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PROLOGUE

TUCKER

“That is hands down the worst idea you have ever had. And I mean that literally, Tucker. You have had some seriously dipshit ideas in the past four years, but this one…”

I couldn’t help but take that a little personally, though Ford was technically right on that one. I had had some dipshit ideas, and that was putting it politely. I just didn’t think attending my twin’s wedding would be stuck in the same category as jumping off a roof into a pool or using my prosthetics as ways to block seats in a sold-out movie theater.

And listen, playing chicken with people who had their assigned seat tickets but didn’t want to tell the disabled guy to move his removable limbs from their seats was objectively fucking hilarious.

And it also helped that I wasn’t the nicest guy in the world.

Not that I ever claimed to be.

But I ought to be sanctified or whatever the hell it was called for showing up to this damn circus. I almost meant that literally too. My brother’s soon-to-be wife honest to God wanted her wedding at Circus Circus before Killian put his foot down about it.

He wasn’t wrong to say no. They weren’t Vegas Wedding people, and his fiancée would have lived with years of regret if she’d done that.

I knew that personally, considering that Delia was my ex, and once upon a time, she’d been wearing my ring. I had to give Killian credit though—he got her something much nicer than the diamond chip set in plated gold I’d found at a pawn shop two blocks from campus when we were eighteen.

Her ring now was at least a couple of carats and…I don’t know. White gold? Platinum? I was older now, but I still didn’t know engagement rings for shit. If my life had gone at least in a somewhat normal direction, maybe that would have been different. Maybe I’d be walking in Killian’s shoes.

Wife. Eventual kids. For me, a nice, comfy career in the NHL where I’d retire early because bad knees ran in our family, and I definitely got all the crap genes.

But instead of all that, I’d been a dipshit college junior a few weeks after signing my NHL contract and got invited to a party full of all the things I knew I should stay away from. But me being the rebellious and angry nineteen-year-old, I thought, hey—desert rave! Sounds fun.

Killian found out and followed me there to pick a fight. And once again, the golden boy with his golden hair—and yes, I might have had the same, but his had a fucking halo, I swear to God—and his golden smile made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of everything I’d been given.

He sneered at me, laughed at me, told me he wasn’t surprised I was attempting to waste my life. “What’s the point of accepting that contract if you’re just going to screw up before you set a single blade on the ice?”

Fuck him, I’d thought in that moment before taking a handful of pills. Fuck his shitty, holier-than-thou attitude. He didn’t want to save me. He wanted to rub it in my face that even after being drafted by an actual professional sports team, he was still better than me. Mom and Dad still loved him more.

Sure, I’d make some kind of NHL money, which was better than rotting away in a desk job or something, but he was accepted with a full ride to Stanford. My parents sent out a family newsletter where my NHL contract was the fucking PS.

So yeah, him telling me I was wasting my life back then hit me in all the wrong ways. There were more pills after that, and some booze, and my twisted brain that told me I was fine to drive. I was fine to put myself and others in danger.

So I did. It didn’t go as badly as it could have, but my life would never be the same again.

The first thing my dad said to me when I woke up was, “You’re lucky it was just you.”

I tried to cry that night, but that was the moment I found out my right eye was gone, and my left eye was so fucked to hell my tear ducts had stopped working.

Dry sobbing did not have the same cathartic effect.

It was a few hours after that I realized I wasn’t just down an eye and part of my vision in the other, but I was also missing most of my legs. I couldn’t see shit for the first few weeks, so I felt around the blankets to get some idea of what my lower half looked like.

My left leg stopped three inches down the thigh, my right an inch and a half longer than that. I no longer had feet. I no longer had knees .

I panicked, my heart racing so hard it had the monitors all screaming. My doctor eventually came in to explain exactly what my future would look like once I was out of the woods and they had my infections under control.

I would walk again—with the help of prosthetic technology.

I would see again—with surgery and a miracle.

I would never be great at those two things though. And my career was literally in the toilet—a big, fat turd heading right down the drain, all because I couldn’t suck it up for a single night and let my brother feel superior.

I was pretty sure he thought I blamed him, and sometimes, when I was angry, I did. But I’d learned through therapy and joining the sled hockey team full of guys who actually understood me that I could be a big boy with big boy pants and big boy accountability.

I’d made my choices that night.

