldn’t be sure.”

“You could have told me.”

“I thought Sophia was gone. What good would it have done to tell you of my suspicions?”

Paxton clears his throat, getting everyone’s attention. “What do we do now?”

“This is interesting and all,” Dottie says, standing again and looking more sure of herself. “But can you hold this family reunion somewhere else? I have a lot of work to do, and Brad fucked off somewhere.”

“Do you need help?” I ask, getting an eye roll from Paxton. I ignore him.

Dottie smiles. “Nope. I’ve got this. Go on now. Scoot.”

We pile out of Dottie’s makeshift office and end up in the lobby. It’s deserted now, and we take up most of the seating area.

“Just so I’m clear on this,” Dom says, glancing up and then back down at his hands. “Callie and Mom—Sophia—aren’t related? I thought they might be cousins or something.”

“No. Not related.”

He nods. “So Xander isn’t my brother…biologically, I mean.”

“No,” Lucinda says, her voice softening. “He’s not.”

“Which also means I’m not related to…Cage.” Bright spots appear on his cheeks.

“Correct. You’re not related.”

Paxton smiles, and I feel like I’m missing something.

“Good to know,” Cage says, watching Dom. My bother—the one who isn’t actually my twin—glances up, and their eyes meet. Is there something between them?

“Wait.” The pieces start falling into place. “You’re the one dating Ren.”

“Was dating. We broke up.”

“What about Erik?”

Cage crosses his arms. “What about him?”

“Were you dating him too?”

“Erik and I have never—we were best friends growing up. And roommates in college. That’s it.”

“Why does he hate you?”

“None of your damn business. I don’t care if you are my brother. That’s a title you need to earn.”

“Maybe you’re just an ass⁠—”

Everyone starts arguing at once, with Dom defending Cage and Tor egging them both on. Paxton tries to break it up but starts arguing with Tor on whether he’s acting like a Daddy or not. I’m about to scream at all of them when Lucinda takes care of it. A loud whistle gets everyone’s attention.

“Stop this bickering,” she says, “before they throw us out. There’s something more important we need to discuss.”

Paxton nods. “What are we going to do about your mothers?”

A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,

One whose hard heart is buttoned up with steel;

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Syracuse 4.2.38-39)

CHAPTER 20

DOM

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 6:30 P.M.

Everyone starts talking at once. Most with the opinion we should just tell them what’s going on. Lucinda holds up her hand, and we all get quiet. No one wants to hear that whistle again. “Callie is in a fragile state. She’s sad… She gets sad around this time every year. But this year, it’s been worse.”

“It’s the bakery.” I stand. They all stare at me, but I know I’m right. “Mom and Callie drew up plans to start a business together. I think they wanted us to take it over. Not sure about that part. But after we turned twenty-five, they planned to travel the world together.”

“How do you know that, Dom?” Cage asks, and I try to answer him without blushing. This man is not related to me. I still can’t wrap my head around that. But the possibilities make me dizzy. “I found a notebook in a shoebox. There were drawings of restaurants and bakeries. And a timeline. We all turned twenty-five on June twelfth.” I gesture to them all. “How is it we were all born on the same day?”

“And both mothers have struggled since then.” Lucinda nods.

“I agree we should tell them. In person. We need to break it to them gently.” Paxton points to Xander and me. “We’ll go talk to Sophia⁠—”

“No.” Everyone turns to Cage. “I want to see her. Sophia. If she says she doesn’t want—this might be my only chance to meet her.”

“Sure, that’s the reason,” Paxton says, and Cage glares at him. “What about you, Dom?”

“I’ll go with Cage.” I don’t like the smirk on his face.

“I agree,” Xander says. “We need at least one twin to be from there. I’ll go with Tor to Grandville.”

He wants to help me, but Erik is also from Grandville. Does that have anything to do with his decision? Not that I mind. Xander has smiled more in the last few days than ever before. He’s also been close to tears. Tradeoffs.

“Perfect,” Lucinda says, with a clap of her hands. She rises to her feet. “When do you leave?”

“Mom—” I stop because she’s not my mom. A wave of sadness hits me, but I shake it off. “She expects us back tonight. Our train leaves at eight.”

Lucinda checks her watch. “That’s a little over an hour from now. We better get started.”

We hash out a plan. Tor and Xander go to Grandville. Cage and I go to Chicago. We each see how the mothers are doing. It will devastate Mom—Sophia—if this doesn’t work out. Cage and I will lay low until we get the signal.

Paxton is on the same train, so we all pack, and Cage drives us to the station. Xander and Tor will leave after us in Cage’s car. “Take care of my baby, Tor.”

“Oh, I will.” He winks, and Cage shakes his head.

“Goodbye, Tor,” Paxton says. “Try not to mess anything up.”

His smirk widens into a grin. “I’m going to miss you, Paxton.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Who else am I going to…mouth off to?” He bites his lip and looks at Paxton from under his lashes.

Paxton growls. “You’re a brat. Someone needs to give you a good spanking.”

“Are you volunteering, Daddy? I’m not opposed to that idea.”

“Jesus, make it stop.” I shake my head free of that mental image and give Xander a quick hug. “Take care, bro.” Xander and I have never been apart for long. Instead of dwelling on that, I grab Cage’s hand, not caring who sees. “Let’s get on the train.”

The ride to Chicago is both uneventful and pure torture. I’m exhausted from the weekend and want nothing more than to sleep in my bed. Except, that’s a lie. I want Cage in my bed next to me. I’m too tired to actually do anything. Just having him there with me will be enough.

But isn’t that another lie? Every time the train jerks, his leg bumps against mine, and the feel of him combined with his hand on the seat next to me, has me rock hard. Sleeping is the last thing on my mind. But Paxton is right there so we don’t do anything. Much. Cage finally grabs my hand and holds it on his leg. My thoughts continue their slide south, along with all the blood in my body.

“Are you okay?” Cage’s dark eyes study me.

“Yes. You?”

He shrugs. “It’s a lot. Finding out your mom isn’t your mom.”

“Yeah. And finding out your brother isn’t your brother.”

“I’m okay with that part.”

I hold his hand between mine. “Same.”

Once we get off the train, a car is waiting for us. Cage leans over and whispers, “You have a chauffeur?”

“No.” I’ve never thought of it like that. “Just a driver.”

He tilts his head and his eyes sparkle with amusement. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

We pile into the back of the car and drive the thirty minutes home. The city rising into the sky captures Cage’s attention. “Wow. This is amazing.”

“I love your enthusiasm, but you might want to tone it down, Xander.” I nod at the driver. Charles hasn’t been with us long. But long enough that a grinning Xander is unusual.

As we pull up to the house, which now I realize looks more like a mansion, I wonder if this will be another thing. Cage mentioned needing the prize money. He didn’t grow up wealthy. How will he take all this?

But he stares in awe at everything. “This is amazing,” he whispers as we enter the house.

Maya, the housekeeper, welcomes us home. “There’s dinner for you in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Is Mom already in bed?” It’s ten thirty, so I expect her to be asleep. But I want to make sure.

Her smile drops. “Yes. She’s been…going to bed early lately.”

I nod. “Thank you, Maya.” I’m glad Mom isn’t around. Is that selfish of me? Maybe. But I don’t focus on that. “Hey, Xander.” I take Cage’s hand and squeeze. “Want to have a sleepover?”

“Yes, please. Although I am tired.”

“I’ll try not to wear you out.” Just thinking about kissing this man has me pulling him up the stairs.

Once I’m in my room, surrounded by my things, I lose my nerve. This room isn’t just full of me—my books, mostly mysteries, my swimming medals, and my video games—it’s also full of Xander. Playing Zelda together. Trips we’ve taken with our mom. No, not my mom. Or my actual brother. “Is this weird?”

“Yes. This entire thing has been weird from beginning to end. But you and I, sweetheart? Not weird at all.” His eyes are as fond as his words.

“I like the sound of that.”

He kisses my forehead, and I huff in protest. He laughs, and the next kiss is spot on—his lips on mine. Soft. Sweet. I want more, but I’m not sure I’m ready, and freaking out during sex would not end well.

“We don’t have to do anything but cuddle. You do like to cuddle, right?”

“Is it a dealbreaker?” I bite my lip, pretending to be worried.

Cage studies me, his eyes serious. “No dealbreakers, Dom. I want you exactly as you are.”

My insides feel as gooey as the butter bars the restaurant serves for dessert. “Then yes to cuddling. And a solid maybe to more.”

I slip my arms around him and turn us so the picture of Xander and I at the Taste of Chicago, each holding up a turkey leg, isn’t staring at me. Cage kisses my neck, and I try to let go of the tension in my body, but it’s impossible to focus. I pull away with a groan.

