I shook my head. How could he have possibly believed that? “I want you.”

“Because I’ve been acting like him.”

“You’re nothing like your brother,” I finally snapped. “You’re so much more, so much better, there is no goddamn comparison. Why can’t you see that?”

He reached for my coat and walked it over to me, pressing it into my arms. “This is good stuff Harper, it really is. But the bottom line is—you played along.” He leaned in almost menacingly. “You liked pretending that I’m Troy.”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, as if it would make all this hurt any less. Then moved to the door, pulling it open. Turning only slightly because I couldn’t look at him anymore, I left him with all I had left to say. “I don’t know who put this in your head, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”

25. Harper

25

“Idiot. I’ve seen bigger hits in Little League,” I yelled at the television.

“Why are we watching hockey again on a Monday night?” Nic settled into my sofa with her bowl of Chinese takeout and chopsticks.

Mine was still on the counter untouched. But I was on my second glass of wine, so it wasn’t like I was starving myself.

“You know damn well why.” I’d been watching the last two games waiting for August to hit the ice. After Troy lost Friday’s game and Sunday’s, and the team dropped to third in the league, I was sure he’d come to his senses and have August step up again.

He loved it there, I know he did. This was where he belonged. Why couldn’t these idiots see that?

“He belongs on the ice, Nic. Not Troy. Look at this mess.”

She nodded at the screen thoughtfully. “Yes. Agreed his brother is better.”

“August. August is better.”

“Yes,” her tone was flat.

I paced around the coffee table. “He’s letting Troy take it all away—just standing by and letting it happen.”

She nodded.

“When is he going to fight for what’s his? When?”

“I don’t know,” she answered softly. Sitting patiently on my sofa, watching as I lost my patience with something that had nothing to do with me.

Nic had been staying with me since I showed up at her house in tears on Saturday morning. I couldn’t bring myself to go to her Friday night. I was too upset, I couldn’t talk to anyone. I went home and threw myself into a pillow and sobbed at the mess I’d made.

Nicole packed a small bag insisting on staying with me for the weekend. But it was Monday now, and she was still here.

Aggravated, I took a sip of my wine and set it back down on the coffee table. “What is wrong with you?”