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Arden

One twin is always evil.

It’s her.

It’s definitely her.

“No one cares why you’re adding frown lines to your face.”

See.

Evil.

“Mom and Dad aren’t going to just buy you a hockey team to make you smile,” sneers Audrey, my identical twin, from the opposite side of our parents’ wooden, backyard, brunch table. “ Don’t be daft. ”

“ Don’t be fake British, ” I childishly snip back while tossing the last of my avocado toast to Bear, my black and tan Tibetan mastiff, who’s in the chair beside me.

“ Don’t feed the wolf at the table. ”

“ Don’t bring home the one from Wallstreet. ”

“I don’t get it,” Audrey huffs in exasperation.

“And no one’s surprised,” is attached to a sardonic smirk.

“ Arden ,” our dad, Amedeo Hoss, struggles to scold rather than snicker, “ be better. ”

“I don’t know how that’s humanly possible…” levity lingers in my tone, “because that comeback was top cheddar.”

“ It was -”

“ Amedeo ,” hisses our mom, Charlotte, from behind her mimosa.

“ But ,” he lifts a pointed finger at her prior to rotating it over to me, “I said be better , not do better , mi pequena rebelde. ”

I’ve always been his little rebel.

And she’s always been his little princess.

Pretty.

Poised.

Perfect.

Picture ready at the literal lift of a phone.

Thankfully, I never wanted that trophy style title.

Not when we were kids.

Not when we were teens.

And damn sure not now that we’re adults.

Audrey lives to be everyone’s perfect snapshot princess while I live to burn down her kingdom one hashtag defying comment at a time.

Huh.

I can totally see how I might get branded the evil one, but that’s just an unfair assessment.

It’s the whole don’t judge the dude who arrives in front of the stone thing.

You can’t always see a person’s worthiness just like you can’t always see a person’s worthlessness.

However, she doesn’t exactly keep hers hidden.

“Same goes for you, mi princesa .” Dad leans back in his cushioned seat and wraps his tattooed golden honey arm around the back of our mom’s chair. “More kindness, less indifference. ”

There’s no stopping my head from falling sassily to one side. “Do you know what that word means, or does it have too many syllables for you?”

“ Arden ,” our mom hisses again, although this time I swear it’s to stop herself from smirking.

“Why won’t you guys buy me a hockey team?” I playfully inquire while picking up a blueberry from my bowl. “I ask for so little in this family.” Bear releases a light huff that causes me to flick my finger in his direction. “See.” Tossing him the small piece of fruit is followed by me grabbing another one for myself. “Even Bear agrees.”

“Your fat dog just wanted food,” gags the DNA curse across from us.

His immediate response of craning his neck forward and snarling has me victoriously smirking. “He’s not fat. He’s fluffy.”

“Yeah, and that plumpkin pie your captain is banging-”

“ Married. ”

“-is just retaining water.”

“ Pregnant. ”

“Why are you so bitchy today?” Mom swiftly investigates between sips of her mimosa. “Did they cancel your stylist appointment again?”

“ Pushed back ,” Audrey dramatically grouses. “Like I don’t have a busy schedule.”

“ You don’t, ” effortlessly leaves me as I offer my dog another bite.

“For your information-”

“I could live without that information.”

“ I. Do. ”

“Doubtful.”

She lets the corners of her lips curl upward in a way that threatens to have me choking on the cherry I’m now nibbling on. “I start my new job with The Dragons tomorrow.”

Violent coughing is instantly initiated, which pulls a victorious smirk onto her face.

See.

Evil.

Bear quickly leans over, plants a hard paw in the middle of my tied up, white t-shirt covered back, and prepares to jump to provide the assist, prompting me to croak out in a mangled voice, “ I’m okay. ”

“Pity,” my twin not so mutedly whispers.

“We should’ve just had corgis,” mumbles Mom on another sip of her beverage. “Or cats.”

“They honestly fight like the latter,” Dad agrees at a similar volume.

“ What. The. Fuck. Do you mean you’re starting a job with my team tomorrow?!”

“It’s not your team,” Audrey reminds at the same time she crosses one dark tan mini skirt covered leg over the other. “You don’t own it.”

“ Change that ,” I not so playfully plead to my parents. “ Please. ”

“We’re not buying you a hockey team so that you don’t have to associate with your sister,” Dad mirthfully declares.

“You didn’t even consider it!”

“Associating with you doesn’t do anything for my soc’ stock either,” the first born exasperatingly claims. “However, this isn’t about my soc’ stock, but the family’s.”

“Our company doesn’t need a boost,” I quickly argue around Bear snuffing my face, checking for additional injuries post my momentary choking. “Loca Mocha Casabloca is one of the most popular and most trending coffee chains in the world.”

“And you don’t stay that way by resting on your morals,” she idiotically chomps.

“ Laurels ,” Mom gently corrects while tilting her light, brown sugar, makeup free face to one side.