“Did I do something⁠—”

“No.” I cut him off before he can take that thought further. “I just need to do something real quick.” I walk backward, holding his gaze. “One teeny tiny sec.” I turn and put all the pictures of Xander, and even ones of just me, face down. I take a step toward him and hesitate. Pinching my fingers together to indicate I need another second, I grab all the pictures off the dresser and bookcase and shove them into a drawer.

“Better?” he asks with a smile, like he finds my neurosis charming.

“Much.” I wrap my arms around him again, but this time, I don’t hold back. These kisses aren’t soft or gentle. I cling to him as our lips come together again and again, our tongues trying to get more. Taste more. I’m ready, but my body is not. Exhaustion has me sagging against him. Fuck. I want this so much. “Cage, I…” How can I explain without pushing him away?

“Shh. It’s okay.” He lifts me off my feet and carries me to the bed. “Let me take care of you.” His words have me tearing up. Has anyone ever offered to take care of me before?

He lays me gently on the bed. “I’m going to undress you.” The question in his voice is in his eyes, and I nod my consent. He unbuttons my shirt, his eyes hot on me, and opens it, exposing my chest to his hungry gaze. “You’re beautiful, Dom.”

I start to argue because I’m really not, but I don’t want to lose the look in his eyes. “Don’t stop now,” I say, pulling the shirt off and gesturing to my pants. “Still too many clothes.”

As he unbuttons my jeans, he kisses me again and slowly pulls the zipper down. My dick gets harder still, and I’m torn between wanting him to hurry the fuck up and enjoying the delicious tease of anticipation. My chest rises and falls as my breathing increases. I need him now. He leans over and plants a kiss right above my belly button, tearing a groan from me. There’s teasing, and then there’s just plain torture.

“You’re so responsive. I can’t wait to fuck you, Dom. I hope you want that⁠—”

“Yes,” I say. “Definitely want.” And then I seal it with a fierce kiss to his mouth.

Familiar sounds from outside filter in. Horns honking. Sirens blaring. Tree branches slapping against the window frame as the Chicago wind riles them up.

Cage returns to my chest, lapping at one nipple until it’s hard and tight and then focusing on the other. My dick strains to get loose while my body tingles with excitement. The heat of his mouth clamps onto my nipple, and he sucks like he’s trying to get milk. Fuck. I arch off the bed, needing more. His hand slips into my pants, squeezing my dick and coaxing another moan out of me. His hand slips farther down, rolling my balls between his fingers. I squeeze my eyes shut because the visual of him kissing his way down my body has me closer than I want to be.

“Cage, please.”

He lifts up, his eyes on mine. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Your mouth,” I say, frantic for more. Anything more. Cage grins, and before he can remind me that his mouth is technically on me, I bravely say, “On my dick. Please, suck me.”

“Oh God, yes, sweetheart.” He strips my jeans off and pulls my briefs down until they’re just below my balls. I move to take them off all the way, but he grabs my hands. “I’m taking care of you, remember?”

“Yes. Please.” I nod too many times, and he kisses me sweetly.

“If you want me to stop. If this isn’t what you want, tell me. Okay?”

I nod again. “Stop teasing me and get on with it,” I say with mock fierceness.

And he does, but at a very slow pace. I’m being punished for my sass. And fuck, I love it. He nibbles on my legs, and the way he has me positioned, I can’t move. One hand rests on my hip and the other on my thighs. I lean up on my elbows to watch him. He winks and then takes my cock in his mouth all the way down. The heat of his mouth surrounds me as he sucks me down. I jump from horny to right there in an instant.

“Cage,” I say, crying out a warning. One he doesn’t heed as he rolls my balls in his hand and slips a finger down my crack. The orgasm hits hard, but Cage doesn’t budge, taking as much as he can while drops of my cum spill out the side of his mouth. And fuck, that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He pulls off and licks his lips, and I might have to revise my earlier thought. Because that right there is sexy as hell. There’s a question in his eyes as he leans over me. I answer by crushing our mouths together, enjoying my flavor on his lips.

Cage goes to the bathroom, and I try to keep my eyes open. He needs a turn. And my sleepy mind is determined that has to happen. The feel of a warm cloth on my stomach wakes me from a brief slumber. Damn.

“Not much here.” He grins at me. “I didn’t want to waste it.”

I return his smile, probably looking dopy as hell. My mind feels groggy, but I’m determined. “Your turn. What chew…?” I lick my lips and try again. “What do you want?” I ask, enunciating each word to get it right.

“Good question.” He looks up as if he’s thinking while stripping off his clothes. First, his shirt, exposing his glorious chest covered with dark hair. And the dark trail that continues under his pants. He shucks those off next. Fuck. My eyes want to shut, but I need them to stay open. Then his briefs are off, and I realize twins aren’t exactly alike. Not that I’ve seen my brother…Xander undressed often, but enough to know Cage is bigger. Girthier.

“What do you want?” I ask again, more awake than before. Please say a blowjob.

He slips into bed and pulls me against him. His hard-on pokes against my ass, and I again revise my thoughts. I want Cage inside me. But his warm body against mine and his strong arm pulling me closer trick my brain into wanting to sleep. That and the exhaustion. “I want to cuddle,” Cage whispers in my ear. “That’s enough for now.”

When I wake in the morning, I stretch my body, feeling amazing. Last night flashes through my mind. Cage giving me an outstanding blowjob and me not being able to reciprocate. I cover my face with my arm. Great job, Dom. Way to impress him with your nonexistent stamina. I roll toward him, but Cage isn’t there. His side of the bed is still warm, so he can’t have gone far.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says in a chipper voice as he strolls out of the bathroom.

“Good morning.” I sit up and stare at my lap. “Sorry about last night.”

“Sorry? What for? The best cuddling I’ve ever had?” He kisses me, ignoring my morning breath. “I do not accept your apology.”

“Maybe I should apologize in a different way. Using my tongue…”

He shakes his head. The no is on his lips, but his eyes and the bulge in his pants both say yes. “I just got dressed.”

“So you’re saying I get to undress you? Not seeing a problem here.”

“You’re the problem. You and that gorgeous mouth that’s begging to be fucked.”

I open my mouth to respond, but what can I say? He’s absolutely right.

After a round of me apologizing with my hands, mouth, and body, Cage and I shower together. I can’t believe I get to touch him. Kiss him. And it’s not wrong.

Unless you’re part of the staff and think Cage is Xander and my brother. Then, it’s still considered wrong. We almost get caught during breakfast. Twice.

We touch each other while eating. Nothing too shocking. Just a hand on his shoulder as I munch on my bacon. Or his hand on my leg while we share a piece of toast. When the door swings open, I move away. It’s only Paxton, and I sag in relief. Just sitting next to each other is unusual. Xander has rules. No touching. No sitting or standing too close. Respect the bubble, he would always say.

Whereas Cage’s bubble includes me. Warmth fizzes through my body, and I sigh happily, earning me a glare from Paxton as he takes his seat.

“So, do you, like, live here?” Cage asks Paxton, his voice low enough that the staff entering the room can’t hear.

“No. Not really, but I do have a room.”

Cage doesn’t respond as the servers take his empty plate away. Once they are gone, he raises a brow at Paxton. “You have a room. How is that not living here?”

“It’s one of the guest rooms. I stay when Sophia needs me to stay.”

“Like today?”

“No,” Paxton says slowly, his eyes darting to me and back to Cage. “I’m here today because of the plan. So you two don’t fuck it up. Did you forget already? Too much sex?”

“Jealous?” I ask with a smirk.

“Of you and him? No. Of sex? Definitely.” He mumbles the last part.

The door swings open again, and Mom—I’m always going to call her that—strides in. She’s wearing a light dress that still comes off as business casual and her hair is up in a clip with dark tendrils framing her face. She looks beautiful. And tired. We stand, which is normal. But Cage knocks over his chair. Which is not. He scrambles to pick it up, his eyes huge as he stares at his mother. The one he’s never met. I reach out to touch him, and Paxton coughs. Shit. I grab my coffee instead, almost spilling it in the process.

“Everything okay, boys?” she asks, glancing from Cage to me and back to Cage. She tilts her head. Is it too late to move to the other side of the table? Way too late. “Paxton told me what happened.”

Cage’s eyes widen even more. He wipes his hands on his pants and clears his throat. Oh God. Is he going to speak? Can he be cool at all? Paxton’s panicked expression says no.

“We lost.” I frown like this is the worst thing that could have ever happened instead of the best.

“Yes. But at least you tried.”

I’m positive Paxton didn’t tell her why we lost. It’s obvious she still thinks Xander failed. Again. And I just can’t let it go. “Xander was amazing, Mom. He kept it together even when everything around us was falling apart. We made it all the way to the end. We lost on a technicality, basically.”

“Of course, dear.” She adds sugar to her cup of coffee, and I’ve already lost her. She moves on. Because that’s what we do when Xander messes up.

“Mom.”

Her startled eyes meet mine. “Yes, dear?”

