Farrow sticks a new piece of gum in his mouth. “That’s not healing in four days, by the way.”
Fuck. Shit. “Mannaggia,” I curse out loud, and I rake my hand across my unshaven jaw. The twin switch—I can’t pretend to be Banks if I’m the one with a visible wound. This isn’t a bruise I can conceal with makeup.
I should’ve been thinking.
An apparent, unspoken solution hangs between Farrow and me. My muscles flex and eyes tighten. “I’m not punching my brother.”
Farrow chews his gum slowly. “Will he be thrown back if you do?”
I take a beat. “No. Banks doesn’t have PTSD.” Just physical pain. My brother still hides his frequent migraines from everyone. Hell, he covers up most injuries.
Just then, the door cracks open. Banks slips inside the bathroom, concern cinching his brows.
“I’m snapped to,” I tell him.
He nods, and I explain how Farrow doesn’t think my lip will heal before I fly out.
Banks cuts me off midway through. “Those idiots are as sharp as marble—they won’t be able to tell a difference if we both have busted lips.”
Yeah.
“So someone needs to hit me in the mouth,” Banks states.
I barely nod, neck stiff.
“It can’t be you, Thatcher.” Banks sounds adamant.
I stare hard at my brother.
We’ve wrestled and sparred each other plenty before, but I can’t lie—this feels different. Maybe because I just got my mind right.
I turn to Farrow.
His lip rises, entertained at the absurdity of this situation. “You really want me to hit your brother?”
“I’m not forcing you,” I tell him. “But yeah.” I trust Farrow.
I’ve always trusted him. And I need him.
“Okay.” Farrow slides off his silver rings from his right hand. His smile grows. “Shit, this is not how I thought today would be going.”
Banks begins to smile and kneels on the tile. “Just don’t knock my teeth out.”
Farrow has a strong right hook, but the Oliveira brothers were pro-boxers and would do worse damage in a single blow.
“You’re not the Moretti brother I’ve wanted to uppercut,” Farrow says lightly. “Your teeth are safe.” His joke alleviates some tension.
My lip wants to lift.
Banks makes the sign of the cross, and I weave my arms over my taut chest. Watching as Farrow forms a fist.
One breath later, he slings his knuckles at my brother, landing with precision on his mouth. His head whips to the side, lip broken open.
I force back a stabbing pain. We planned this, I remind myself. But seeing Banks hurt will always hurt me to some degree.
Farrow shakes out his hand. “Good?”
Banks touches the spot, blood on his fingertips. He cracks a quarter of a smile. “What do you think?” he asks me.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Should work.” I clasp his hand and help him to his feet. I upnod to Farrow in thanks on our way out. We return to the mats where the meeting is taking place, and the team quiets and zeroes in on my brother’s swollen mouth.
Sinclair grimaces. “Which one of you shit-tickets hit him?”
“I fell, sir,” Banks lies.
SFO is smiling. I focus more on the Alpha lead, Price’s glare drilling me with fueled disappointment.
I hear Jane. I’m very, very proud of you.
Remember that.
I’m trying. My chest rises.
“You fell?” Sinclair knows my brother is bullshitting, but he nods and says, “Stop tripping over your damn feet, gent.”
“Yes, sir.”
13
THATCHER MORETTI
Only 2 days until Scotland, and there’s another loose thread that needs to be tied.
Comms active, gun holstered, I stand on guard against the doorframe of a familiar geeky bedroom, triple the size of any bedroom I’d ever seen as a kid.
A six-foot-four armored knight lords over a four-poster bed. Beanbags surround an expensive game console, fantasy paperbacks spilling out of a bookcase. Boxers, tees, and jeans pile on a dresser—more messy than clean, but I’ve seen this place look like a hurricane ripped through.
The bed is made and most empty cans of Fizz and Sprite are actually in the trash bin.
What’s new: the dumbbells in the corner, handwraps and boxing gloves on a desk, hiding a stack of 10th grade homeschool textbooks.
