Page 1 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)

Helix Hale

FIVE YEARS AGO

I, Helix Hale, have the most ridiculous twin brother in the history of shared uteruses. Or is it uteri? I’m pretty sure either is correct, but I’d have to look it up to be certain.

Anyway, like I was saying, Phoenix’s idiocy knows no bounds.

The entire week, he’s been sporting a different T-shirt in the lead up to his wedding.

Last Saturday, for the pre-wedding gala, instead of wearing a button-down shirt beneath his tuxedo jacket like the rest of the normal men, he sported one of those goofy tuxedo tees with Groom to Be imprinted on it.

For the record, yes, I do believe a pre-wedding gala is incredibly pretentious. Like the wedding itself isn’t going to be gala-esque enough. But that’s what Beatrice and her father wanted, and what the Bettencourts want, the Bettencourts get.

But I digress… back to my brother’s abysmal wardrobe decisions.

Monday at the cocktail party, he sported a red shirt that read I’m going to marry the shit out of Beatrice.

I thought for sure his bride would tell him to change, but she simply smiled that tolerant, placid smile she always does.

The one that’s not really a smile but merely a slight lifting of her lips.

Like maybe she farted and is trying to look like she didn’t.

Then at the wedding golf tournament— yes, I know —he showed up in a polo shirt imprinted with a sombrero and Nacho Average Groom. And the only reason he wore a polo instead of a T-shirt that day was out of respect for the dress code at the fancy country club.

There were other questionable shirts throughout the week, but I think I’ve blocked them from my brain. Tonight though? I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to scrub this one from my mind.

First of all, it’s neon pink. So neon, I think it’s bleached all the photoreceptors in my retinas. Even Barbie would see this shade and recoil in horror.

Second, there's a cartoon groom kneeling before his bride. The text beneath reads Under New Management . It may be the single most cheesy thing I’ve ever seen.

But Phoenix is thrilled to be getting married. I don’t think he’s stopped smiling for almost a year, and if my twin is happy, then I’m happy. For the most part. I’d be positively ecstatic if he were marrying anyone but Beatrice.

Are you catching on that my brother’s betrothed isn’t my favorite person? How very astute of you. I’m sure Beatrice— please don’t call me Bea —Bettencourt would be a perfect wife for some bland, rich guy with no personality whatsoever, but for Phoenix? Absolutely not.

Not that my brother’s not rich. We all are, but Phoenix is so much more than his wealth. He’s got a big personality and an even bigger heart. He’s the kind of guy who would take a bullet for you.

Of course, he’s probably also the reason you’re getting shot at in the first place, but still…

Someone shoves a tequila shot into my hand, and I down it, refusing the lime Phoenix tries to hand me.

My eyes connect with Remington’s, and though he’s not my twin, he’s still my brother, and we can communicate without words.

His eyes are blaring the same thought running through my head. Can we leave now?

I give a subtle shake of my head. Not yet. Though I’d love nothing more. This loud, crowded nightclub in the heart of Houston, Texas isn’t exactly my scene. I prefer a quiet pub with good beer or a small sports bar with games on the television screens.

Actually, if I’m being honest, I’d rather be in my lab than anywhere else.

I’m a scientist in the research and development division of our family’s company, Hale Cosmetics.

I’ll run the lab one day, but for now I’m an assistant.

And that’s cool. I’m twenty-seven and completed my doctorate in biochemistry last year. My time will come.

Remington is the oldest of us three brothers, two years older than Phoenix and me. I’m probably most like Remi, quiet and reserved, though I don’t have the broodiness my older brother exudes. Phoenix, on the other hand, is always the life of the party, the center of all conversation.

I guess that makes me the uninteresting one, though maybe that’s not entirely true.

I have a condition called synesthesia. This phenomenon can take a lot of different forms, but the one I have gives me the ability to visualize actual colors around another living being.

Kind of like seeing their auras. It doesn’t happen with every person I meet, but for those I have a connection with, I can feel the colors that define the person.

Yeah, I admit it’s a little woo-woo for me.

I have a scientific brain that’s hard-wired for facts and hypotheses, so this isn’t something I’ve ever shared with another person.

Well, except when I was five and asked Phoenix what color he thought I was.