“I need you to hear me. Xander did amazing. He did what he needed to do. He took charge.

“I see.” The room is still as she sets her cup down and faces us. “Xander did great. Then why are you the one telling me instead of him?” Her gaze shifts to Cage.

What the fuck is wrong with me? How could I forget even for a second?

“Xander…I mean, I did amazing.” Cage points to himself. “So good. I baked my ass…” He clears his throat again. “I mean, Dom and I baked…well.”

She leans in, deep lines on her forehead as she stares at Cage. “Baking was never your issue, Xander. I’ve told you this. What’s going on here?” She addresses her question to Paxton.

“Nothing. It was an exhausting week…end, and we’re all just tired.”

“Don’t lie to me, Paxton. You know I can tell⁠—”

Paxton’s phone goes off, and he grabs it like a man in the desert grabs a bottle of water. He scrolls and then sighs. “Thank fuck.”

“Paxton!” Mom’s voice is sharp. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and I wave my hands at him because what the fuck? He grins, and Mom’s mouth drops open. Grinning is a new thing for Paxton. “That’s the signal,” he says to Cage and me. “We’re good to go.”

“Go?” Mom asks, throwing down her napkin and scooting away from her chair. “Where? Why?”

The distressed look in her eyes breaks my heart. I reach out and touch her arm. “It’s okay, Mom.” Emotion clogs my throat, and I swallow. I have to tell my mom she isn’t my mom, and I’m not sure I can do that.

“We have something for you, Sophia,” Paxton says, taking pity on me.

“For me?”

“It’s something you lost, Mom. Long ago.” I need to go on, but I’m not sure I can.

She glances from me to Paxton and then to Cage. I can almost see her attempting to put the puzzle together. Xander is not acting like himself. The fact that we were so close to Grandville. She gasps, her hand going to her mouth. “It can’t be, can it? Are you…Xander?” She shakes her head. “Cage?”

He nods, tears flowing down his cheeks. “Yes, Cage. I’ve lived in Granville all my life.”

Mom’s crying, and I’m crying, and even Paxton sniffs a little.

“Were you raised by your grandmother Lucinda?” she asks tentatively, as if she’s afraid of the answer.

Cage smiles, and it’s so unlike Xander that there can be no doubt. “No. I mean, she helped. But I was raised by my mom.” He blinks and glances at me. I nod for him to go on. “The woman I thought was my mom. Callie March.”

“Oh my God. Callie?” She’s full-on crying now, her hands pressed into her chest. “My Callie?” at Cage’s nod, she smiles through her tears, and relief floods through me. “My Callie. And Cage. And Toretto?” Her eyes dart to me.

“Tor is fine.”

“Sarcastic and irritating,” Paxton adds, “but otherwise fine.”

“How is this possible?” She stands and rushes over to Cage. He meets her halfway, and they hug. Mom squeezes him so hard that I wonder if she’ll ever let go.

She motions to me with her fingers, and I join the hug-fest. Her arm tightens around me. “So that means you’re Callie’s biological child.”

“I guess so.” I keep my face hidden. There’s no reason to bring everyone else down.

“You’re still my son, Dom. I don’t care about biology. You’re my sweet boy. Don’t ever forget that.” I nod, unable to say much without choking on my tears. She brushes the hair away from my face. “You look just like her.”

“I know. I met her.”

Her hands tighten on my arms as she stares at me. “You did?”

“Yes, but she thought I was Tor. She doesn’t know yet, Mom.”

“And now it’s time to implement the rest of the plan.” Paxton takes a sip of his coffee and stands. “Is everyone ready?”

“Ready?” Mom asks. “Ready for what?”

Paxton takes Mom’s hands in his and squeezes. “Sophia Marchetti, enough time has been wasted. Let’s go get your girl.”

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,

And careful hours with time’s deformèd hand

Have written strange defeatures in my face.

(The Comedy of Errors, Egeon 5.1.307-309)

CHAPTER 21

XANDER

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 10 A.M.

My legs refuse to move as I stare at the building in front of me.

Sweet Obsessions Bakery. Who thought up that name?

I rub my palms on my pants. Tor tried to talk me into wearing jeans, but I can’t stand the feel of them. He helped me pick out clothes. Something I hate doing. In school, we wore uniforms, and I never had to worry about it. Picking out my own clothes never leads to anything good. Because my focus is on what feels good. Not what looks good. And for the first time in my life, looking good is a priority.

My black stretchy dress pants fit well. Tor paired it with a long-sleeve gray Henley and said I looked hot.

Will Erik think so? I’m not sure he’ll listen to me or even see me. But getting Erik back isn’t the purpose of my visit. I square my shoulders and open the door to the bakery.

The décor is warm and welcoming, with pastel colors and pictures of baked goods hanging on the walls. But the intoxicating smell is what lures me in. Cinnamon. Melted butter. Sugar. And coffee brewing. I’m in heaven.

“What can I get you?” The kid behind the counter looks and sounds twelve. Blond hair and an innocent face. He looks familiar, but I know I’ve never met him.

The place is empty, which makes no sense. Shouldn’t it be packed on a Monday morning? The items behind the glass case look and smell amazing.

Does it taste just as good? Erik and his sister did win the Dunklin County Bake-Off. Maybe I need to test that theory. I’ve always been a skeptical person. I need proof of something. Just ask my brother, Dom. Except Dom isn’t really my brother. I reject that information, however true. I can’t deal with anything but my mission.

The kid’s eyes are wide as he watches. Erik is nowhere in sight. But he’s probably in the kitchen.

“What’s good here?” I ask. I’ve heard Dom say that more than once.

The kid starts like he doesn’t expect the question. His eyes dart from the display case back to me. “I don’t know.”

I hold back a laugh. He can’t really be twelve, right? The smile slips off his face for a few seconds and then returns even brighter. Only to lose its shine soon after. He adjusts his apron with shaking hands. Where is everyone else?

I lean in. “You might want to work on your sales pitch.”

He copies me, leaning over the counter as he darts a glance behind him. “It’s my first day.”

Taking pity on him, I order a cinnamon roll and a cherry cheese Danish. Did Erik make all of these, or did his sister, Carinne? There’s another option, but I can’t focus on that right now.

The kid scrambles to fill my order, and I notice Erik standing to his right. He wasn’t there a moment ago. I would have noticed.

He’s dressed in jeans and a pastel blue T-shirt that emphasizes his broad chest with an apron over the top. My confused heart thuds happily at the sight of his messy blond hair and crinkles around his eyes, his perfect lips frowning at me. The man is stunning.

I try to resist, but a smile slips through.

Erik crosses his arms and intensifies his glare. “For fuck’s sake, Xander. Stop harassing the help.”

Still angry. Not surprising. “I’m just ordering breakfast. In a bakery.”

“That’s not what you’re doing.”

“Maybe you should enlighten me.” And that sounds flirtier than I mean it. Not that I’m an expert. I gave up on my spreadsheets. They failed me the entire weekend. “Erik⁠—”

“No.”

The bell over the door jingles. Other customers. And I already know what to expect. The nice everybody’s-friend Erik will show up. And while I like this moody guy because, for some reason, it’s mostly just for me, I long to see his smile again. Hear his laugh.

“Stop staring,” he snaps. “It’s creepy.” He turns to the other customers, and his face lights up with a smile that matches his eyes. “Good morning, Mrs. Watt. It’s wonderful to see you again. Clinton can help you with whatever you need.”

His gaze swings back to me and his smile falls into a hard line. “You. Come with me.”

“What about my food?”

He grabs my bag and holds it up. Then takes it with him as he disappears down a hallway. Clinton gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, man. He’s usually nice to everyone.”

And for some reason, I grin at that. I’m gone for this guy. But again, that isn’t why I’m here. The others are depending on me. I follow Erik, tapping my fingers and thumb together to help my focus.

My stomach growls. He still has my food.

The kitchen is modest but clean. And the smells here—from the source—have me eager for my cherry Danish. I’m about to ask again when he turns on me, his eyes flashing. “Why the fuck are you here?”

I point at the bag in his hand. “Breakfast.”

“I’m done, Cage⁠—”

“Xander,” I correct, keeping the irritation out of my voice.

His shoulders pull back. “You’re still doing that?”

“Yes. I’m still going by my given name.” Now that I understand his confusion, it makes it easier. For me. Not for him

“Don’t be a smartass.” He jabs a finger at me. “How dare you show up here and harass my employees.”

“Clinton doesn’t know what’s good here.” I tilt my head, enjoying this a bit too much. But I’m here. With Erik. And he hasn’t thrown me out. Yet. “Maybe you should feed him.”

“Maybe you should mind your own goddamn business. How’s the catering business going?”

What to say to that? I shrug. “Not sure.”

He laughs, sounding amused but not in a happy way. More in a you’re a fucking idiot way. He takes a deep breath and tosses my bag of food to me. “Let’s go out back.”