Just because my brother pushed my buttons didn’t mean this was his fault. It was hard to tell him that when he was busy marrying the woman who dumped me while I was still in rehab though.

But I was trying. He was my twin. He was born my best friend, and there were days I missed that more than I missed my legs.

Which was why I said yes to being in his wedding and to this fuck-ass bachelor’s trip.

Now, I was in Vegas with my brother and all his law school frat boy buddies, listening to him go on and on about what a good fuck my ex was. Which I knew. I was there before him.

I taught her everything she was good at now, God damn it.

Not that I was going to say that, as vindicating as it would feel. Instead, I smiled and pretended like it wasn’t really goddamn weird and counted down the minutes until I could go home.

“Where are you right now?”

Shit, I’d almost forgotten I was on the phone. Ford was more of a brother to me now than Killian had ever been, and he was usually on my side. Tonight, however, his tone was full of pity and irritation. He had that disappointed dad voice down to a T, which normally worked on me, but considering he was on the other side of the country, I could ignore it.

All the guys had tried to talk me out of going on this trip, but for some reason, I still felt like I owed Killian.

I didn’t know why. He had my old life. He had my former girl. He got to walk on two legs and read like a normal person instead of shoving his face a centimeter from the computer screen and blowing it up to three hundred percent. He had a good job, so much money he didn’t have to stress about paying his electric bill, a house, two nice cars, and a goddamn picket fence.

I had no idea why he still hated me so damn much. The way he’d been acting this trip, it was clear he’d brought me along to shove his success in my face.

“I’m outside the casino,” I finally said. I glanced up at the lights, which looked all foggy with my scarred lens. I could feel the weight of my white cane in my back pocket, but I never, ever used it when my brother was around. He got weird enough when I used my wheelchair or walking cane, and I was in no mood to baby his feelings. “I think the guys want to go to a strip club.”

“Are you going?”

“To stare at weird, blobby, tit-shaped things in the dark?” I snorted. “Nah. I think I’m going to get shit-faced and lose my life savings at the craps table.”

“Or,” Ford pressed, “you can go to your room and order one of those really loud pornos and jerk off until you fall asleep. Then send Killian the bill.”

His idea had some merit. Mine was better. “Split the difference? Lose my rent money and stop drinking before I black out, and watch porn until I fall asleep, and then send him the bill?”

“I’m not bailing you out if you make bad choices,” he warned.

“Love you too, baby. Talk later.” I hung up before he could give me any more of a lecture.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” I jumped half a foot at the sudden voice behind me. It was impossible not to recognize my brother. I turned my head until he came into my view. “And please don’t make any sight jokes.”

He still refused to use the word blind . It was kind of hilarious making him edge around it. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

“ Love you too ? Baby ? You can’t fool me, Tuck.” Everyone called me that, but I hated when it came from him. It was too familiar for a guy who hadn’t been out to visit me even once since I’d moved to the East Coast.

His accusation almost made me laugh. I forgot my brother didn’t have friends. At least, not any real ones. He had former frat brothers who peaked their senior year of undergrads. People he still followed on Facebook but who would never really be there for him if shit hit the fan.

He didn’t know what it was like to be loved almost unconditionally by people who weren’t forced into it by blood. And it was for that reason alone I felt sorry for him. It was the one thing money couldn’t buy.

“That was Ford. You’d like him, you know. He’s all responsible, and nice, and good-looking. You should come visit and actually meet him so you could?—”

“What?” he tried. “See if I steal him too? See if you can trust me around the man you like? Is this why you won’t tell me when you’re dating someone?”

I stared at him. “I don’t tell you when I’m dating someone because you never call, Killian. When was the last time you wanted to catch up?”

His mouth opened, then clamped shut, and his gaze darted away like it was too hard to look at me. I got it. It was hard to look at him too. He used to be my mirror image, but the only thing that proved we were identical anymore was our DNA.

When he said nothing, I let out a small sigh. “Can you not tonight? Please. This whole trip is weird enough as it is.”

“I knew it! I knew you thought being here was weird. Jesus, why did you even come, Tuck? Are you trying to punish me or something?”

“What the fuck?” This time, I did laugh. “How the hell is me dragging my ass on the trip to celebrate you marrying my ex punishing you ?”

He bowed his head. “Seriously, Tuck. Why are you here? It would have taken a lot less effort to ruin my day than showing up like this. And a lot less money you and I both know you don’t have.”

