Page 25

Nicko, December 19th

T he next morning, a high-pitched scream wakes me. Completely disoriented, I sit up in bed, pressing the heel of my palms against my eyes.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m at my parent’s place, and the excited hollers from next door are coming from my twin brother.

“Shut. Up!” I call out, my fist hitting the wall next to my head where I assume Nate is hopping up and down on his bed like a toddler on a sugar high.

“There’s snow, Nicky! Snow! Look outside!” Nate lets me know, excitedly thumping from the other side of the wall.

Frowning, I swing my legs out of bed and pad over to the window. I push my blinds open and immediately have to squeeze my eyes shut to protect them from the brightness. Shielding them with both hands, I carefully blink them open again. My mouth drops open in surprise at the sight.

When we arrived yesterday, the hedges and trees had the lightest dusting of snow and frost. Now the branches bend under the white burden that reflects the sunlight, transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland.

My stomach flips with excitement as I turn around to raid my duffel bag for new clothes. I didn’t unpack last night, so I have to dig around until I find a thick sweater with B-Tech’s mascot on it.

I can hear Nate rummage around next door, so I tuck everything under my arm and sprint out of my room, hellbent on reaching the bathroom before him. I’m three feet away when the door opens, and Hart steps right into my path. His blue eyes widen almost comically just before we collide.

My breath is knocked out of me since, unlike last time this happened, I’m not wearing any protective gear, flailing my arms as I try to take hold of the door frame.

Instead, Hart grabs onto my lower arm, pulling me into his naked chest. For a split second my lips brush his shoulder, my free hand finally landing on his hip to steady myself.

I bite the inside of my cheek as our lower bodies bump together, then take a quick step back. The subtle smell of Hart’s shower gel surrounds me, conjuring up completely unwanted memories of his bared neck and soft moans.

I chase them away with a resolute shake of my head.

“Watch it!” I huff as I pull my hand out of his grip. My skin is tingling from his touch so I rub it on my shirt.

Hart slowly raises a single brow at me before bending down to reach for the clothes I dropped.

“Good morning to you, too, Nicholas,” he says as he holds out my boxer shorts.

Gritting my teeth I snatch them out of his hands. “It’s Nicko,” I correct him.

“What?”

“It’s Nicko. No one calls me Nicholas.”

Hart tilts his head, his gaze sweeping over me as if seeing me for the first time.

I cringe inwardly, shifting my stance from one foot to the other. I’m suddenly hyper aware of my tousled hair and rumpled sleep shirt. My naked toes curl on the dark hardwood floor. He’s reading way too much into my words, I can tell, which makes me regret them.

“Not trying to buddy up to you, Hart. I just want to make it less weird in front of my parents.”

Now he’s raising his other brow at me, and I instantly resent him for the way he can separately control them.

“Not pretending to be your brother would have made it less weird.”

Yes, well, not blowing him in the locker room would have probably helped, too. I don’t say that out loud, but the way he drops his gaze to my lips lets me know he must have shared my thoughts.

I jut my chin out in a silent challenge, and Hart clears his throat, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. For a moment I’m distracted by the way his bicep bulges with the gesture.

“Well. You probably shouldn’t call me by my last name then, Nicko .”

I narrow my eyes at the way he emphasizes my nickname, listening for a hint of mockery.

“Fine,” I conclude when I can’t find anything to pick on. “Now let me into the bathroom, Xander .”

“You have to get out of my way first, Nicko .”

Realizing he’s right this one time; I step out of his way. As he walks past me, our shoulders bump, setting my skin on fire.

***

After breakfast Hart, ever the good boy, offers to help clear the driveway. We only have three shovels, so dad leaves to write the script for his next podcast interview.

Five minutes pass in the silence of honest work before Nate throws the first snowball. I’ve seen this coming and prepared accordingly, so I fire right back at him. And then, just because Hart gives one of his annoying come on now, boys sighs, I throw the next one at him .

I don’t put much power behind it, but it hits him smack dab in the forehead. The look on his face sends me into a fit of laughter, and I have to lean on my shovel for support.

“Oh, so you find that funny?”

Hart frowns at me, still wiping snow from his eyes and out of the dark stubble on his jawline, the exasperation in his voice cracking me up even harder. I double over, unable to provide any defense even as I watch him form a snowball with his gloved hands. I bring my arm up just in time to shield the side of my face but get hit by Nate the next second.

A moment later, the driveway has turned into a battle-royale-like war zone. Hart and I each take cover behind a pile of snow on opposite sides of the driveway while Nate fires at both of us, dancing in between the front lines and cackling like a madman.