My heart dances some more, and I try to tamp down the hope in my chest. “Is Clinton going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine. The church ladies are having a bake sale this morning. All our usual customers are over there.” He walks to the door and glances over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

The back area has a garden. Most everything has been harvested, but I notice a few fruit trees. Apples. Pears. It’s peaceful back here. Beautiful. He motions to a small bench. Are we both going to sit there?

I settle on the bench and distract myself with the food. Opening the bag is like walking into the bakery all over again. I breathe in the intoxicating scent. When I glance up, Erik is watching me.

“I don’t get you, Ca—Xander.”

“Actually, I’ve been told that a lot. It’s from being on the spectrum.” I pull out the Danish. It’s flakey and gooey and perfect.

“What?” He shakes his head and must realize I’m not kidding because his eyes widen. “You’re autistic?”

The first bite of Danish melts in my mouth, and I try to hold in my moan. This is amazing. Did he bake it or someone else? I swallow my food and realize I haven’t answered his question. “Yes. You sound surprised.”

“Because I am. You’re a very social person. Always making new friends. And you love a good party.”

I tilt my head and consider his words. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Well, not this you. But the other you.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.”

I finish my Danish and lick my fingers, not wanting to miss even a crumb. I let him grapple with his assumptions. I could enlighten him, but I’m not sure he’d believe me. And I’m still a little irritated with him.

“Xander.” He sounds exasperated, and his eyes are hot on my face.

“What?”

“Why are you here?” He sounds almost hopeful. But that’s not why I’m here. Not yet. Not while I’m still confused about who he really likes. Cage or me.

“How’s Ca—my mom doing?”

A vein in his forehead throbs and his hands ball into fists. “No. You don’t get to abandon her and then stroll in here like nothing happened.” Damn. I should have asked Cage more questions. And Tor didn’t mention anything. “Maybe I want to make amends.”

“So you’re looking for a job?”

I’m definitely missing crucial pieces of information. I might have to tell him. But I’m not ready. Not yet. “No. I have a job.”

“Unbelievable.” His eyes fill with something. Pain? Disappointment? “You left your mom short-handed so you could open a stupid catering business.”

Did Cage really do that? I can’t defend him since I don’t know the circumstances. “She has you.”

“I’m not her son. I’m not the person she wants to leave her business to when she can no longer—” He stops abruptly and presses his lips together in a tight line. “She pretended she was okay when you left. But I watched her break down every day.”

My heart aches. He’s such a good person. And I want to throttle Cage. “That was a long time ago,” I say, guessing. I hate guessing, but he’s not giving me enough information to go on. “How is she doing now? Today?” At his glare, I spread my hands out. “She’s still my mother, Erik.” Even though she isn’t. She’s not even Cage’s mother. Not really.

For a long moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. He bends down and rests his head in his hands. When his eyes reach mine, I can see the worry. The sadness. “Not good.” He rubs his face. “I don’t know how to help her, Xander.”

“I have an idea. But I need you to trust me.”

His laugh is sharp. Biting. “That will never happen.”

I pull his arm down and take his hand, threading our fingers together. Something I would never have done before this weekend. “I’m not asking you to trust the guy who hurt you. Who hurt Mom. That’s Cage. I’m talking about Xander. The one you’ve gotten to know this past weekend. Trust him. Me.”

“You’re the same person.” He searches my face. “You dated Ren for three years. Moved in with him. Then broke up with him for me.”

“No. I didn’t.”

He tries to pull his hand away. “Fucker.”

“Erik.”

The sigh he lets out sounds weary. Exasperated. “What?”

“I need you to hear me.” At least he’s looking at me and not the ground. “I was never in a relationship with Ren.”

“I was there during most of it. So I know this for a fact, Xander. I want to trust you, but how can I?”

“I can prove I’m telling the truth. But not yet. I promise I’ll explain everything, but for now, I need you to trust me. I’ll be back at two p.m. today. Can you make sure Ca—Mom is here?”

He studies my face, and I try not to squirm. For a moment, I’m not sure he’s going to answer. “Fine,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “I’m a damn fool. Always falling for pretty eyes and a stellar ass.”

Is that a compliment? It sounds like one. I smile. I’m still working on not looking creepy, but it’s easier when I’m happy. And Erik trusting me when everything tells him he shouldn’t makes me very, very happy.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 11 P.M.

After giving Paxton the signal, I go back to Tor’s place to go over the plan. Which is no more complicated than putting the two women in a room together and hoping for the best. I think we need more than that, but I’m outnumbered.

Tor has been standoffish since last night. I stayed with him because they don’t have hotels here.

His kitchen is interesting. Lots of gadgets. And it’s decorated with crows. I’d think he was emo or goth, but he loves bright colors. Some of the crows are green and purple.

I have my notebook ready to update the plan. Tor is painting his nails. Again. He even has a little heater thing to dry them.

“Where does your mother live?”

He doesn’t look up. “Near Lucinda in her own little house.”

“Ah.”

His eyes shoot up. “What does that mean?”

I’m startled by his question. “Nothing.”

Tor leans back, glancing at my shoes. My watch. My hands. I fold them to cover the rings. “I’m guessing you guys have some money, huh?”

I shrug. “My mom owns a restaurant.”

He puts the brush back in the polish and sits up. “My mom owns a bakery.”

I hate to be blunt, but I don’t know how else to be. “Vinni’s is the name of our restaurant in Chicago. It’s packed every night. I’m not saying the bakery isn’t profitable.” His eyes narrow, and I stop talking altogether.

“What are you saying?”

I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. “Just that we were raised under different circumstances. That’s all.”

“We did pretty well at one time. When my father was alive. Our father. Well, not yours or Cage’s, I guess.” He shakes his head. Turning on the warmer, he holds his hand still as his nails dry. It takes less than a minute.

“What happened?” I ask when he’s done. I’m curious about this world and not just because Erik is in it. This is Dom’s real family. I ignore the sharp pain in my chest. I’m still Dom’s family.

He starts on the nails on his other hand. “Our dad was an ass. Just ask his mother. Lucinda will tell you everything. After he drank and gambled most of their money away, then wrapped his car around a tree.”

“That’s awful.” Our father died before we really knew him. Should I mention that? “How old were you?”

He thinks about it, even though I’m sure the answer is right there. Maybe he’s thinking about whether he wants to tell me. “Two. I think she was going to leave him. Run away with…”

“My mom.”

“Yup. That’s the theory, anyway.” He continues painting his nails. Never making a mistake.

I push away my annoyance as I ask my next question. I don’t need it clouding my words. “How long have you known all this?”

“A while. But what I didn’t know,” he says, looking up, “was that your mom, you, and your brother were still alive. Everyone thought all of you died in the tornado.”

“And you didn’t question the fact that you looked nothing like your twin brother?”

“Dude.” He stares at me, and I flush. “Did you? Maybe get off your throne and hang out down here with the peasants.”

I rub my hands in my pants. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m not really good with people.”

“That’s fine,” he says in a voice that tells me it isn’t. “But it’s not an excuse for thinking you’re better than us. It was chance circumstances that Cage was the one switched. It could’ve been you. Hell, it could’ve been me. Like it or not, we’re all family. Brothers.”

I smile, not sure I’m willing to share my thoughts with him.

“What? Come on, brother. Out with it.”

“Dom and Cage don’t act brotherly.”

A laugh bursts out of him. “No. From what I hear, they’re driving Paxton crazy.”

Has he been talking to Paxton? Texting him?

His bottles of polish are in a case, arranged by color. Like a rainbow. It’s beautiful. It distracts me for a second as I figure out how to get the information I want. “I have another question.”

“Go on, spit it out.”

“It’s about the medallion.”

“Cage’s medallion?” He picks out an orange, holds it up to the light, and returns it to the stack. “The one with our zodiac sign on it?” His eyes cut to mine.

“Yes.”

He nods. Picking out a turquoise color, he shakes the bottle and paints a perfect stripe on the green. “Cage left the thing when he moved out.”

“When he was living with Erik?”

He stops, the brush midway from the bottle, and huffs as if I’m the most annoying person on the planet. Many think that is a correct assessment. But not Erik. Not always. And those thoughts keep me going. “They were college roommates. There was never anything between them. You get that, right?”

I nod. Still not totally convinced.

“So, no. When he moved all his stuff out of the bakery. He was in charge, and he left.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “It’s like you haven’t been paying attention.”

“To be fair. There’s been a lot going on.”

Tor laughs. “True.” He finishes the stripes on his nails and dries them under the heater. “Cage wanted to start his own catering business. He’s always wanted more than the small-town life. He has big dreams. But Erik thinks he left Mom high and dry without notice.”

“Did he?”

“Not entirely. He talked to Mom about it. But Erik is loyal to a fault. And…there were probably hurt feelings involved.”