Xander Hale gawks like I just laid out a mission to Mordor. Jaw hanging, eyes wide—he slowly shakes his head. “What?”
My brows pull together. I didn’t expect this reaction from him.
All I can think is: unfuck this before I fuck it completely.
I need Xander on board with the twin switch. Because pretending to be my brother while my brother pretends to be me is a type of manipulation.
A twin swap for a one-day prank is different. Easy. Harmless. To swap with the intention to fool others for my own benefit, not just for shits and giggles—it’s wrong.
Clear-cut.
And the only way to make this okay in my head is to ensure we’re not tricking people who matter to us. Her parents—Banks can’t run into Rose and Connor Cobalt.
And Xander—he has to know the truth. Hell, even if we didn’t tell him, I think he’d notice that Banks isn’t me.
We decided that I’d tell Xander the plan only a couple days before the trip. Less time for him to agonize over the details, the better. But now—staring at his slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression—I’m afraid we miscalculated.
He needs more time to process.
My stomach clenches, and I repeat the first part of the plan. “I’m switching places with Banks. He’ll be here next week to protect you, then I’ll be back.”
Xander is balancing on Maximoff’s old skateboard. Fizz soda in hand, he sinks down in a daze and sits on the board. “You can’t be serious…” Brown hair hangs in his eyelashes.
“I trust Banks with you,” I say with everything I have, “and right now, I need to be with Jane.” It’s never felt more necessary. I can want and desire my girlfriend, but I need to be the man at her side come Scotland.
Not Tony.
Not her brothers.
Not Maximoff or Farrow.
That man has to be me. She wants a teammate, and she needs to see that we’re meant to stand at the end of the line together. That no matter the circumstances, I’ll rip through shackles and be there for her—always.
Forever.
That word stuns my churning brain and ripples through me like life-threatening voltage.
Forever.
I’m barely hanging onto now with Jane. I can’t think about more.
Xander flicks his soda can tab. “That’ll never work, Thatcher—you switching with Banks, I mean.”
“Are you against it?”
“No, no way. I’d do anything for you and Banks. You guys know that.” His amber eyes soften on me. For a single beat, he’s that nine-year-old kid that I carried to safety. Fragile and innocent.
But he’s not nine anymore.
Tissues and lotion are on his nightstand, his voice has dropped, and if he were still standing, he’d stand tall at six-two. His biceps are cut, gaining more strength.
He’ll be sixteen this month, on Christmas day, and I’ve been waiting for him to make it there.
Because my older brother never did. And if I do anything in my life, Lord, let me have this. Helping Xander live when I couldn’t do the same for Sky.
You should’ve biked harder.
You should’ve biked harder.
You should’ve fucking biked harder.
My jaw tics.
I shove down my dad’s crushing voice, and I nod to Xander. “We’ll be able to execute the plan. You don’t need to worry about it.”
His mouth falls. “You really don’t think you’ll get caught? You two don’t look that much alike, man.”
The corner of my lip inches upward
, just slightly, because Xander genuinely believes Banks and I look different. “That’s probably because you grew up around us. For other people it’s harder to tell the difference. Even worse when we’re not standing together.”
“But my parents will definitely know.”
“They won’t.” I don’t dig into those details, but enough confidence encases my voice that Xander starts frowning.
“Wait, did they get you two wrong?”
I don’t want to lie to him, so I say, “A few times.” I don’t mention how one of those was last week.
Xander immediately springs to his feet and steps away from the skateboard. Aiming for the door like he plans to hunt down his mom.
“Hey.” I extend an arm and block the door before putting a light hand on his elbow. “It’s normal—”
“That’s not alright.” A thousand emotions pour out of his expressive eyes. “They’ve known you and Banks for years.”
“My uncles have known me my whole life and some still call me Banks on accident.” I reassure him. “It happens, kid. It doesn’t mean they don’t care.” If I let that shit hurt me or affect me, I’d be in pain every week.
