“It’s my job, just doing my job,” I reminded him, and allowed Drew to lead me out of the restaurant and drive me home to my small, run-down apartment.

Jake

Two weeks later

I was shifting into fifth gear as I came out of the tunnel when the Bluetooth rang through the car, interrupting the Led Zeppelin pumping through the speakers. There was finally a hint of spring in the air, so I’d decided to ditch my Hummer and chase the blue skies in my BMW coupe this morning, and didn’t want to be disturbed.

Emotionally, I’d made limited progress over the last year, but I was killing it business wise. One of the reasons being I finally dug my head out of my ass and started listening to my millionaire mogul twin brother when it came to running my two—soon to be three—gyms. Even though his shit advice did take away from my goofing off (a.k.a. fucking around) time.

“What’s up, bro?” I answered the call after seeing it was Lane on the screen.

“I’m heading down to Pittsburgh later this week. Want to grab a beer?”

“Yeah, sure. When?”

“Looks like Friday. I hate to be away from Bess and my baby girl over the weekend, but one of the head honchos from the new big hotel conglomerate building downtown is going to be there Friday afternoon, and he wants to meet. This deal would be serious money, so there’s no way I’m saying no. I’ll meet him on Friday, and then meet up with you, spend the night at the hotel, and head back on Saturday.”

Flicking my turn signal to head up the ramp toward Oakland and my original gym, Fizzle Fitness, near the University of Pittsburgh campus, I asked, “You sure?” I knew he really didn’t like being away from his wife and daughter, let alone on a weekend.

“James is coming back to visit on Wednesday, and—”

I smirked to myself. Leave it to my brother to fall for a girl whose best buddy was a gay-blade hotel concierge she met in South Beach.

“She wants you to check up on me,” I said, finishing his sentence, forgetting James and the paces he put Lane through for a moment. I knew my sister-in-law, Bess, had a soft spot for me, the bad twin brother. Lane was always the responsible one, the good one, and me? Well, I was the fuckup.

“Jake, she cares. You know I don’t really give a fuck. I know you’re doing better and going to be fine after I make you an even richer son of a bitch, but you know Bess. She worries, so yeah, she wants a report.”

What the hell did he know? Lane had it all, and probably thought that me making money was going to fill the hole inside my heart, or lighten the darkness in my soul.

I ran my hand along the steering wheel and took a calming breath. “I’m still in therapy, what else does she need to know? I’m doing it for her. Ever since I saw the tears in that girl’s eyes when we pulled that last bait-and switch routine, taking advantage of being twins. Shit, when all the truth came out and Bess realized you were there the night she hit rock bottom, I knew I needed to grow up and stop playing games. It’s all thanks to Bess that I realized how important the truth is. Tell her that.”

Christ, Bess could be so infuriating, but she meant well. Yeah, she’d been a major druggie and a drunk in college, but she didn’t need us to tiptoe around her these days.

“Jake! Are you listening to me? You know she doesn’t like secrets, and she won’t be happy unless I sit you down and check in with you,” Lane shouted through the car’s speakers.

“Yeah, yeah. Friday. I assume the Tap Room?” Only the best hotel and beer joint for my fancy bro. He might be pussy-whipped and moved out to rural Pennsylvania, but he was still as cosmopolitan as they came.

There was no fucking way I was getting out of it. Bess was a determined little bird. She was the one who held it together when Lane had some type of breakdown over our secret, the one we’d never told anyone. Bess blew the whole fucking thing wide open, making it all right in the end. For him, anyway.

“The Tap Room. I’ll text you when I’m done,” Lane said, closing the discussion as if it ever were one, and hung up.

Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” filled the car when the Bluetooth disconnected, but I was no longer feeling it. I turned down the volume as I turned the car into my spot behind the gym. I got out of the car and slammed the door behind me, my Timberland boots thudding heavy on the ground as I stalked toward the back door of Fizzle, still knee deep in regret. Fucking Bess. But she was right; I still needed help.

“Hey, Jakey!” Camper hollered at me over the 50 Cent blaring from the gym area. She was waggling her fingers, trying to be seductive, but her eagerness killed the whole effect.

“What are you doing here today?” I demanded. “How come you’re not in the burbs?” It came out a little gruffer than I expected, but I was moody after my little walk down memory lane. Lane could be such a pain in the ass.

“Nice to see you too, boss. I have a meeting with Rosie here for our combined marketing campaign. How’s the new site coming?”

“Fine. Fucking contractor is screwing me big-time, so I’m going to have to haul his ass outta there and get someone new soon, but yeah, it’s fine.”

I stomped toward my office, running my hand through my hair. It was longer again. For years, I’d kept it buzzed, other than those few months when I kept it real long in the front like Lane. Lately, I’d come to terms I wasn’t the cocky D-1 baseball player I’d been in college, and grew my hair into a “style.” My hairdresser convinced me one night after blowing me in the back of her salon.

“Want to see the new billboard ads?” Camper called after me.

“Nah, I trust you. Don’t forget to send them to Bess for the website.” My voice carried through the hall until I was finally in my office and about to shut the door. Yeah, Bess worked for me too because the meddling wench had infiltrated every single facet of my life.

“Sure you’re okay?” came a whisper from the doorjamb.

I nearly jumped a foot, grabbing my chest as I caught my breath. “Shit! Camper, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Camper was a case in point; she’d been Bess’s neighbor and partying mate in college. In fact, she was one of the few to bear witness to Bess’s downward spiral, and then Bess cut her off when she went to rehab. Lord only knew why she let Camper back into her life, but she did. Somehow I had tangled myself well and good in their web.

“I mean it,” Camper said. “You seem upset. Still mad at the way I made fun of that lawyer?”

“No, not that, but that was a shit thing to do, Camp. Bess is on my case. She’s sending Lane down to check on me.”

I sat down on my desk and sifted through the mail. Invoices and more invoices for the new construction and equipment for my newest venture, Fizzle Cubed. I pulled on my hair, breathing deeply, and considered changing and jumping on the treadmill.

“Who made Bess the Godfather?”

Lifting my head, I gritted out, “What did you just say?”

Camper narrowed her eyes at me. “Bess. You all jump every time she says jump. She’s an ex-junkie who wooed your brother. So, what gives?”

“Are you fucking serious, Camper? She’s your friend and my sister-in-law.” I stood up, and my height loomed over her petite figure.

“Yeah, I am. I sit around here all day, doting on you, waiting for you to notice me—for more than sex—and you only cater to Bess.”

“Where the hell is this coming from?”

Apparently Camper had worked up a head of steam, because now she hooked her hands on her hips and spewed fire. “Well, I ask you how you’re doing and it’s always fine and good. I ask you to open up to me, and you go about business as usual, flirting and shit. Bess threatens to send Lane, and you’re totally bent out of shape.”