Erik’s anger from this morning now makes sense. “Did he leave the medallion on purpose?”

He shrugs. “Doubtful. He loved that necklace. Mom gave both of us one. Erik took it as another slight against Mom and refused to give it back. He even pawned it. Not because he wanted the money. Just to piss Cage off. He succeeded.”

“But then he gave it back to him,” I point out. “Well, me. But he thought I was Cage.”

Tor laughs and shakes his head. “You really are clueless, aren’t you?”

“That’s rather rude.” Although entirely accurate.

“Erik would’ve never given Cage that necklace back. Never. The only reason he returned it was because of you.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. He didn’t know it was me.”

“Doesn’t matter. You aren’t the same Cage that left.”

Is that true? Relief helps settle my nerves. Erik did have a crush on Cage. He’d admitted as much. But maybe I have a chance. I smile at the thought.

“Dude.” Tor shakes an expertly painted nail at me. “You’ve got it bad.”

“What?”

He leans closer. “Are you going to deny you’re in love with Erik?”

“Deny? No.” I smile. “Tell you? Also, no.”

He laughs. “I like you, Xander. I hope things work out.”

I laugh. “Thanks.”

Tor shoos me away so he can focus, and I head to the backyard. He has a beautiful willow tree. No bench, but I spot a lawn chair near the house and pull it over. The bark is rough against my palm. I pull a willow branch through my fingers. It’s very relaxing. How hard would it be to get a willow tree in Chicago? I make the call before I can chicken out.

“What’s wrong?” Paxton asks as soon as he answers.

“Everything’s fine.

“Not everything,” he says with a smirk in his voice. Either it’s very apparent, or I’m getting better at this. “You’re calling me.”

“True, but it was a mistake.”

“Hold on, Xander. Is this about that Erik guy?”

“Yes. I…” I shut my eyes and say the words I’m dreading. “How can I get him to trust me again? Get him back?”

“Are you alone?”

Why is he asking that? “Yes. Tor is in the house.”

Paxton takes a deep breath. “I’ll help you, Xander. But I want something in return.”

I don’t have anything, but I also have nothing to lose. “Fine. What do you want?”

“The scoop on the brat.”

“The brat?”

He huffs in frustration. “The hottie.”

“Paxton.”

“For fuck’s sake. Tor.”

“Oh.” Oh. “I don’t know him that well.”

“Get to know him.” His voice lowers, dropping some of its bloated confidence. “Anything you can find out will be helpful. Does he date a lot? Have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t think he does. But I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Don’t be obvious… You know what? Never mind.”

“I can do this. Now help me with Erik. I’m not sure if he really likes me or Cage.”

“Is that it? It’s obvious he likes you. Jesus, I feel like I’m in high school again.”

“You started it,” I remind him.

“You called me,” he says with a growl. “And don’t sell yourself short, kid. He likes you. He gave you that necklace. Not Cage. Hold on. Maybe that’s the answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Give him something.”

“Like a gift?”

“Yeah. Something special that shows you care.”

Excitement builds as I think about the idea. Can I do this? “Thank you, Paxton.”

“Remember our deal.”

After hanging up, I return to the house and find Tor in the living room typing on a laptop. “Tor, I might need your help.”

When I tell him my plan, he claps his hands together. “Oh goody. It’s time to shop.”

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1 P.M.

Clinton smiles and waves when I return to the bakery. It’s early afternoon, and I wonder if this kid has school. Surely, he’s not eighteen.

“Hi, Clinton.

“Hi. I’m so glad you’re back.” He grins. And he’s vibrating with excitement.

“What’s going on?”

“Ask me again.”

“What’s—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his hands. “What you asked me this morning. Ask me again.”

I try to think back. My brain has been focused on Erik most of the morning. Oh, right. “What’s good here?”

He beams. “Erik let me try stuff so I could answer that question.”

That’s so sweet. I nod sagely. “And what did you decide?”

“Dude, it was hard. Everything is so freaking good. But my favorite? Cherry cheesecake.”

Maybe Clinton will work out. “You’ve sold me. I’ll take one.”

His face falls. “We’re out. I’ve been recommending it all day.”

I laugh. “You might need to try more things. Make a list.”

“Good idea.” He grabs a notepad. Is he writing down my suggestion? He tears off the note and waves it at me. “Thanks, dude. You’re always so helpful.”

Always? “Do I know you?”

He laughs. “You were in here this morning.”

I wave him off. “No. Before today.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just saw you almost every single day of my childhood since you were always at our house. But who knows if I know you.”

“I was at hour house every day?” Who is this kid?

“Well, yeah. Don’t you remember?”

What do I say to that? “I⁠—”

“What did I tell you about harassing my employees?” Erik is right behind Clinton, and the kid jumps at his voice.

“Hey, bro. Cage gave me another good idea.”

“Xander.” Both Erik and I say it at the same time.

“Right.” He grins again. “Xander.”

Erik shakes his head fondly and motions for me to follow him back.

“Keep up the good work,” I say in a low voice.

Clinton gives me a thumbs-up. He’s a cute kid.

Erik leans against the counter. “You’re early. You said two.”

“I asked if you could have Mom here at two. Not that I was coming at two. And now I wish I’d come earlier before all the cherry cheesecake was gone.”

“Clinton’s eager.” He laughs. “A little too eager.”

“He’s a good kid.”

He shakes his head again at my words and crosses his arms. “Trust you, right.” He takes a deep breath. “Why are you here? An hour early?”

The speech I rehearsed on the way here seems stupid now. Does Erik care about me? Or Cage? Erik had a crush on Cage. How can I compete with that? “I wanted to talk to you.”

Erik rolls his hand impatiently. “So, talk.” I hesitate and he makes an inpatient noise and pushes off the counter. “I’m going to work while you talk.”

“Are you the only one here?”

“Clinton. Remember him?” But he’s smiling. Joking with me.

“Yes. But it’s his first day.”

“Mom wouldn’t let him help until he got his grades up.”

“Mom…” For a second, I think he means Callie.

“My mom. Not your mom. I have a mom, Xander. You’ve met here many times.”

I don’t challenge his statement. “Clinton is your brother.”

“Is this the part where you continue pretending we haven’t known each other all our lives? Or are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He rolls out a ball of dough on the table. The clock above the large stove shows I’ve wasted twenty minutes.

My pulse shoots up, and it’s harder to think. Where are the words I rehearsed? Why is there only one thing in my head? I try to push it down, but it doesn’t want to stay there.

“Jesus, Xander.” He pounds on the dough. His pink shirt that matches the bakery logo stretches over the strong muscles in his back as he works. “Say something.”

“I love you.”

His movements stop. Then he shakes his head. “Anything but that.”

“You don’t believe me?”

He slaps the rolling pin down and turns to face me. The anger on his face has me backing up. I thought he might laugh at me. Sneer at me. But he’s angry. Why? “You…” He shakes his head. “We’ve actually had this conversation before. It was horrible. One star. Do not recommend.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve told you I loved you? I mean, Cage⁠—”

“The other way around. I—why are you doing this?” His eyes are haunted.

I thought it was a crush. But he loved Cage. Maybe still does. “Do you still love…still feel that way about him. That guy?”

He stands taller. Defiant. “No. I don’t. At all.”

Relief floods through me, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. I hope it doesn’t look creepy. “Good.”

“Good? That I don’t love you?”

“No.” I laugh, almost giddy. “That you don’t love him. The me from before.”

He puts his hands on his hips, adding flour to his apron. “I don’t love this new you either,” he says, but not as emphatically.

“But you trust me.” His mouth opens, and I add before he challenges my words, “You’re arranging for Mom to be here.”

His eyes soften. “I shouldn’t. Not after everything.”

“I’m sorry you were treated like that.” I want to hug him. Touch him. Brush the flour off his cheek. Wipe the pain from his eyes.

“Xander. I don’t know if I can do this again. Want you. Love you.”

“Just…please don’t rule it out.” Before he can tell me to fuck off, I reach into my pocket and pull out the present. “I got this for you.”

He doesn’t move and barely glances at the present. I walk over and hold it out to him. His gaze darts from my hand back to my face.

“Erik, please.”

“Just wait, okay.” He leaves me standing with my hand out as he walks over to the sink. He washes and dries his hands and returns. “You didn’t have to do this,” he says as he takes the bag and pulls the jewelry out. A black corded bracelet with purple stones. “Amethyst. My birthstone.”

“Tor told me your birthdate…” I let my words hang there. Cage already knows his birthday. Tor also talked me down from buying something expensive.

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Can you help me put it on?”

“Of course.” My hands shake as I help clasp the bracelet. The brush of my fingers on his skin sends tingles of excitement through my body, and I fumble it more than once. I want to hold him in my arms. Kiss him again.

“It’s beautiful.” His eyes catch mine, and I can’t look away.

