One More Time - Louisa George Page 0,40

kilometres and lack of desire on their uncles’ behalf to allow them time together had forced them apart. Until that distance had become insurmountable, geographically and emotionally.

On the few occasions they’d spent time together Max had been eaten away with envy at the cosy family set-up Mitchell had compared to his own stark, harsh one—and how little his brother had needed him. He’d believed Mitchell had had no space in his life for his twin. And that hurt had dissolved into anger. At Mitch. At the world.

He knew Mitch had been jealous of him too—jealous of the money, luxuries Mitchell’s family couldn’t afford. Gradually that mutual jealousy, fuelled by their uncles’ own dislike of each other, had poisoned them against each other.

So he should have listened to his gut and stayed with Gabby. But, for Jamie’s sake, he had to try. And he knew if Gabby got wind of any kind of worsening of relations between him and his twin there’d be hell to pay.

Hell, since when had he answered to a woman?

Since he’d fallen, literally, for a stubborn, newly signed-up member of the adrenalin-junkie club.

The door swung open and Mitch reappeared. Like looking into a mirror, Max could read his brother’s moods, his emotions. Today they connected somewhere round about clueless. Mitch sat down in a big leather chair that had seen better decades, his hands curled round a can. ‘Max, I think it’s time we sorted a few things out.’

‘Jodi put you up to this?’

‘Yes. And no.’ Mitch at least looked like he was trying to find the right words. ‘You saved our boy’s life and I can’t thank you enough for that. I really can’t. I owe you. We all do.’

‘It’s my job,’ Max countered. But they both knew it was more than that.

‘Thing is, now Jodi has this fantasy that we’ll all live happily ever after.’

‘Is there such a thing?’

‘I hope so. For my son’s sake.’ The guy looked exhausted. He’d had a hell of a few months, getting acquainted with a child he hadn’t known existed and reconnecting with a woman he’d separated from some years ago. In reality both brothers had had a hell of a time—their whole lives. They were the only ones who understood what the other was going through, and yet were unable to make things right.

Mitchell’s family had always been plagued by money worries. Max had hoped he could help ease the way a little. He took a deep breath, unsure how Mitchell would take this. ‘I wanted to tell you, I’ve set up a trust fund for Jamie.’

‘You’ve done what?’ It was hard to read his reaction. ‘I don’t need your money.’

‘Hear me out. I wanted to give him something and I didn’t know what. I thought it might help.’

Mitch’s fist closed around his can and the metal twisted and bulged. ‘Because you don’t think I can provide?’

‘No. I just thought—’

‘That you could do better?’ Mitchell’s eyes darkened. Ease the way? Laughable. Seemed he’d erected a roadblock. ‘That’d be right. You haven’t got a son, so you thought you’d buy mine?’

But then Mitchell looked as shocked as Max felt. What to say now? There was nothing to reply to that.

A heavy silence descended. Max studied his shoes. Mitch stared at the wall.

Eventually Mitch leaned forward and shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have said, that. I was out of order.’

It was Mitch-speak for I’m sorry. Max took it gladly. ‘Look, I know things weren’t great for you financially growing up, that you’re still sorting out things for your...for Uncle Harry.’

Mitch laughed. ‘Yeah, I got the bum run there. Should have been picked by Fred.’

‘No, we should never have been in that situation at all. Two uncles given a choice—a choice—as to which boy they’d have. Like picking out a new car or wallpaper. Dip dip dip. My blue ship.’

So they’d been boisterous and grief-stricken and a handful. So they’d fought and screamed and missed their mum and dad. So they’d run away, lashed out and cried. But no one should ever have split twins up so soon after their parents’ death.

What the hell had been going on in the grown-ups’ heads he had no idea—but it had been obvious to Max even then, as a child, that their decisions were so wrong. So horribly wrong. And in true Maitland style the uncles had been fighting their own battles. Who was better than who? Who was most successful? Who had the better son? One-upmanship ran deep in the genes. They’d all