“This is ridiculous!” Hart calls out from behind his cover, but instead of arguing with him I throw the next snowball the moment his dark head appears. I don’t stay up to see the result; his muffled curse is satisfying enough.

“Wow, really mature, Nicko. Now come on, we are supposed to clea– oh for fuck’s sake, Nate!”

“Come on, Xan, live a little!” Nate laughs, then comes running to my side when his best friend finally goes on the offensive.

“Nuh-uh! Get your own fortress,” I protest, but he’s already diving behind my hastily built wall of snow.

“Form an alliance?” He grins at me, holding out one hand that I eye suspiciously before taking it.

I should have known better. The moment our hands touch he pulls me forward, rubbing a fistful of snow directly into my face. I squeal as it sneaks its way under my scarf and into my collar, sliding down my torso.

“I got him, Xan! I infiltrated the enemy!” my twin shouts.

“You’re my brother!” I gasp when I free myself of his grip, but whatever he’s saying next gets drowned out when Hart jumps across the driveway, tackling me.

I let out an “Oof!” as my back hits the ground, then instinctively turn my head to the side to escape the load of snow coming my way.

Holding up both hands, I shove at my attacker’s chest, but it’s no use, he’s already straddling my lap and trying to get a hold of my hands. When he finally succeeds, he pins my wrists above my head.

“Look at you,” Xander states smugly as I cough and spit from under the snow he rubbed all over my face. “All quiet for once.”

“Shut up!” I huff, narrowing my eyes at his face-splitting grin. His cheeks are glowing with a healthy flush, and his blue eyes hold a dangerous sparkle.

Suddenly, there’s a shiver running down my spine that has nothing to do with the snow melting against my skin.

Bucking my hips upward, I manage to catch him off-guard. Hart yelps when I topple him over, turning us both so that now I come out on top. My stiff fingers are already grabbing for more snow to shove at him.

“Oh you little– No! Nicko! Don’t you–”

I throw my head back with laughter as his warning drowns in my renewed attack, my legs tightening around him so I won’t get thrown off.

***

It takes us the whole morning to clear the driveway of snow. Our jackets and boots are dripping in the wet room while we sit in a half circle around the fireplace, watching the flames dance and eating Gemberbolus from little glass bowls.

Nate and Hart are solving the daily Wordle while I amuse myself by watching Hart as he’s trying to eat the sticky pastry. He’s licking his fingers clean after every bite and then discreetly wiping them on his sweatpants before typing in another five-letter word.

“How do you like Dutch cuisine, Xander?” Dad asks as he joins us with his own serving.

“It’s really good!”

I roll my eyes at his rushed answer. The guilt over stuffing his face with sweets is written clearly on his features.

“I’m glad. When I came to the US, I really missed my Oma’s homemade pastry. There’s an amazing Dutch bakery in New Jersey, but I couldn’t spend all my free time there, so I learned to do it myself.” Dad beams with pride.

“Oma’s are still better,” Nate comments, popping the last bite of ginger roll into his mouth.

“ Oma means granny,” I provide when I register the frown on Hart’s face.

“You speak Dutch?” Hart blinks at me in surprise, and I’m honestly offended.

“Duh! I lived in the Netherlands for ten years,” I remind him.

“His Dutch is actually better than mine,” Nate admits with a shrug, the compliment catching me by surprise.

“That’s not–” I start, but he interrupts me the next moment, a grin tugging on his lips.

“But he had a hard time getting rid of his accent when we moved here,” Nate adds.

“Hey, that’s not true!” I object, knowing full well he’s right. Even though I was raised bilingual and also learned English in Dutch kindergarten, it took me years to speak accent-free. The rhythm of the Dutch language comes much easier to me.

“Oh, I remember that,” Dad adds, chuckling fondly and ruffling my hair on his way to the couch. “You struggled with your Vs and Fs.”

I raise my brows at him when the two sounds are exactly the same coming out of his mouth.

“The kids were quite mean about it.”

“They were just jealous assholes because I was a better skater than them.” I roll my eyes as I get up from my place on the floor.

“Want another?” I hold my hand out for Hart’s bowl. There’s a bit of sugar clinging to his bottom lip, and my fingers itch with the need to brush it off.

Instead of answering my question, he tilts his head at me, his unnerving eyes considering me for a moment before he nods.

I feel his gaze following me all the way to the kitchen as Nate happily recounts how he used to recite poems for me in English class.