I take a chance. Very unlike me. I brush my fingers over the side of his face, my thumb caressing his cheek. As I lean in, his hand settles on my hip. He’s not pushing me away. I kiss him, softly at first. But it quickly changes into a fire I can’t control. Erik pulls me closer as our mouths connect. Sloppy kisses with zero finesse but so much want.

“Erik?” We jump apart as a woman comes through the door. She looks just like Dom. This time, I notice things I didn’t before. Her bright-green eyes have dark circles underneath. Her raised chin has a few freckles. “Hello, Cage.”

I smile, sure this time I’m getting it wrong. The wariness in her eyes tells me more than Erik or Tor ever could. Her relationship with Cage still isn’t good. “Hi…” I can’t bring myself to call her mom. It feels like a lie.

She wraps her arms around herself. “A little warning, Erik?”

“Sorry, Cal. But he…was persistent.”

“I can see that.”

Erik flushes. Is he embarrassed to be caught kissing me? Probably not. But Cage. Definitely. “Cal…”

She waves her hand. “Some things never change.”

“You’re early,” I say, checking the clock. One forty-five.

“You’re lucky I’m here at all. If I’d known—” Her eyes cut to Erik again. She sighs. “Being early is how I roll. It shouldn’t surprise you.”

I’m not prepared for this. Talking to her. “It shouldn’t.” I’ve never been comfortable looking in someone’s eyes. It feels like too much. Callie is no different.

“What’s this about Cage?”

I want to ask her to wait. The others will be here soon. But I can’t do that. “You’re more beautiful than I remember.” My face heats up. From behind her, Erik stares at me and mouths, “What the fuck?”

“Thank you?” She shifts her stance. “Why are you acting so strange?”

I catch and hold her gaze. She deserves the truth or some version of it. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“You’re being awkward, Xander. Stop it,” Erik says, and I wish not being awkward was a choice for me. He goes to the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water. He holds it up in question, and I shake my head. The only thing I want is him. He offers one to Callie and she also declines. Erik downs a third of the bottle, and I have to look away. Getting an erection in front of your…supposed mom is not a good idea.

Callie watches us both with narrowed eyes. After a few awkward moments she gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry about the baking competition.”

“Why?”

She laughs in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Your bakery won. No need to apologize for that.”

“You’re…different. Did you go to therapy or something?”

I choke out a laugh. I’m the improved version after therapy? That makes me happy. “Thank you.”

She laughs again and looks at Erik. He shrugs.

I smile again, and this one feels real. “I can see why Mom cares about and loves you so much.”

Her breath catches. “What?”

The doors swing open and Clinton rushes in, his eyes bulging. “Um….people…out there.” His eyes dart to me and then back to his brother.

“Then why are you in here?”

“People…” He waves his arms. “Out there.”

“We’ll take it from here, squirt,” Tor says, striding into the room with a wide grin. He pats Clinton on the head, and the kid’s cheeks get bright red. I don’t need to check his nails to know this isn’t the brother I was raised with. “Hey, Mom.” He kisses Callie on the cheek. “Bro.” He winks at me.

“Hey, sweetie.” The worry lines disappear as she gently touches his cheek. “First Cage and now you. Is this a family reunion?” She laughs. How long has it been since Xander and Tor were at the bakery together? Probably a long time.

“It is, Mom. It definitely is. One that’s long overdue.”

She nods, but a line between her brows tells me she’s still not sure what’s going on. “I’ve missed you both.”

“Longer than that. Maybe go back twenty-five years.”

“What? Tor⁠—”

He takes her hands, his expression serious for once. “You’ve been through so much. I never realized.” He swallows and smiles again. “We have a surprise for you.” He glances over at Erik. “For all of you.”

Erik shifts on his feet as he darts a look from Tor to me and back. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.”

“God. Enough with the theatrics, Tor.” This isn’t part of the plan. But I have a feeling Tor does whatever he wants.

He winks again and says in a louder voice, “Time to start the party. Xander’s getting agitated.”

“I’m not⁠—”

The door swings open, and Callie gasps as Cage walks in with a sheepish grin. He goes around Tor and kisses Callie on the cheek. “Hey, Mom.”

“Cage, but—” Her eyes meet mine, and I don’t look away. Her eyes widen. “Xander?”

“Yes.” I swallow the lump in my throat and sneak a look at Erik. He’s staring at Cage and me as if he’s seen a ghost.

“I don’t understand,” Erik says, his voice going higher. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, it gets better.” Tor is obviously enjoying this. “Ready for the next contestant on This is Your Life?”

“Tor, stop being an ass,” Dom says as he enters the room.

“What? I didn’t want another Dottie incident. No one’s allowed to faint.”

“Are you…Dominic?” Callie whispers. Her hands cover her mouth as tears stream down her face. “How?” Her gaze goes to the door. “Is Sophia—” She breaks off.

“She’s okay.” Dom holds her arms and nods. “She’s alive.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Dom wraps his arms around her. “So happy to finally meet you, Mom.”

“Erik?” Clinton asks, sounding panicked. “What in the heck is going on?”

“Not sure. Does someone want to explain this?”

“I can explain.” Somehow, I missed my mother entering the room. She looks radiant. No trace of sadness on her face. “Hello, Callie.”

“Sophia. I thought you’d—the tornado⁠—”

“I know. So much time lost. And our boys…” She looks around the room. “I can’t believe this is real.”

Paxton and Lucinda stand in the back, out of the way. Everyone moves as Mom approaches Callie and pulls her into an embrace. I blink back tears, although everyone else seems to have the same problem. Everyone but Erik.

“Still waiting for an explanation,” he says softly, but with a lot of sass.

I grab his hand. “Come on,” I say, leading him to the garden. “I can explain everything.”

It’s a perfect fall day. Not too hot and not yet cold. I pull him over to the bench. “My mom is Sophia,” I say, in case he missed that part. “She and Callie were friends—pregnant at the same time. Each of them had a set of identical twins. They didn’t know that. Anyway, they gave birth on the same day in the same hospital⁠—”

“How?”

“I’m not sure. I think they planned it.”

He accepts that explanation with a nod. “Go on.”

“You know about the tornado. Dom and Cage accidentally got switched⁠—”

“Did they really give their kids the same names?”

I give him a mock glare. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“The rest is self-explanatory. We were raised as brothers. Fraternal twins. And before you ask, I don’t think Callie or Mom knew they had the wrong children. Or if they did, they accepted us as their own. And here we are.”

“Here we are.” Erik shakes his head. “So, everything you told me was true? You were never with Ren.”

“No. I’ve never been with anyone before you. Zero experience.” I’m not embarrassed by that anymore. “You’re the only one.”

“So I had no reason to hate you.” He takes my hand.

“You didn’t know.”

“And you love me?”

I touch his face. “I do.”

He kisses me, and the fear surrounding my heart breaks free. I let myself believe this is real. “I was such an idiot. But I couldn’t believe my own heart. It’s lied before.”

“It may take you a while. You loved Cage. But I’ll wait until you tell me to go away.”

“That will never happen. Not now that I know the truth.” He kisses me again. “I never loved Cage. I thought I did. But he never made me feel like this. You may be identical, but you’re nothing alike.”

“So what do we do now?” I wait for the inevitable letdown. I have my hopes too high.

“Now, we go back and celebrate with your family. Then, after an appropriate amount of time, I hope to get you alone—really alone—so we can tick off some more firsts for you.”

“Really?”

He kisses me again. This one is slow and sweet and reaches every inch of my heart, clearing away the doubt and fear. “You’re nothing like him. Your brother is a good person. I can even understand his motives now. But not the right person for me.”

“And I am?”

“And you are.” And then he proves it by kissing me until I can barely remember my own name.

The party includes baked goods and stories shared by both of the families. I love being surrounded by my moms and brothers—and Paxton is okay too—but all I really want is to mark off firsts with Erik. In this instance, being a person known for avoiding people comes in handy. And I may snap at Paxton one too many times.

“Reached your limit?” Dom asks with a knowing smile.

“Yes,” Erik says. “Definitely. Oh, you meant Xander.” He grins at me. “I think we both need some time away from people.”

“Sure.” Paxton winks. “That’s the reason.”

We say our goodbyes, which takes more time than I want, and walk to Erik’s house. Thankfully, he lives on his own and not with his parents. And not with Clinton.

The house is a cute cottage-style one-story. Erik shows me around, looking embarrassed. “It’s not much,” he says as he gives me a tour of the kitchen. It’s homey and warm. Nothing like our big kitchen at home. And as much as I enjoy a kitchen with all the gadgets, I like this more.

“I love it.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know.” I pull him into my arms. “In fact, you’ll find I’m not good at pleasantries. Or sugar-coating anything. Except when I’m baking. But that’s not the point.”

He kisses me. “You’re adorable.”

“I am?”

“No one has told you that before?” He studies me. “That surprises me.”

