Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
But she was different.
She wasn’t intimidated by my looks or my fame. She didn’t need to hook up with me to check off an item on her bucket list, or so she could brag to her friends or leak the size of my dick—which is substantial—to the media. It’s happened once; the team’s publicist had the article taken down and I was given a slap on the wrist, along with clear instructions to have them sign NDAs. She wasn’t trying to fix me because she thought I was broken from my childhood. And she wasn’t trying to tame me and my bad boy ways. She was easy and I thought we were a perfect match. Until she told me she was in love with someone else.
My twin brother.
I’m not gonna lie, I was shocked. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t. My twin isn’t the kind of guy girls fall in love with. He’s cold as ice. He’s unemotional. He’s got a chip on his shoulder and a stick up his ass. He has reasons, but still. Turns out, though, the girl who could melt my twin brother’s ice is the same girl I wanted for myself, Isadora Holmes.
Never thought I’d see the day—Stellan in love—but here it is. In fact, I’m seeing it right now. Stellan standing with his girlfriend on the other side of the glass partition, fucking gazing into her eyes, looking like he’s completely lost in her. She looks lost in him too, her lips tipped up in a smile. Pretty soon they’re going to need a room. In fact, I think they fucking need it right now.
Something shifts in my chest, in my gut, something sour, but I ignore it. I try to bury it. But it doesn’t go away. The more I ignore this bitter churn in my stomach, the stronger it becomes. Until I want to do something about it. Something like smashing my fist through that glass and tearing them apart.
Guilt immediately follows but I can’t deny the bitterness in my veins. The poison.
“Shep, what the fuck?” someone snaps, bringing me out of my furious thoughts. And suddenly I remember where I am. The sun beating at my back, my running legs. Sweat streaming down my face, my heaving breaths. And that glass partition overlooking the stands. I’m at practice and I’m supposed to be passing the ball, but judging by the angry looks from one of my strikers, Riot Rivera, I missed it. Making it my second missed pass today and eight in total in the last two weeks.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I fist my hands at my sides, watching the guys on offense celebrating the goal. Well, celebrating and surreptitiously watching me, their captain. I wonder how many of them think that I’m really losing my touch. That the Wrecking Thorn is officially ‘wrecked.’ Wasn’t that what the headline said? That not only have I been ‘heart-wrecked’—a fabulous term they invented just for me—but as a result of that, my game seems to have been screwed up too.
They can’t imagine me being in top form this season after what happened. But then again, I should be given a pass, seeing how the guy who stole my girl isn’t only my twin brother, but also my coach. And getting beaten up by your twin brother slash coach over a girl before the championship game isn’t something most people come back from.
Especially when I insisted Stellan shouldn’t be fired over it. That he should come back and coach the upcoming season. It took a lot of management meetings and a lot of arguments, negotiations and whatnot. But in the end the team felt it would be best to show unity to the world. That the problem between brothers had been solved. Not to mention, the girl who got between us is the team owner’s daughter so they simply wanted the matter buried. Not that the media let anything stay buried but it was a good thought and it worked so my twin didn’t lose his job. Which was the last thing I wanted for him.
Riot jogs over to me, but before I can see the doubt in his eyes or he can say anything to that effect, I speak. “I’m fine.”
“You sure about that?” he asks.
And I swear to God, I want to punch him. I want to grab his collar and smash his face into the field until he passes out. And then I want to beat every single motherfucker on the team who thinks I can’t do it. Who doubts my skill, my game. I’m the fucking Wrecking Thorn. I’m better than most of this team combined and I’ve got more experience than them too. How fucking dare they question me?
How dare they think I’m unfit for the season?
“I’d know, wouldn’t I?” I say with a bite in my voice.