Page 5 of Prove Me Wrong
“I know,” I utter softly, gripping the wheel tight enough for my knuckles to turn white, willing the memories to fade away like clouds dissipating. “Thank you for helping me out this weekend.”
“You got it, twinkle fingers.”
I groan heavily and rest my head on my arm, held up by the window ledge. “Piano is a legitimate hobby. Besides, I tried ballet...”
“No, Mum forced you out when you injured that girl by kicking her off the stage,” he reminds me in an amused tone.
“She was irritating me. And it’s not my fault she called me dainty because I could spin better than her,” I spit.
Sinnett’s chuckle flows through the speaker. “And ironically, now you’re twinkle fingers. Talk about dainty...”
My teeth grit as I straighten my spine. “Maybe I should have stuck with ballet then.”
“You would have been called twinkle toes then.” He laughs even harder this time, and I bite down a grin.
“Whatever. Piano is an important skill to have.”
“So is tackling men and scoring,” Sin counters proudly. I can imagine the big, goofy smile he has right now. He’s always loved playing rugby, and it shows in his multi-million-dollar contract with the North Sydney Wolves. Dad was a player as well in his younger days, and although he might have pushed my brother into the sport as a career, Sinnett loves it and is a top player in the league.
I snort. “Yeah, but at least you’re paid to do that. I was forced out of the dancing school for it.”
“You wouldn’t have lasted there anyway. You’re not mean enough.”
“Dance girls are mean?” My voice rises with curiosity. “Have you not watched those shows with the crazy mums?”
My eyebrows furrow. “No. Have you?”
Sinnett goes quiet, and I snicker loudly.
“Look, sometimes there’s not much on during the week when I can’t sleep,” argues my brother.
“Sure…” I drawl out as a grin takes over my face.
“If you mention it to anyone?—”
“You’ll cork me in the leg, I know, I know.”
Sin sniffs a laugh. “Damn right. You know the deal. Every secret told, corks are rolled.”
My head shakes as I hold in a laugh. “I can’t believe we made that pact when we were seven and it still holds.”
“Yeah, but it’s a good one. We knew back then that Mum and Dad would be just as suffocating as they’ve grown to be.”
I lean back into my seat in silence.I don’t want to think about either of them right now.
Turning down Gran’s street, I pull up in the driveway as Sin parks out on the road in front of the older-looking country home. Cream paint is beginning to peel from timber and moss grows on the roof tiles, turning them a greyish-green shade. The sunlight makes it look as pretty as it did when I was a kid, but I see the strain in the weatherboard walls, the dip in the eaves and dust lightly coating the windows. It’s looking worn and aged but well loved.
Pushing the Jeep door open, I climb out and see Sinnett slowly getting out of his car. Slamming the door shut, he groans while stretching his limbs as I approach him. Sun beams down on me, heating my skin and hair, glaring off his shiny dark car. Leaves crunch under my runners as I ask, “How’s the leg?”
Sinnett’s face levels with me, and I see the pain running through his bright blue irises. I know him far too well for him to hide anything from me. Besides, I'm convinced that twins can feel each other’s pain or at least read it better than anyone else.
“Sore,” he grunts out, massaging his quad muscles. “Sitting in a car for three hours also didn’t help.”
“I’m sorry,” I squeeze out, glancing down at his bandaged leg. “You didn’t have to come with me, though. I can move all of this on my own.”
Sinnett's jaw clenches and he turns away, my eyes landing on his broad back. “I’d be a terrible older brother then, wouldn’t I?”
Snorting a laugh, I walk to his open boot filled with boxes of my things. “You’re only older by fourteen minutes,” I point out.