“Not adorable. I’ve been called irritating. Frustrating. A fucking idiot.”

“Was that me? God, I hope not.”

Time to distract him. “Erik, was there something you wanted to show me?”

His brow crinkles. “The house?”

I shake my head. “You said something about firsts?” My face heats.

“I did.” He tightens his arms around me. “What have you done so far?”

“I had this amazing blowjob by a cute guy. Bakes amazing cheesecake.”

He laughs and pulls me to the hallway. “I think I can top that.”

I wait until we’re in his room to speak. It’s small but nice. Warm colors that match him. “Did you mean the top comment literally?”

He brushes my hair from my face. Can he tell how nervous I am? His hands are reassuring. Caring but also exciting. “No. Not literally. What would you like, Xander? Do you want me to top?”

I stare at his beige carpet because I can’t look him in the eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve never done either.”

He tips my chin up with his finger. “Do you practice?”

“Practice? Oh, you mean do I masturbate?”

He laughs, and my face feels like I’m inside a pizza oven. He kisses the corner of my mouth. “No frowning, sweetheart. Do you touch yourself, Xander?”

“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“God, that’s hot. Have you…inserted anything?”

My eyes dart to his face as my pulse speeds up. “No…except my fingers.”

His hand strokes my back lightly, and now my entire body is on fire. “Plural. More than one?”

I don’t point out that plural is more than one. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod.

“Sounds like you want to bottom. Would you like me inside you?”

I breathe in sharply. “Yes. Please. Can we make that happen?” Do I sound too eager? Too pathetic?

“Fuck, yeah.” He kisses me hard, and I forget about being embarrassed. About being too much. I enjoy his mouth on mine. The tangle of our tongues. His hard body. “I want to make this good for you, baby,” he says against my mouth. “But I want you so much. Please tell me if I need to stop or slow down.”

“I will.” But I can’t imagine wanting him to stop. Ever.

He kisses me again and pulls off my shirt. My nipples harden at his gaze, and he watches my face as he brushes his thumb over it—pleasure surges through me, and I gasp for breath. He does it again. And again. “Do you touch yourself here, Xander?”

“No,” I admit.

He kisses my cheek, and I can feel his smile. “You’re missing out.”

“Not anymore.”

His eyes lock on mine. “Not anymore.” Then his mouth clamps down on my nipple, and I clutch the back of his head with a moan. I need him closer. He sucks on one nipple and then the other. And I’m already a needy mess.

“Can I…taste you?” I ask.

“Absolutely.” He practically tears his shirt off, exposing his broad chest with a dusting of blond hair.

I waste no time, afraid I might talk myself out of it. I kiss his collarbone and trail my lips down his breastbone. I brush my thumb over the hard peak of his nipple, and he gasps. I want to touch him all over. And I’m suddenly overwhelmed.

“Sweetheart?” He tips my head up. “Are you okay?”

God. I’m fucking this up. “Yes.”

“Just focus on me. On my voice.” At my nod, he says, “Do you want to lie down?”

“Yes.”

He leads me over to the bed. And before he can ask, I shimmy out of my pants and briefs. I watch as he does the same. God. His body is so beautiful. My eyes are drawn to his already hard cock. How will all of that fit in me?

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Erik says, and I’m amazed that he can read me so well. It’s easier not having to explain things. “Let’s just explore each other, for now. Okay?”

“Yes.” Is that the only word I can say? “God, yes.”

He chuckles and pulls me onto the bed. Once we’re facing each other, he touches me. My arms. My back. My ass. My stomach. And then, when I can’t stand it anymore, my cock. I make unintelligible sounds as he strokes me.

I don’t want him to stop, but I don’t want it to be over either. “Erik.”

“Do whatever you want, Xander. Whatever feels good.”

“You feel good.”

I push him back on the bed and lay my body over his. And God, why didn’t I do this sooner? Our bodies touching. Our cocks touching. I thrust against him, needing more friction. I hear myself whine, but I can’t seem to stop.

“Tell me what you want, Xander.”

“You inside me.” The words are soft.

“Are you sure?”

I look in his eyes. “Yes. Please?”

He nods and flips us over so he’s on top. When he moves against me, I fling my head back in pleasure because, unlike me, Erik knows what he’s doing.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Hold on.” He leans over to grab supplies. And it’s suddenly real. Exciting. Terrifying. “Pull your legs back.” He shows me, and I grab the back of my thighs to hold myself open and exposed to his hungry eyes. “Fuck, so hot. I may not last.”

His finger touches me. Down my crack. Brushing briefly over my hole. While I appreciate his tender care, I’ve done this much before.

“Need your fingers inside me. Please.”

He groans and rubs his thumb against my hole. My body opens for him easily, and he slips a finger inside. I didn’t mention my practicing has been mostly over the last few days as I’ve imagined Erik fucking me. “Yes. More, please.”

“Oh my holy fuck.” Erik adds another finger, hitting the spot that has me jerking off the bed. “There it is,” he says, sounding proud of himself. When three of Erik’s fingers are easily sliding in and out, I need more.

“You, Erik. I want you.”

Erik kisses my mouth hard before rolling on the condom and adding lube. I feel empty without his fingers. Without something to fill me. And then his cock is lined up at my hole. I start to shake. Need? Adrenaline? Fear? I don’t know, but I don’t want him to stop.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine. Please.”

His kiss is sweet and loving, and then it turns needy and frantic as he pushes into me. The feeling of being full is strange but good. The panic is there on the edge. Worry that all of him won’t fit.

I push the worry away. Erik knows what he’s doing. He’ll fit.

I can do this. Overcome my fear.

“Deep breaths, babe. You’re doing so well for me. And you’re so fucking sexy, Xander.” I relax my muscles, and he slides the rest of the way in.

Then I need him to move.

“Ready?” he asks. At my frantic nod, he slides in and out. My pleasure builds until I need more.

“More, Erik. Faster.”

He grabs my hand, threads our fingers together, and pounds into me faster and faster until I can’t take it anymore. I need to let go.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Come for me.” His hand strokes my cock, and I can’t hold back as my release sprays over my body.

Erik tightens above me, his cock swelling inside me as he lets go.

Afterward, we clean up and Erik pulls me close. “Is this okay?”

It’s more touching than I’m used to, but for now, it’s…nice. “Another first for me,” I say, stroking his chest. “I’ve never cuddled before.”

He kisses me softly. “You’re in luck. I’m the best cuddler in the world.”

“How would I know if that was true?”

He grins. “I guess you have to take my word for it.”

I sigh. I wish I could’ve lasted longer. “There’s so much I want to do with you.”

“Xander. We have all night.”

“True.”

“And more than that,” he says. “We have the rest of our lives.”

“We do?” I search his eyes.

“Idiot.”

“I get called that a lot.” I settle back on his chest. Content.

“I love you, Xander Cage Marchetti. You. No one else.”

His words bring back the caterpillars. “What if I’m too much?”

He kisses me. “You never have to change for me. I love you for who you are. And, Xander?”

“Yes?”

“You will never be too much.”

We came into the world like brother and brother,

And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another.

(The Comedy of Errors, Dromio of Ephesus 5.1.440-441)

CHAPTER 22

DOM

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Don’t worry,” Cage says, taking my hand and squeezing. “He’s got this.”

“I know. It’s not just that.” We find a good parking spot in front of Vinni’s and get out. Today is Xander’s official first day of running the restaurant. He’s done well for the last few months. But what if he messes up now? Callie and Mom leave for their trip tonight. I’m still not calling Callie mom or calling Mom Sophia. With time, maybe.

We hold hands as we cross the street, but Cage pulls me into his arms before we enter. “You have a big heart, Dom. And I love that about you. Xander will do fine. If he messes up, and he will at some point, he’ll figure it out. Erik will be right there.”

“I know.” I bite my lip. It shouldn’t bother me that Xander has someone else. And it doesn’t really, but I’ve always been a constant in his life. And now I’m not. Cage and I live in Grandville for now as we try to get his catering business off the ground.

“You know what else I love?”

Getting to be with Cage and not caring what anyone thinks is the most amazing part of this. I wiggle my eyebrows. “My big—biceps?”

He laughs. “You. All of you.” His kiss is short and sweet. We have people inside waiting for us. A whole bunch of people.

The restaurant isn’t open for dinner for another hour, but the room isn’t empty. It’s full of staff and family.

“Hey, guys,” Erik says, hurrying over to us. “Can I borrow you for a minute, Dom?”

Not waiting for an answer, he pulls me away from the others. “What’s up? Is Xander okay?”

“No. He’s freaking out.”

“Not unusual. Remember last month at Navy Pier, he had a meltdown.”

“Too many people.”

“The point is you helped ground him.”

“I’m telling you,” he says, his voice rising. “This is different.”