But when people see me—truly see me and not just the twin that I am—it’s a rush. Like drinking the coldest ice water on a scorching summer day, and I feel that every moment I’m with Jane.
I almost glance back at the shut door.
I miss her.
And I’ve only been on-duty for an hour. She’s busy handling the logistics of maneuvering too many people to Scotland. Plus scheduling meetings with local wedding vendors while we’re there.
I’m good at multi-tasking, but that girl could surpass the hell out of me every time. I linger on that thought and almost smile.
Together we could juggle the world.
While I focus solely on Xander, I wear seriousness. He’s processing what I said. And he’s wincing.
“I’m your bodyguard,” I remind him. “You’ve known me for years. It makes sense that you can tell us apart better than your parents can.”
Xander bites his thumbnail, catches himself, and rubs his hand against his jeans. “Yeah you’re right.” He backs up and lowers to the edge of his bed. After a gulp of soda, he asks, “So how many people know about the twin switch anyway?”
“You want the whole list?”
He snorts out soda in surprise, then wipes his nose. “There’s a list?”
I go ahead and rattle off names.
All of SFO, Jack Highland (an exec producer of the docuseries), and the older famous ones: Jane, Maximoff, Charlie, Beckett, Sullivan, and Luna.
Mainly everyone who joined the FanCon tour.
Xander blinks. “Uh, that’s not a secret if that many people know. It’s information.” He crunches the can in his hand. “As the great Varys would say.”
He’s referencing Game of Thrones. Honestly, I wish I could go back in time and tell my stone-cold-serious teenage self how much I’d know about George R.R. Martin and Tolkien and trolls. I’d probably smile more than I ever did.
I fix my eyes on my client. “Then it’s information you need to keep secret.”
He licks soda off his lips. “I can do that.”
I nod strongly, confident in this kid, and I watch his features lighten.
Comms crackle. “Donnelly to Thatcher, coming in hot with lunch.”
I press the mic. “Copy.” To Xander, I say, “Donnelly’s on his way up with food.”
“Awesome.” Xander stands on the skateboard and rolls to the window.
I leave the door and grab my water bottle off his desk.
He pries down a single blind, just enough to peer out of the slat. “Do you think Donnelly is bored? Being on my detail, I mean.”
My brows knit, caught off guard. “Why would you even think that?”
Xander releases the blind and glances back at me. “Because he used to be Beckett’s bodyguard. And before that, Tom’s. So he’s used to hanging around ballerinas and musicians rather than just sitting inside all day and staring at a wall.” Xander shrugs. “And like I don’t even go to Dalton Academy, so there’s no high school drama he can soak up. I’m just boring, so by process of fucking deduction he’s probably bored.”
I squint because he’s seeing something I don’t see. Something I can’t see.
He’s the son of billionaires, a teen spectacle that fans fawn over and media stokes into a worldwide phenomenon—his life is way out of range from slow and average and ordinary.
I shake my head. “I’m not bored, and you’re not boring.” That’s it. End of story. I’m about to twist open my water, but his chest collapses.
I plant 120% of my concentration on him.
“You have to say that. You’re my…you’re my bodyguard.” He runs a hand through his hair.
I go still.
He can barely meet my eyes. What I feel for Xander…it’s as deep as blood, but I’m not his brother. I’m not permanent to his life in that sense, and I’ve tried…
I’ve tried fucking hard to make sure he understands this.
I’m replaceable.
Banks is replaceable. We should just be nameless bodyguards on a team to Xander, and one day another bodyguard will stand here and take our post. He shouldn’t bat an eye or even notice a real difference. His life should continue at the same rate without misstep or back shuffle.
Being on his detail again—I’m blowing a fuse that I already struggled to tear out of a bomb. Confusing him and me.
Swiftly, I act on instinct and scrounge up professional facts. “It shouldn’t even matter what Donnelly or I think. We aren’t here to be entertained by you. We’re here to protect you.”
