Knowing You (10 page)

“I'd better go.”

“That's probably a good idea,” she said, and took a step back so there was no chance of him brushing up against her when he left the room.

Paul paused in the open doorway and looked back at her. Moonlight danced on the edges of her hair and pooled in the depths of her blue eyes until they almost seemed to glow with some sort of inner light. And Paul had to force himself to keep from reaching for her. To reclaim the warmth he'd found so briefly in her arms.

But if they were going to be just friends again … then he didn't have the right.

*   *   *

Paul spotted his brother's Vette the minute he pulled into his driveway. A quick flash of something that felt a lot like guilt shot through him. Paul squeezed the steering wheel, flexing his hands as if trying to wring that guilt out of his mind. It almost worked. Until he parked the car and saw Nick, sprawled on the front steps looking like a man who'd lost his last friend.

“Shit.” He still had the taste of Stevie on his mouth and now he had to look his twin in the eye and pretend that nothing had happened. Hell. He should have taken acting classes rather than concentrating on all those useless science courses.

Unsnapping the seatbelt, he turned off the engine and climbed out. A cold, fresh wind swept across him, ruffling through his hair and chasing away the last of the warmth he'd taken home with him from Stevie's place.

“Hey, brother.” Nick leaned his back against the
stair rail, one leg drawn up so he could rest his elbow on his knee and prop his head on his hand.

“What're you doing here?” Paul started forward, flipping his keys in his right hand.

“Thanks for the welcome. Good to see you, too.”

Paul stopped, took a breath, and tipped his head back to stare at the night sky. Counting to ten had never worked for him, but staring at the stars was a pretty good stall tactic. Tonight, wide, thick clouds raced across the stars and the wind quickened as if signaling another coming storm.

But then he could have guessed at that without the hints from Mother Nature.

Bracing himself, he turned to look at his brother. “It's late, Nick.”

His twin unfolded himself from the stairs, stood up, then unsteadily leaned one hip against the railing. “Yeah, I know. Getting later all the damn time.”

“You drunk again?” Paul's eyes narrowed as he watched the other man. In the last few weeks he had gone from sometime party animal to dedicated drinker. And the change hadn't exactly been a plus for his personality.

Nick reached up and shoved both hands along the sides of his head. “Fair question, and no. I'm not. Stone-cold sober and not really loving it.”

“You used to be pretty good at it,” Paul said with just a touch of sympathy. “It'll come back to you.”

“I guess.” Nick avoided his brother's eyes, shifting his gaze around the yard, squinting into the darkness, staring blankly at the trees dancing in the wind. “I need to talk to you.”

After his little heart-to-heart with Stevie, Paul was in no mood for more conversation. All he wanted now was a shower and a bed. But watching his minutes-older twin, he knew that wasn't going to happen.

Family.

If there was one thing the Candellano children had been brought up to believe it was their parents' favorite saying,
Family Comes First
. No matter what, you stand for your family. Friends will come and go, but your family would always be there. To which Carla usually added, “Whether you wanted them to be there or not.”

Paul smiled to himself at the thought, but he knew his relationship with Nick went even deeper than his feelings for the rest of his family. They were twins. They'd shared a womb. Growing up, they'd shared a bedroom and more than one plan for world domination. They'd teased Carla as a unit, driven Tony crazy, and together they'd formed a united front against Mama and Papa when punishments were handed down.

Twins. As close as any two people could be. Despite their differences, they shared a bond that no one else could ever touch. A connection that couldn't be broken—though Christ knew it had been bent often enough over the years.

“Come on in,” Paul said, surrendering to the inevitable. He started up the six redwood steps that led to the narrow deck running across the front of his house.

Nick's steps sounded out slowly behind him, and Paul braced himself for a long night. Whatever had crawled into Nick's guts to fester had apparently picked tonight to show itself.

Paul shoved the key in the lock and turned it, opening
the door and hitting the switch on the wall at his left as he entered.

