Page 111 of Van Cort
He’d trusted them – both of them. But especially, West. West, his twin. West, the one who was supposed to care and give a damn.
Her foot slipped again, and this time her legs fell over the ledge. He used everything he had – every inch of his strength to hold her there. She only needed to say she wanted him – that it had been a mistake, that she was confused, that she’d go to Harvard and they’d all be back to where life was. They’d find a way. They’d make it work.
“Oh my god. Help me! Help me!” she shouted, trying to get a foothold. “West! West, please!”
“Pull her up!” West shouted. “Rhett? Jesus fucking Christ. Rhett! Don’t.” She just had to say the words. Prove herself. That’s all he wanted. Just some fucking loyalty for everything he’d done for her. She didn’t. She just kept shouting for West. And, of course, he rushed towards them both, his hands reaching for her.
Rhett let go the second his brother touched her, and she slipped from his grip and screamed until the echo of that scream was gone.
He didn’t fucking lose.
He’d never fucking lose.
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN
WEST
Idon’t know where my brother is. I also don’t give a damn.
I left her in her bed at five am, and I’ve been walking around Seattle since. That’s three hours trying to convince myself that instigating this fucking charade was a sensible plan. At first, it was. It was payback, and revenge, and spite and hate. I thought I could use our identical appearance to cause him as much agony as he caused me. But, looking back now, I never thought about just how similar we are in the opposing way. In fact, it never occurred to me that what he falls for, I’ll fall for. What he wants, I’ll want. What he desires, I’ll desire. Ishould have known that because we are the same, despite our differences. Our genes search for the exact same thing every damn time, and there’s no plan that accounted for that. What he needs, I need. The past proved that.
“Everett?” I look sideways at a man’s voice. He smiles and offers me his hand to shake. “It’s been a while. How’s business?” I have no idea who this fucking guy is, and, more importantly, I don’t care. Who knows, I – we – Van Cort – might even own him somehow.
“Demanding. You?”
“Stock’s up. Market’s strong.” He drones on about share prices and straightens his suit, all the time posturing his stature and position simply by existing. My brother does that, too. Something about him always was bigger than me, bolder than me, better than me. Not to Lara, though. No, she wanted me. And him.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get to your work.”I suppose this suit I’m still in from last night makes him think that. Everett’s suit. Perfectly cut. Perfectly fitted. The true Van Cort appearance. It isn’t, though. True, that is. Or it wasn’t before this time now. My Rhett would never have worn this.
But he isn’t mine anymore, is he?
Circumstances changed him, us, everything.
I watch the guy walk off to an expensive car idling by the side of the road, and question, not for the first fucking time since I came back here, what Iwant out of this place we’re in. It’s all well and good him saying that we could get what we’ve spent our lives searching for. But falling in love with something he loves is easy, and wanting what he wants is easy, too. That’s what we are - it’s who we are inside, where we’re both honest and we only allow who we are to rule our being. What isn’t easy is working out whatIwant, and howIwant it, and if I trust him to honour the simplefucking values that I thought we once had. Because he didn’t last time, did he? He killed us.
Looking up and along the skyline, I think back to the home we once shared – the lives we once had. People push past me on the sidewalk, bumping and barging my state of mind. There’s not enough space to breathe here, no room to think either. And that, whilst frustrating to me, must have been hell for him, regardless of his strength and power in this city.
I bet he longs for peace, for order.
Bored with debating my own confusion any longer, I walk the sidewalks straight for the main entrance of the penthouse building, which Van Cort probably owns. I wouldn’t know, but even if generations of us didn’t own this building before Rhett, he would have bought it by now. And screw using back entrances. I’ve done that enough to satisfy his need for control. Why shouldn’t I walk through the front door? I am Van Cort. As much as he is.
The concierge tips his hat at me as he holds the door open. “Good morning, Mr Van Cort.” I smile, just like I did last night at the restaurant, and keep moving for the shiny, private elevator reserved for the top floor.
I haven’t been called Van Cort for a long time. West Van Cort disappeared after that daytwentyyears ago. Europe didn’t know me, and with enough money in my trust fund when it kicked in at nineteen to not need to work, it was easy to become someone new. I just stayed away from the local wealth set and settled in various cities, perhaps, as Rhett says, trying – over time – to find something that meant as much to me as Lara did. But time proved, annoyingly, that it was never just about Lara. It was about a twin brother, and about home, and about another side of me that, despite all attempts to dismiss, lived so strongly inside me that there was no escaping the hold it – he – has on me.
I missed Van Cort.
I missed being me.
I missed being part of him.
The elevator opens and the dark, dimly lit interior awaits me just like it has done every time I’ve walked in here. It’s so fucking like him, it’s disturbing. And yet soothing. It takes me back to who we were, the balance we had. And I wonder, as I stare, if he’d ever have been that way if the beatings had never happened to him. He loved the water once, and playing in the sun, and laughing. We both did. But it drained from him bit by bit until all that was left was obscure and pained. That was his love then, for her and me. Obsessive and fierce, maybe, but he loved us.
Maybe, without Father’s idea of strengthening us, Lara would still be here now.
Maybe she wouldn’t be dead.
Maybe he wouldn’t have killed her in a jealous rage.
