Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,2

a we, but they’ve never been joined by anything but me.

“W-what’s going on?” I sputter. “Why are you . . . what do you mean . . .”

That’s all I can manage before my voice gives up. My insides turn to rock, bracing for something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

“It’s mine,” Brandon chokes out. Jaw flexing, he reaches up to massage the back of his neck and stands, pacing in front of the fireplace. I catch sight of the gold frames lining the mantel, some so old they’re tarnished, all displaying photos of my family. Several of me and Terry. From snaggle-toothed and pigtailed to celebrating and sullen. A parade of stages and years and emotions we’ve experienced together. Sisters.

My sister is pregnant by my fiancé.

We.

A landslide of fury and confusion and hurt crush my insides to rubble.

“No.” I shake my head, stand, and back away a few feet, putting space between me and these traitors. These selfish traitors who were supposed to be mine, not each other’s. “When?”

“The first time,” Terry says. “We—”

“The first time?” I hurl the words at her, outrage and pain wrestling for dominance in my heart. “How many . . . how long . . . What have you done, Terry?”

I turn wet eyes, blurred with tears and burning with anger, to Brandon. “What have you done?” I ask him, too, unsure who I hate most right now. Who has hurt me the most.

“You weren’t ready,” Brandon’s voice is defensive and laced with blame. “I told you it’s hard for a guy to wait, but you . . . you weren’t ready.”

He was older and all his friends were having sex with their girls, but I wouldn’t be rushed. He begged, telling me how tough it was for guys to go without. I felt guilty and he felt frustrated, but we got through it. He waited until I was ready, and it was worth it. It was good—at least, I’d thought so. I never suspected he cheated. And with my sister?

“That was almost two years ago, Brand,” I shout. “You’ve been fucking Terry since my junior year?”

Terry’s eyes, widened with panic, shoot to the living room entrance. “Shhhh! Jesus, Neev. You want the whole neighborhood to hear?”

“Really, T? That’s your main concern? I’m pretty sure everybody’ll know soon enough. Unless you plan to—”

“It was one time,” Brandon interrupts, eyes pleading. “The summer before we . . . before you and me started doing it. It was an accident. I told her it could never happen again, and it didn’t.”

“I’m not great at science,” I say, sarcasm pushing its way through the pain. “But it must have happened again if she’s just now turning up pregnant two years later.”

Their guilty quiet following my words suffocates even the faintest hope for a miracle. For the impossibility that it had only been once, which is bad enough, but to think they would do it again. That he’d do it when I thought we were happy. That she’d do it when she’s my sister and she knew. She knew how much I loved Brandon. How could she not have known, and how could she do this to me?

“It’s only been the last few weeks,” Terry admits, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “You gotta believe that I never—”

“I ain’t gotta believe nothing,” I spit at her.

“You’ve been rehearsing so much for the play,” Brandon says.

“So again it’s my fault?” A derisive laugh leaps out. “I have to rehearse after school for a play a few days a week and you can’t keep your dick away from my sister?”

“Neev, damn!” Terry shoots to her feet, a scowl marring the smooth prettiness of her face. “Keep your voice down.”

We’re all standing now, the tension triangulating between the three of us. I’ve wrapped myself in anger, but the protective layers are fraying, and pain, sharper and heavier than I think I can take, pounds in my temples and thunders behind my ribs. My knees wobble and my head spins.

I could faint.

I rack my brain for a play where a character faints, and all I can come up with is Shakespeare’s The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and that’s such a bad example. This is the last thing I should be thinking about while my life burns to the ground in my living room, but somehow it refocuses me.

I still have the stage.

Here I was considering staying, giving up my scholarship, possibly my dream of performing someday on Broadway, for