Xander opens his arms wide. “Exactly. 99% of the time, you’re protecting me inside my own damn room. And we both know that the threats are mostly just me.”
I unscrew my water, muscles stiff as we ride down this road.
I’ve seen Xander at some of the lowest points. I’ve tried to pull him up. I remember him at eleven. How he couldn’t get out of bed one morning. He was crying, sobbing, and could barely breathe as he said, “I don’t want to be here.”
I had to call his parents. I stayed with him. I held his hand.
It’s true that most clients don’t ask for their bodyguards to be in their room with them all day.
Every day.
But Xander Hale has different demons that he needs us to fight off. It’s why I’m here. What I’m made to do.
When he stays inside the Hale mansion, his security detail is often posted in his room with him. Mostly for his peace of mind…and so that he’s not alone.
The times when he’s not doing well, we’ll split shifts so he has a bodyguard around-the-clock, even when he sleeps. It’s one reason why he’s usually assigned two men and not just one.
Right now I don’t want Donnelly to interrupt this conversation, so I whisper quickly into my mic, “Thatcher to Donnelly, standby for five before coming upstairs.”
The line crackles. “Copy that, Thatch.”
Thatch.
Heaviness pounds my chest, but I force myself not to correct Donnelly this time. I’m more concerned about the kid in front of me.
Xander continues, not noticing that I radioed anyone. “I don’t know; maybe if I went out more, it’d be more interesting for Donnelly.” He hangs his head, then swallows the last of his soda.
“Are you trying to impress him?” I take a swig of water.
“No.” He wipes his mouth with the heel of his palm. “I just don’t want anyone else to leave.”
I breathe out through my nose. That hits me hard since Banks and I were the first to really leave him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Fucking A, Thatcher.
The words leave before I can stop them, and I fucking hate that I just made a promise we both know I can’t keep.
I’m going to go where Jane goes. I want to. I need to.
I have to. Everything in my soul wrenches
me in that direction. Hell, it’s been wrenching me for a while. Before I was even her bodyguard.
Xander huffs. “You can’t say that. If they let you back on Jane’s detail, you’ll take it. And I get it. You should.” He inhales a sharper breath. “I just…you know I thought if you were going to be a part of the family, you’d be a Hale.” He shrugs. “Marry Luna or something.”
I tense.
I’m fighting through a steel castle just to be welcomed into the Cobalt Empire, but the closer I am to them, the further I am from the Hales. Every time the three families have trivia nights, sandcastle competitions, relay races—I want to be on my girlfriend’s side. And it’ll be a feat to make it happen.
Team Cobalt.
Team Jane.
But I can’t stand hurting Xander.
I slowly screw the cap onto my water. “I wish you were my little brother, but you’re someone else’s.” It kills me to say that out loud. “Maximoff and even Farrow will be there for you for the rest of your life when I can’t be.”
He has to let me go.
I have to let him go. I shouldn’t be on his detail. It’s not good for either of us.
His eyes redden. “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I just wish I could have all of you. Moffy, Farrow, you, and Banks. I know it’s selfish.”
I rub my mouth, bruise and cut visible from O’Malley’s punch, and then I drop my arm. “I didn’t plan on loving Jane.”
I couldn’t stop it from happening. And now I’m doing everything I can to keep her in my arms.
“I know.” Xander shoots his empty can into a trash bin. “‘Love is the death of duty.’” He quotes Game of Thrones again. “I always figured you’d eventually break the rules for someone you love. I just thought it’d be for Banks.”
I take a tight breath.
I was never put in a position where I’d need to break rules for my brother, but I guess we’re breaking them together now.
“Just so you know,” Xander quickly adds, “I like that you and my cousin are together.” He picks at his fingernail nervously. “I was hard on Moffy and Farrow, and I hated that I was—and I don’t want to do that again. I know Jane looks happy. You seem happy too, and I can handle this.” He mutters under his breath to himself, “I can handle this.”
Sinful Like Us Page 14