Instantly, soft, muted light spilled into the darkness, dissolving shadows, creating warmth. His gaze shot around the familiar room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were aligned on each side of a river rock fireplace. Hardwood floors gleamed in the overhead light, and the four overstuffed chairs crowded in front of the fire-place practically screamed at a person to sit down and relax.

Paul tossed his keys on the high bench by the door and kept walking, passing through the living room and turning left into the large, efficient kitchen. Light wood cabinets lined the walls, and a butcher-block table for two sat before a bay window that overlooked the wide front yard.

Nick kept pace with him, and when Paul offered to make coffee, Nick just nodded and plopped down onto one of the two chairs drawn up to the narrow table.

Nick watched his brother and wondered why his twin was so much more together than he was. How in the hell had his life gotten so far out of control? He felt like he was spinning and the world kept rushing past at such amazing speeds he could barely make out the colors in the swirl of motion.

But then, he and Paul had always been vastly different people, twins or not. Even their homes were complete contrasts. Nick's place was chrome and glass and …
cold
. He'd paid a decorator to come in and do the place and he'd never felt at ease in it. Hell, he spent as little time there as possible. It was just an apartment, after all.

But Paul had a damn nest here. He'd bought the land and had a custom home built. Cost a damn fortune, no doubt, but it was worth it. Richly wood-paneled walls, hardwood floors, and enough books to stock a library. Yet the … feeling in the house was … inviting. Welcoming. Good thing, since Nick really needed to feel welcome tonight.

“So where were you tonight anyway?” Nick asked, wanting to avoid thinking as much as possible. He leaned back in the chair. “I was waiting outside forever.”

Paul slapped coffee into a filter, dropped it into place, and flicked the
ON
switch. “You should've come in. You've got a key.”

Nick scraped one hand across his jaw, fingering the two days' growth of whiskers. “Your key's at my place. Haven't been there in a couple of days.”

“Where've you been?” Paul glanced at the coffeepot while it bubbled and hissed, as if mentally hurrying it along.

“I asked you first,” Nick said with a forced smile, not really wanting to talk about the last couple of days yet. “So who were you with tonight? Judging by the way you're dressed, you weren't out with that writer. Was it the astronaut?”

“No,” Paul said tightly. He didn't want to talk about his old girlfriends. Didn't want to stroll down memory lane with Nick. “It was … nobody.”

Nobody. Hell, Nick thought, he'd been stocking his life with nobodies for two years. At least Paul's nobodies had class. Women with brains as well as bodies.
Someone you could actually talk to without being bored into a stupor. “Been there, done that.”

“Right.” Paul changed the subject abruptly while he poured out coffee for each of them. “So what're you doing here anyway?”

“That's the million-dollar question.”

“What's the answer?” Paul asked, carrying two cups of coffee to the table. “Still black?”

“Yeah.” Nick took the cup from his brother and curled his fingers through the wide handle. He stared at the steam lifting from the cup and twisting into the air as if he could see his future in the swirling mists. “I haven't changed that much.”

Paul shook his head and took the seat opposite Nick, stretching his legs out and crossing his feet at the ankles. “The last month or so, Nick, you've changed plenty.”

“That's 'cause I'm screwed.”

“Yeah, I've noticed. So has everyone else in the family.”

Nick winced at the direct hit.

“Just say it, will ya?”

“That's the trouble. Haven't been able to say it. Not to you. Or Mama. Hell,” he muttered thickly, “not even to myself.” Nick lifted the cup and noted with some small amount of pleasure that his hands weren't shaking anymore. One good thing, anyway. Taking a sip, he let the hot liquid slide down his throat and hit his empty stomach like a blessing. Warmth spread through his system, chasing away the cold he'd been carrying with him since that last day at his orthopedist's office. “I'm through.”

“With what?”

Nick lifted his gaze to Paul's and forced himself to say the words he'd been trying to forget for weeks. “I'm finished with football. My career's over.” He took a breath and said the rest of it. “My knee's fucked. The doctor said one more good hit and if I'm lucky, I'm looking at a cane for the rest of my life. Not lucky, and I'm popping wheelies in hospital hallways.”