My heart hurt so much that he thought so low of me. “You asked me to come.” I hated how small and pathetic my voice sounded, but I couldn’t help it. He knew how to hit me where it hurt.

“I was trying to be nice,” Killian said. Even with my shitty eye, I could see his pained expression as he tugged on his hair. He and I both still did that the same way. “And Mom convinced me I should.” He took a breath, then dropped another bomb. “I didn’t think you’d say yes. I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known.”

Oh. Well… shit . I didn’t think he could hurt me worse than the day he and Delia came into my room and said that they were together.

But I was wrong.

“Sorry to let you down. Again.”

“Wait, Tuck…that’s not what I meant. I just?—”

“No, whatever. It’s fine. I’ll just…” I trailed off, glancing back at the hotel. “I wasn’t going to go with y’all tonight anyway. Strip clubs don’t do it for me anymore. I’ll stay back, and you can pretend you don’t have a weird, half-blind, legless twin hanging on like some lost puppy.”

I heard him choke on a laugh, and I knew that was in spite of himself. ”I didn’t mean it like that , Tuck. Really?—”

“You know, I hate when you call me that,” I told him.

Killian froze. “Everyone calls you that.”

I was going in for the kill. He could hurt me, but I had claws too. “I know. But that name is reserved for people I consider family, and that hasn’t been you in eight years.”

He went silent, then cleared his throat. “Fine. Tucker.”

I managed a half smile. “I’m going to get a drink and be irresponsible on a slot machine while you guys go out. I’ll catch my flight tomorrow, and we can pretend like this never happened.”

“Tuck—er. Tucker. Wait. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, trailing after me as I turned toward the sliding doors. “I just wanted to be happy.”

I stopped, but I didn’t bother trying to look back. “You’re marrying her. Wasn’t that enough for you? Or did you really need to drive it home that she wanted the twin who wasn’t all… this .” I waved my hand down at my legs.

“It wasn’t like that. None of this was on purpose. I wasn’t out there looking for a way to take her from you.” He sounded desperate, and I almost believed him. “And she wasn’t looking for a replacement. It just…happened.”

I suppose, in a way, that was true.

When I was in the hospital after the accident, Killian didn’t leave my side for weeks. I was in a coma after a nasty infection and several surgeries, and when I woke up, I was screwed six ways to Sunday in my head and my body.

Delia was there too, of course. The two of them stayed beside me and stroked my hand and wiped sweat off my brow when I was up all night shaking from the phantom pains.

They were there when I tried to get up for the first time and almost pissed myself because I couldn’t move fast enough to the bed pan. Killian was the one who stood beside me the first time I had enough sight in my remaining eye to see myself in the mirror.

And Delia had been right behind him, promising me that it was fine—that she loved me anyway, no matter what I looked like.

But even if she didn’t know it at the time, her words had been a lie.

I started PT, trying to learn how to live in this body, and they started getting coffee. And then they’d get lunch while I was taking a shower. And dinner when the drugs knocked me out early.

And I had to give Delia credit. She did try. She wasn’t one of those assholes who immediately looked for a way to dump the mess I’d become. She stuck by me through my few good days and my many, many bad ones. She shouldered every moment I told her to get away from me because I was tired of people staring at me, including her.

But that wasn’t enough, and I knew that. She and Killian were getting closer by the day, and it didn’t take me long to realize she knew how to have her fiancé back.

Same face, different name.

She wouldn’t be part of the WAGs anymore. She wouldn’t have a famous TikTok account and rub elbows with celebrities, but Killian would make good money and be able to take care of her. He’d give her the house, and the fancy car, and her Louboutins and Rodeo Drive shopping trips. And she wouldn’t be tied to a man whose body would forever be broken into a bunch of interchangeable pieces.

When she confessed in a whisper to me one night that she thought she wanted out, I didn’t fight. I let her go.

And as predicted, Killian was there to catch her as she fell.

“Tuck—”

“Seriously, stop fucking calling me that. Have a good night. Enjoy your last stint as a free man.” I shot him a wave without looking back to see the expression he was wearing, and I slowly made my way back into the lobby.

“Fuck it,” I muttered to myself. “I’m going to go make a mistake.”

If only I had a clue how that single declaration was about to change my life forever.