“Did you fire her?” is accompanied by an open palm flying across her black, half-shirt clad chest. “Do I need to worry about her trolling us?!”

Mom’s mouth twitches to rebut yet busies itself with another sip instead.

Pretty.

Poised.

But ditzy.

Exhaustingly. Ditzy.

I swear I lose braincells at every one of these family brunches.

And what makes it worse?

The fucking media eats up airheads like this.

Especially when they’re attached to famous athletes such as the one that thinks he wants to date me when all he really wants to do is bang me.

That pylon probably doesn’t even understand that those two things are different.

“As you know LMC has always had close ties with The Dragons due to the start the arena gave our family’s company when it was first finding its footing.”

“They let us sell our coffee out of a small corner booth the first year and then the concession stands the next and then had players do appearances at the first actual shop in exchange for free coffee ultimately giving the business a boost we may have never acquired elsewhere.” Grabbing a piece of bacon occurs on an eyeroll. “Yeah. Yeah. I know the bedtime stories.”

“I was always asleep by then,” Audrey offhandedly interjects.

“The Dragons – like the city of Dalvegan itself – have played a vital role in our success, which is why LMC became the biggest sponsor of The Dragons,” Dad casually continues to explain. “And by being their biggest sponsor we have a unique opportunity to field test new flavors, new designs, new merchandise, and new marketing techniques in a controlled yet diversified setting.”

“Get to the blue line, old man,” I unhappily command between chomps.

“You sister pitched the idea to document our testing adventures on social media as a way to not only drum up early intrigue but as a way to showcase that we do what we say we do. That we – The Hosses – truly are out there interacting and connecting with our community.”

My head tilts in suspicion. “ She pitched this idea?”

“According to your mom.”

There’s no stopping my gaze from cutting over to her. “ Mom. ”

“Audrey…suggested…we conduct…more frequent…” the gracefully slender woman my twin and I get our lissome figures from notably struggles to search for appropriate phrasing, “face to face intercommunications between us and those representing us in athletic endeavors.”

The launching of my eyebrows occurs at the same time I shoot my sister an incredulous stare to speak the non-sugarcoated truth.

“I just wanna take more pictures and videos with the players.” Her shoulders bounce an innocent shrug. “They’re hot and rich and single and in total need of a trophy.”

“ And there it is …” I mutter with another mocking smirk.

They’ve done this shit our entire fucking lives.

And to an extent, fine.

I get it.

Branding matters.

But their ridiculous dedication to rewriting one of their daughters’ lives rather than just pushing her to actually be better is infuriating.

They treat her with the same peewee rules they did when she was actually peewee aged.

They coddle her.

And bubble her.

And fishbowl her like she would die if her precious face ever touched the ice.

I swear, they behave like she’s the one that might go deaf at any time.

Stress over the idea of being around her more often prompts unexpected ringing to begin in my right ear – tinnitus being one of the unfortunate symptoms of my condition – causing me to fidget with the top of my hearing aid, a reaction that pushes Dad to investigate, “You okay, mi pequena rebelde ?”

“ No. ” My fingers dramatically fall to fold with the other set that’s in my lap, doing my best to ignore the obnoxious noise. “I’m not only being forced to follow my least favorite player around fulltime – like some sort of puck bunny with an all access pass – but I’m also being forced to spend time with my least favorite sibling on the clock, which is clearly some sort of updated take on classic Greek Mythology torture.”

“ Only sibling, one ear,” Audrey obnoxiously tries to correct.

“ Audrey, ” hisses our mom.

“They’re the same thing, Insta No .”

“ Arden, ” she repeats in the same unapproving tone.

“What?” I less than innocently toss back. “They’re not not the same thing.”

Another smile threatens to make itself seen, encouraging Dad to lovingly chastise, “ Comportarse. ” He motions a finger from me to her. “ Both of you. ”

“How about this?” Reaching for another piece of bacon is attached to ignoring the request that we behave as well as the unyielding hum in my ear. “You two just give me my inheritance now. I’ll quit my job, stash some of the cash away in case I need to have that surgery after all – you know I don’t want you to pay for it – and move t o Narvik, Norway where I can find a respectable gig in the EHL. Pretty sure learning Norwegian won’t be that hard. I already know how to say one of the most important phrases in hockey.” I tear the strip in two and offer one portion of it to Bear. “ M?l. ”

Dad can’t help but give into his curiosity, “That means goal, doesn’t it?”

“ Amedeo, ” Mom airily fusses.

“Right,” he quickly brushes off with a shake of the head. “We’re not prematurely giving you your inheritance to run away from your problems, Arden.”

“ Fly away. ”

“That either,” the man who technically built my love of hockey lightly chuckles.

“Aw, but she asked so nicely,” Audrey mockingly assists.

“It’s time you two learned to work with one another rather than against ,” our mother warmly declares.

“Exactly,” Dad immediately echoes. “Teamwork makes the dreamwork.”

And apparently, all is fair in hate and nightmares.