shadows beneath the cloth. Her make-up was gone and her eyes were filled with concern as she softly repeated his name.
“I’m okay,” he said, pulling away from temptation.
“I don’t think so,” she countered and sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “That was some nightmare.”
“Was it? Oh well, shit happens.” He got up, avoiding her gaze, intending to take refuge in the bathroom, but her question stopped him cold.
“Who’s Hollis?”
Hunter glanced toward her, wishing he could have stopped himself.
“You were shouting his name,” she said in her boss lady voice. “Who’s Hollis and what did he do to you?”
She looked as if she was ready to rumble, as if she’d fight someone for him. The idea was laughable, especially as they were talking about Hollis, and yet at the same time, her attitude finished Hunter. How long had it been since anyone had come to his defense? And really, what did she want from him? A secret, a secret he’d been carrying around for years.
Suddenly, Hunter couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
Suddenly, he had to say it out loud.
Chloe was the one who wanted to know, the one who said she wouldn’t tell, the one he wanted to tell.
If nothing else, the truth would convince her to walk away.
“My brother,” he admitted, and once he spoke, the words fell over themselves to be heard. “My twin. He didn’t do anything to me. He died. He died because I killed him.”
Chloe sat beside him on the couch, her eyes wide. “He died at Christmas,” she guessed in a whisper and Hunter nodded.
“Five years ago.” All the fight went out of him with the confession. She might as well know the rest. He got his phone and pulled up the video he moved from phone to phone, the one he’d keep forever. He used the WiFi to send it to the huge flat-screen television on the wall. He couldn’t watch more than a few seconds, though, before his vision blurred and he had to look away. He went to the bathroom then, that song ringing in his ears, and left Chloe with his truth.
The video had been filmed in a club. Chloe thought maybe she recognized it. It resembled one she’d once visited in the village. It seemed an amateur night of some kind. A comedian was leaving the stage and the crowd quieted as a tall guy took the stage. He carried an acoustic guitar and for a moment, she thought it was Hunter.
He was a musician?
Then whoever was recording swore and she recognized Hunter’s voice. The image was zoomed in and refocused, then she could see that there were subtle differences in the way this guy moved. His smile was a little bit crooked, his swagger a little more pronounced. He started to sing Rhinestone Cowboy, but he made the cover version his own, slowing it down a little and giving it more of a pop feel.
His voice was gorgeous and rich, and she heard the yearning for fame in every line he sang. He was mesmerizing, his command of the audience complete, and she wasn’t surprised that his song nearly brought the house down. A pretty woman with dark hair met him when he left the stage and kissed him with enthusiasm, and the guy holding the phone—Hunter—hooted and whistled along with the applause.
The recording stopped and she glanced over her shoulder at Hunter, well aware that he was standing in the bathroom doorway. His expression was so raw that her throat tightened in sympathy.
“Hollis,” he said, his words thick.
“You can’t have killed him. Not really.”
“But I did.” His eyes were dark, his voice hollow. “It was right after this. See that guy at the bottom right? He invited Hollis to sing at a private party in the Hamptons on Christmas Eve. Lots of important people were going to be there. We borrowed a friend’s car because Hollis was sure it was his big break. He said we couldn’t not go. Hollis sang his heart out and they loved him.” Hunter sighed and frowned. He rewound the recording to the girl who had met Hollis coming off the stage. “That’s Jacinda. We had to get back to meet her for dinner on Christmas Day. They had a thing, Jacinda and Hollis. He wanted to tell her all about it, but in person. He was excited, but he was wiped out. He’d had a couple of drinks. I hadn’t, so I drove and he slept in the back seat.”
Hunter frowned