Part 2The Ghost Between Our Hearts

Travis and I grew up on the same block. For fifteen years, we were the kind of friends whose names were spoken in a single breath. If you saw Luke, Travis was two steps behind. We shared bikes, split cheap burgers, and covered for each other when we snuck out past curfew. We had promised, more times than I could count, that we would take a bullet for each other.

And then, a woman tore that brotherhood into jagged pieces.

The morning I walked into Travis’s bedroom and caught him with Sienna was the day the axis of my world permanently tilted. I hadn't yelled at Sienna. I hadn't even looked at her as she scrambled for the sheets. I had simply reached down, grabbed Travis by the collar of his t-shirt, hauled him off the mattress, and demanded to know why.

He hadn't flinched. He had casually pulled on a pair of boxers, grabbed his lighter from the nightstand, and shrugged.

"No grand mystery, Luke. I liked her. So I slept with her."

That was the last time I saw him.

Eight years of total, unbroken radio silence followed. At first, my parents would ask around the holidays, Have you heard from Travis? Why hasn't he come around for Sunday dinner? Our old college buddies would ask over beers, What happened between you two? You guys used to be attached at the hip.

I would just offer a tight, empty smile and change the subject. Eventually, the questions stopped.

I thought our paths would never cross again. I certainly never anticipated that during those missing eight years, he would spend two of them dating the woman who was now wearing my promise ring.

"Why did you come back?" I asked, watching the ash on my cigarette burn down. "You trying to pick things back up with Lauren?"

Travis gave a lazy shake of his head. "Lauren? Please. She was never that interesting to begin with. I didn't come back for her, Luke. I came back for you."

My head snapped toward him. "Me?"

Travis crushed his cigarette into the glass tray, turned sideways on the cushions, and propped his chin in his hand.

"The second I heard you two were together, I booked a one-way ticket back to the States," he said, his voice dropping into an easy, intimate cadence. "We really are brothers, aren't we? Our taste in women has always been identical. Last time, I took Sienna, and you vanished for eight years. If I take Lauren this time... how long will you hide from me?"

A cold rage flared in my chest. I reached out, grabbing his wrist with enough force to bruise. "What the hell is wrong with you? What did I ever do to deserve this from you?"

Travis didn't pull away. He just smiled, a strange, fractured emotion flickering behind his eyes—something brittle, possessive, and deeply warped. "What did you do? Nothing, Luke. You've always been my best friend."

"You're out of your mind." I shoved his arm away. "Stay away from Lauren. I'm warning you, Travis. I am not the naive kid I was eight years ago."

Travis didn't answer. Instead, his gaze drifted lazily around the living room.

"Reclaimed white oak flooring from Oregon," he murmured, his voice conversational. "Custom recessed lighting. Nine-foot ceilings. The kitchen has that open waterfall island, and down the hall, the master bedroom faces east for the morning light."

I froze, staring at him. "How do you know the floor plan?"

"Because she and I drew it up together," Travis said smoothly, meeting my eyes. "Three years ago, when we were talking about buying a place in London. We picked out every single detail. Even the layout of the guest suite."

The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful rush.

We had completely remodeled this house right after Lauren and I moved in together. At the time, I had begged her to let us design it together, to make it our own. But she had brushed it off, telling me she’d already hired an architect to draw up the blueprints and that she didn't have the bandwidth to second-guess the plans.

I remembered standing in the dining room, puzzled by the massive, floor-to-ceiling temperature-controlled wine cellar she insisted on installing. You don't even like red wine, Lauren, I’d said. She had laughed it off, claiming it was standard for resale value.

Now, the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity.

Lauren didn't drink wine. Travis collected it.

My fingers trembled. The forgotten cherry of my cigarette slipped against my palm, the red-hot ember searing into the tender flesh beneath my thumb. A sharp, burning shock tore through me, making me flinch.

Travis leaned forward immediately, taking the butt from my fingers. He caught my hand, gently blowing on the scorched red skin. His touch was familiar, like muscle memory from when we were twelve, but the words that slipped from his mouth were poison.

"Tell me, Luke," he whispered, his breath warm against my burned skin. "Every night you lay your head on that pillow, who do you think she's seeing in the dark?"

I knew it was bait. I knew he was unraveling me strand by strand. But the thought took root, wrapping around my throat like ivy. Had she spent the last two years living in a shrine built for another man? Was I just a warm body filling a space pre-measured for him?

A faint rustle caught my ear.

The front door, which hadn't fully latched, clicked open a fraction of an inch. A silhouette stood on the dark porch outside.

Travis’s eyes darted toward the shadow, his lips curving into a razor-thin smirk. He raised his voice just enough to carry across the foyer.

"Back then, when you walked away from Sienna, you played it so cool. I really thought she didn't mean a thing to you," Travis said, leaning in close. "Then you turn around and find Lauren. Come on, Luke. Look at her face. The first time I saw her profile, I felt like I was looking at a ghost. They could be sisters."

He tapped my knee. "She's just a stand-in, man. A replica to keep you warm. If you don't actually care about her, just let me have her."

It was true that Lauren looked like Sienna. One of my college roommates had pointed it out at a dinner party shortly after Lauren and I started dating.

I had always prided myself on being clean-cut about endings. When I walked away, I walked away completely. I hadn't pursued Lauren because of her resemblance to an ex who had betrayed me. But human desire is a stubborn, cyclical thing. Our subconscious gravitates toward the same contours, the same cadence of speech. When my friend pointed it out, I had been horrified to realize how similar they were—not just in their dark hair and delicate collarbones, but in their fatal flaw.

They were both hopelessly soft-hearted. They both lacked the ability to draw a line.

Sienna couldn't say no to Travis when he closed the distance, and so she ended up in his bed. And Lauren lived by an exhausting, open-door social code that meant no matter how hard I tried to protect our perimeter, the fence was always down.

A stray cat will always find a way in if the door is left ajar. Especially when the prowler outside knows every latch on the gate.

A sudden, suffocating wave of defeat crashed over me.

If love always meant this constant, agonizing terror of the fall, why was I clinging to the ledge? Why fight so hard to keep something that was already slipping through my fingers? It wouldn't be the first time I lost everything.

I looked at Travis, keeping my face completely empty of emotion.

"You're right," I said, my voice flat, deadened. "She's just a replacement. And you're my oldest friend. What wouldn't I give you? If you want her, take her."

The smirk vanished from Travis’s face. He froze, the mock amusement draining from his features, replaced by a sudden, jarring flicker of panic. He quickly turned his head away.

Outside, on the porch, a gloved hand caught the door handle, easing it shut with absolute, trembling restraint until the deadbolt clicked softly into place.