He gave me a confused look and told me I was white, though I got more tan in the summer. That’s when I realized I was different.

If my twin were a color, he would be a vibrant blue, bright and eye-catching, the kind of blue that holds a person’s interest. Remington is deep purple, a little dark but a color that is compelling the more you stare at it.

And me? Fuck if I know. It’s not easy to see these things in yourself.

There’s some quote I heard once about self-reflection being necessary to gain an understanding of life, but I’m not sure about that.

I’m a simple creature. My life consists of reading, work, and swimming. What more is there to understand?

If I had to assign myself a color, I guess I’d be gray.

A light, plain, uninspiring shade like limestone.

Though there are times when my gray turns darker, as if it was pulled from the edge of a shadow.

But I don’t let that side show. I force myself to be light.

I’m Helix Hale, the quiet guy who keeps his head down and focuses on work. That other part of me doesn’t exist.

Only… I know better. I’m not stupid enough to believe a person can completely get rid of certain desires. But with enough control, you can lock them in a room and forget about them. The only problem? Sometimes they want to come out. Burst through the tightly locked door and take over.

But no, I can’t… Kayla wouldn’t…

As if the mere thought of her somehow summoned my girlfriend, my phone buzzes against my hip. I know it’s her before I even look because everyone else I’m close to is either in this room or wouldn’t disturb me since they know I’m at my brother’s bachelor party.

Sighing, I check the sixteenth text I’ve received from Kayla in the past three hours.

Kayla: Why are you ignoring my calls?

I tap out a response and nod to the bartender, signaling for another round of shots for our group. I could use some mind numbing right about now.

Helix: I’ve talked to you twice already since I’ve been here, Kayla.

Kayla: But I’ve called two more times, and you didn’t pick up.

I resist the urge to type in all caps.

Helix: Because I’m with my brothers.

Kayla: Are you dancing with anyone?

Helix: Have you ever seen me dance?

Kayla: I guess not. Who else is there?

I can literally hear her demanding voice even though we’re only texting. Fuck me. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. Glancing around the group in the VIP section of Titanium, the club we’re at, I type back.

Helix: Few guys from Phoenix’s frat. And Dutton.

Our cousin, Dutton Hale, shouldn’t fit in at this swanky club with its shiny metallic interior.

He’s a cowboy, through and through, and he’s dressed as such with a pearl-snap shirt, starched Wranglers, and his trademark black cowboy hat.

At least he’s wearing his nice boots tonight and not his dirty shit-kickers.

But Dutton can fit in anywhere. He’s a lot like Phoenix in that regard. With sandy-brown hair and an ever-present smile, he’s one of the most likable people I’ve ever met.

And if you’re wondering, in my head my cousin is the color of a golden retriever.

Kayla: There’s no one else in the club?

Jesus fucking Christ. My patience is being tried right now. Gritting my teeth, I reply.

Helix: There are several hundred people here. Would you like for me to go around and get all their names and assemble a spreadsheet I can send to you?

Kayla: You don’t have to be so mean about it. I was just asking.

Cue the tears. I don’t have to see her to know she’s crying, so I heave out a sigh and, after downing another shot, excuse myself and work my way toward the hallway that runs in front of the restrooms. It’s a little quieter back here.

Trying to find some patience I don’t feel in the slightest, I tap my phone to place the call.

“H-hello?” Kayla’s voice sounds meek and hesitant.

“What did you need?” I ask sharply, hanging onto the end of a very frayed rope.

“Oh, I… uh…” She fumbles for a reason for the multiple calls, and when she can’t come up with anything, she finishes lamely. “When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight I’m staying at the hotel next door with Phoenix.” Then I add pointedly, “Like I already told you.”

To be completely honest, I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight because all I want to do is go home and crash in my own bed. My mattress is better than anything you can find at even the most luxurious hotel.

“But I’m waiting for you in your bedroom,” she purrs, and my decision shifts automatically. I’ll suffer through the hotel’s sub-par bed rather than going back to my house.

And that’s when I know the end has finally come. I’d rather give up my comfort than go home and fuck my own girlfriend. Kayla isn’t an overly sexualized woman, but she uses it when it benefits her, and I willingly accept every opportunity. But not tonight.