“I told you I was a dancer; I never mentioned where I worked because it never came up. You’ve never shared much about your work, and you’ve never shown an interest in mine. I wasn’t keeping anything from you.”
“Omission is just as bad as a lie,” he mutters.
I’m standing in shock; she really is dating my brother. Hearing them talk, her arguing her case, just made this all real. My skin crawls and I feel physically sick. I’m trying hard to take deep fortifying breaths through my nose and not lose my shit right now. I’m not holding out any confidence in my ability not to tear this place apart in frustration. My palms ache from the pressure of holding my hands in tight fists.
“Is this Mr. Bigshot?” I grind out as smoothly as possible, given that I feel like I have a mouth full of razor blades.
“Yeah, but Cal, I swear I didn’t know he was your brother. I-I, oh, God this is such a mess.”
“So you’ve been fucking us both?”
“Both!” Cole howls. “What the hell do you mean, both? Are you sleeping with him?” he barks at Robyn. His face is thunderous, and I turn to watch her reaction. He’s not the only one wanting the answer to that question.
Her hands fly to her head and she runs them down her face. She’s shaking her head no and the disappointment I feel dwarfs every other emotion currently battling for top spot. I have to interject. I’m not about to stand here and listen to her lie, but she answers him.
“Yes, I’ve slept with him.”
It’s barely a whisper, but I exhale in relief that she didn’t lie about it, about us, even if her words are like a knife twisting in my gut. She’s sleeping with us both. The comprehension hurts like a motherfucker, and I stagger backward and sit on the edge of my desk, trying to process what’s happening. She turns from Cole and looks over at me.
“Callum, I haven’t…we didn’t.”
She doesn’t get to finish because Cole cuts her off.
“All this time you’ve been telling me you’re not in the right place, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for a relationship. All this goddamn time, Robyn, and you’re having sex with my fucking brother. Are you for real? I’ve been waiting for you and—and, Jesus Christ, Robyn!”
She isn’t sleeping with him. The liberation I feel is enough to knock me off my feet if I weren’t already sitting. I drop my head and take a deep breath in reprieve.
“I wasn’t playing you, or stringing you along. It wasn’t like that,” she pleads. “You were the one pushing for more and I didn’t lie to you; I’ve been honest with you about everything. It was you who said we could keep things casual and not label it.”
His face contorts, and the anger that flashes in his eyes has me up and off the desk, putting myself between them.
“How long have you been sleeping with her?” Cole asks. “Just so I know exactly how long it is that I’ve been a mug for.”
I look at Tweet: her eyes are glazed over with tears but she hasn’t let a single one fall yet. She’s struggling, though, I know her well enough to notice that at least.
“Not long; a few days,” I tell him, squaring my shoulders. I’m not sure what he’s going to do with that nugget of information, and if I’m honest, I’m half expecting him to punch me. I wish he had when he shakes his head and takes a few steps back. Cole’s always been the cool and collected one. I’m the hothead of the family. He looks like I’ve just ripped his heart out and passed it to him gloating. I’m pissed and confused, but now I’m mad that my brother is clearly hurting. It’s all too much of a fucked-up situation to process. The three of us together in the same room isn’t making for a healthy discussion. I step back and fix Tweet with a pointed look.
“Stay in here and talk with him. I’m going to go and find someone to fill your spot. We’ll talk later.”
She nods her acceptance, and I have to pull my eyes from her. She looks broken and my natural instinct is to go comfort her, but then my mind catches up and I turn my head.
“Cole?”
“What now?” he retorts in a cold even tone.
“Figure things out with her; come find me when you’re done. We need to talk. I’ll be upstairs.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. My frustration gets the better of me, and I swipe a cup full of pens from my desk, sending them rolling across the dark wooden floor. “Just come find me,” I huff and walk out of the office, slamming the door behind me. The last thing on this planet I want to do is leave them alone, but I can’t be part of this toxic mess for a second longer. Zane is behind the bar and passes over a whiskey before I have a chance to even ask.
“Everything okay?” he asks. What a stupid question.
“Not even close.” I throw my head back and finish the whiskey in one gulp, enjoying the burn. It hits my stomach and makes it roll, but it doesn’t stop me from slamming the glass back down on the bar. “Another.”
He pours without question, and I do the same again, wiping the residue from my lips and dropping my head into my hands. I hear the glass refill next to my head, and I pray to God that when I sit up, this will all have been a really screwed-up bad dream. I raise my head gingerly. No such luck, I’m already awake. My whole body feels as though it’s been put through the ringer, and I can’t form a coherent thought. The image of Cole and Tweet together is dancing behind my eyes and threatening to make me smash the bar up. I look out to the stage, and the girls are carrying on with the show. The band is playing and the patrons are happy. Nobody even knows that Tweet has just blown my whole fucking world apart.
“Are they still in there?” Zane asks, confused, looking over to my office.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look too happy about that.”
“What do you mean? I’m ecstatic!” I deadpan, then throw the whiskey he poured back, wipe my lips and stand.
“You going back in there?” He sounds concerned.
“Fuck no. I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me.”
He nods and I make my way around the bar and toward the steps that lead up to my apartment. I take them three at a time; if I’m quick enough, maybe my problems won’t be able to catch up to me.
I FEEL FOOLISH, used and deceived. It’s heedless, surely, because such emotions should only be a consequence of having loved. And I don’t love Robyn; although I was invested enough to take that step and open my heart— allowing the idea to develop, to flourish. I was too wanting, too willing, and now I’m humiliated by my eagerness to offer myself up so readily. She doesn’t want me, and it’s suddenly blatantly clear why. Only in my wildest dreams would I have imagined this to be the reason. There are over 1.6 million people in Manhattan, and you could argue that half of them are male, that equates to somewhere in the region of 800,000 men. That’s 800,000 potential partners, and she unknowingly climbs into bed with my brother. You couldn’t make this shit up.
“Is Callum the reason that you didn’t want to take things further with us?” I don’t want the answer to this question, but it doesn’t stop me from needing to hear it. I have to know if she was pegging us against one another, as sick as the notion makes me feel.
“No, I’ve already told you,” she sighs. “I wasn’t ready. Cal and I—it wasn’t planned, it just happened. And yes, I know how bad that sounds but it’s the truth. I’m not a liar. I was never dating both of you. He’s my boss and my friend and I didn’t realize what was happening between us until it had already happened.”
“You didn’t realize? What the hell do you take me for, Robyn? How can you not realize?” I pinch the bridge of my nose; it’s throbbing from Cal landing a punch, and the onset of a headache is draining my patience as well as my tolerance.