I glance over at the others. No one’s paying us any attention except for Cage. He narrows his brows, and I give him a thumbs-up.

“Let’s go talk to him.” I lead him to the kitchen, but before opening the door, I lean in and whisper, “I’ll show you my secret weapon.”

Xander is pacing in the kitchen. Going from the prep station to the pastry station as he checks that everything is ready. The sous chef watches him with crossed arms and a scowl.

“Jeremy, can you give us a minute?” I ask.

“Gladly,” he growls, glaring at Xander.

“Bruh. What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that.” His response seems automatic as he stares at the grills waiting to be used.

I catch his eyes and take his arm. “Hey, what’s going on in the head of yours?”

“What if I can’t do this?” His eyes are wide, and he’s breathing faster than I’d like. I arch a brow at him. He shakes his head. A small smile on his face. “I can do this,” he says dutifully.

“You have been doing this.”

“Yes. But now—” He stops and shakes his head again. “I can do this.” His gaze darts behind me and back. He lowers his voice. “Why am I so high-maintenance? What if Erik leaves me?”

I laugh and squeeze his arms. “That man adores you. I’m not sure you can get rid of him.” I motion for Erik to join us.

As Erik gets closer, he hesitates. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, babe.” He studies the floor.

I need to get us back on track. “Jeremy is going to burst in here at any moment, so let’s do this.” I hold up a marker.

Xander’s eyes widen. “No. I’m fine.”

“You’re not. But you will be.”

He briefly closes his eyes. “I’m not a child, Dom.”

“No,” I say, pointing the marker at him. “You’re a fully functional and capable adult who needs a reminder now and then.” I hand the marker to Erik. “Just a little something right below the crease of his elbow. Something to remind him he’s not alone.”

Erik taps the marker against his chin as he eyes Xander. Then he grins and uncaps the marker. He holds out his hand, and Xander gives him his arm with a sigh, only squirming a little as Erik works. After he finishes, Erik writes on his own arm. Then he clicks the cap on the marker, looking proud of himself.

Xander stretches his arm out to get a good look. It’s a Zelda life heart, half-full. Erik holds out his arm, showing off his own half-full Zelda heart. “Together, they make one full life.”

Xander’s eyes get misty then he grabs his boyfriend and kisses him. I back out of the room. My work here is done. “Give them a few,” I tell the sous chef and then find Cage.

“Everything okay?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me.

“Perfect.”

The night goes smoothly after that. Nothing burns down. No one quits. We sit and enjoy our meal in the front so we aren’t tempted to hover in the kitchen.

“Are you guys ready for your trip?” Paxton asks. He’s talking to the moms, but his gaze keeps straying to Tor.

“We are now,” Mom says, beaming at Xander, who’s across the room chatting with customers.

Callie smiles at me. “Thank you, Dom.”

“It’s all Xander.”

“I would like to mention,” Tor says, waving a hand around. His nails are silver today with glittery sparkles, “I helped Ricki. She’s an amazing baker but struggles with confidence. I shared my secrets with her.”

“You have secrets?” Paxton raises a brow.

Tor bites his lip. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Why do you make everything about you, princess?”

He leans in, his fingers touching Paxton’s arm. “Because everything is about me.”

The air around them practically crackles with pent-up sexual tension. They need to go ahead and fuck or something. But I focus on Cage because I do not need to think of my brother or Paxton like that.

Cage kisses my cheek. “Aren’t they sweet?”

Not the word I’d use. He laughs and motions to Mom and Callie. They’re smiling at each other, and Callie gives Mom a quick kiss. I don’t need to think of our parents like that either, but at least they aren’t practically eye-fucking each other.

But they are sweet together. And deliriously happy.

At the end of the night, after everything is cleaned up, we congratulate Xander and the staff on a great evening. I hug my brother. He will always be my brother. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you, Dom. For everything.” Then, even though it’s not his favorite thing, I hug him again.

The staff leave for the night, and the moms say goodbye soon after. They have a hotel near O’Hare for the night. Their flight leaves early in the morning. We all hug and wish them a safe trip. The change in Mom has been amazing. Seeing her happy after everything makes me very, very happy.

Xander and Erik leave not long after, holding hands. It’s hard to believe he’s the same person from a few months ago.

“Now that the mothers are gone,” Pax says, grabbing Tor’s arm. “We’re going to repaint Sophia’s office. It’s still that horrible gray.”

“We?” The look on his face is defiant. Challenging. “I don’t paint. My nails⁠—”

“I’ll redo them for you.”

Tor huffs but looks pleased by the idea. “We need paint.”

“Done.” He holds up his hand. “I have all the supplies we need.”

Cage and I exchange a look. Tor side-eyes him. “You’ve thought this out.”

“You have no idea.”

Tor raises his chin. “Why the rush?”

Paxton’s eyes darken as he stares at my twin brother. “Because I’m tired of waiting.”

“Oh.” Tor licks his lips and seems to be at a loss for words. Huh.

“Problem, Tor?”

“Nope. Lead the way, Mr. Delish.”

Paxton growls and pulls him into the hallway leading to Sophia’s office.

Cage glances at me. “Are they going to have sex in Sophia’s—I mean Mom’s—office? That’s just…wrong.”

“Let’s go before they get loud.”

As we head for the door, Tor yells, “Fuck yeah.” We practically sprint to the car.

“Where to?” Cage asks, buckling his seat belt.

“Well, we could drive back to Grandville.” Cage and I have a place. It’s not big or grand. But it’s ours. “Or since Xander and Cage have gone off to celebrate, we have Mom’s house to ourselves.”

“Just us and the servants.”

“They won’t bother us,” I say, slapping his arm. “Besides, now is the perfect time for another sleepover. No brothers around to bother us.”

Want to see what Tor and Paxton get up to in the office? Click here for a bonus scene.

If you enjoyed this book check out, My Best Friend’s Wedding Planner, the first book in my Wedding Disasters series. Zye's plan for the perfect career-saving wedding falls apart. Is the dude of honor to blame?

ALSO BY D.K. SUTTON

Wedding Disasters

My Best Friend’s Wedding Planner

Runaway Prince

My Big Gay Secret Wedding

(Not So) University Series

My (Not So) Slutty Professor

My (Not So) Grumpy Professor

My (Not So) Straight Professor

My (Not So) Bossy Professor

Sloan Brothers Series:

Talk to Me

Equal Opportunity Player: A Sloan Brothers Short (Free on Prolific Works)

Message Received: A Boss/Employee MM Romance

The Hang Up: A Best Friend’s Dad MM Romance

Broken Series:

Broken Sidewalks

Trials of Love Series

Trial & Error

The Virgin Pirate

Chasing Santa: A Trials of Love Christmas Novella

Sweet Regrets and Other Holiday Stories

Stand-alone Titles

An Abundance of Brothers

The Bone Doctor

Accidental Detour

Hot Wishes & Cold Kisses

12 Gays of Christmas

Dusty & Jamaal

WRITTEN AS ADDISON LOYD

Y/A LGBT ROMANCE

Dublin High & Westbridge Academy

Merry Little Lies

Invincible Me

Waiting for Her

When September Comes

Starr Struck

Social Media Contacts for Addison Lloyd:

Facebook.com/addisonlloydwrites

Pinterest.com/addisonlloyd605

Addison Lloyd on Amazon

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Shane Morton for organizing the Twisted Bard series. I’m so glad I got to be a part of it! And thanks to all the authors involved who made this series so much fun to work on: Shane Morton, Drea Roman, Lynn Van Dorn, Marie Sinclair, Abigail Kade, Elizabeth Silver, and Giovanna Reaves!

Due to circumstances and sickness, I wasn’t able to enlist the help of my beta readers this time. I appreciate them being ready, just the same. While I was writing this, my writing group, Romance & More, and my novel writing group, helped me a great deal. Bonnie and T especially gave me amazing insight into things I could do to enhance my story.

Thanks to Kelly, the only one besides my editor to read this story all the way through, for finding errors that were especially hard to spot. And a special thank you to my editor and PA, Abbie Nicole, for taking this book with a short turnaround time, and as always, doing an amazing job. And for her continued support and encouragement.

I’d also like to thank my ARC team and anyone who takes the time to review.

And I can never thank my sister Kelly enough. Her encouragement and willingness to drop everything to support me, means the world to me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

D. K. Sutton loves writing MM romance sprinkled with humor. As an introvert, she has always been a little awkward (and a lot geeky). Turns out, those are handy traits for a writer. Her books are mostly low angst and slow burn. There are always exceptions since her characters don't always play by the rules. She enjoys writing about slightly flawed characters in compromising situations. She has a passion for writing LGBTQ+ stories, because the world needs more love and inclusion and books with queer representation. For a list of all her books, please turn the page.

For more books and updates sign up for her newsletter here or check out her website at dksuttonwrites.com. You can also visit her reader group at facebook.com/groups/cafedk/