God. The words were hanging in the air like some black banner of death. He could practically see them. Feel them, wrapping around him like a shroud or something. Everything he'd worked for. Everything he'd been shooting for since high school was now done. Taken from him because he'd gone one way and his knee'd gone the other.

Paul winced. “Jesus, Nick.”

“Yeah, I know.” Nick stared into his cup again as if trying to see beyond the surface of the coffee and into his own murky life.

Paul slammed his coffee cup down onto the table hard enough to slosh some of the dark brew onto the wooden surface. “That's why you've been drinking half the state dry for the last month?”

“Seemed like a plan at the time,” he muttered, noticing that he wasn't really getting the sympathy he'd expected from his own damn twin.

“Bullshit.”

Nick's gaze snapped up to his brother's. “What?”

“I said bullshit. That wasn't a plan; it was a retreat.”

“That's great.” Anger surged through him. “Thanks for the support.”

“You don't need support. You need a kick in the ass.”

Nick's eyes narrowed and his blood pumped hot and ready through his veins. Hell, it'd be good to pop somebody. A little pain to the body might be enough to ease the pain in his mind. “You want to give it a shot?”

Paul shoved one hand through his hair and damn near snatched out a handful just as a distraction. “Tonight … don't tempt me.”

“Damn it, where's my sympathy?” Nick stared at his brother. Despite the subtle competition between them over the years, he'd always been able to count on Paul. Until now … when he really needed him. Had Paul gotten so damn successful now that his brother's problems didn't matter a damn? “I thought you'd understand.”

“Yeah. I understand that you're acting like a damn fool. So you lost football. So what?”

“So what?” Nick jumped up from the chair with enough speed to flip it over and it clattered on the floor, sounding like the snap of bones. “You can say that to me? What if this was you, huh? What if some doctor behind a mile-wide desk looked at you and said you could never touch a damn computer again? What then, brother?”

Paul jumped up, too, and faced him down. For a computer geek, Paul had always been plenty fit. They even used to work out together until Nick turned pro and started working with a trainer. Watching him now, Nick almost hoped his twin would throw a punch. It'd feel good to work off some of this … crap running through his system.

“If I couldn't touch a computer, I'd find something else to do.”

“Just like that?” Nick snapped his fingers and glared at his twin. “You could give up what you've been working for your whole damn life with no problem?”

Paul's hands were bunched at his sides as if he were as ready for a good brawl as Nick was. “It wouldn't be easy, but I'd do it. Just like you will.”

“Do what?” Nick demanded. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Did you expect to play ball forever?” Paul argued.

“No. But damn it,
I
say when it's over. Not some damn doctor.”

Paul swallowed back the anger crouching at the base of his throat. He stared at his brother and felt the old instinctive urge to protect rise up inside him. No matter what else went on between them, he and Nick had always watched each other's backs. They'd stood up for each other against bullies in school and covered each other's asses when their parents went on the warpath. Now was no different.

“What do you do?” he asked quietly, watching the tension slowly seep out of his brother's stance. “Any damn thing you want, Nick. That's the point.”

“I
want
to play football.”

“You can't.”

“I never wanted to do anything else.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, reaching out to slap one hand on his brother's shoulder and squeeze. “I know.”

“I don't know how to do anything else, man.”

“You can learn.” “Yeah?” He snorted. “You want to hire me at your fancy-ass think tank company?”

“Not particularly,” Paul admitted.

Nick laughed shortly. “See?”

“There are plenty of places that would jump at the chance to hire Nick Candellano. Things change,” Paul said. “You'll adapt.”

A long minute ticked past while the simple truth dropped into Nick's consciousness. He didn't want to let it in. Wanted to keep ignoring reality and fight for the life he was meant to live. The life he'd worked hard to get. But there was no saving it. It was done. His dreams were over and Paul's were riding high. Where was the fair in that? Finally, though, he looked at Paul. “We're not gonna fight, are we?”