All Chapters of I FELL FOR MY BEST FRIEND'S TWIN: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

CALLED TO THE OFFICEThe mirror above the sink was steamed around the edges from the steam rising from the hot water, and Logan had Dylan pinned against the tile walls behind him, one hand planted next to Dylan’s head while the other hovered by Dylan's jaw. Sunlight filtered in pale streaks from the frosted glass door of the bathroom, illuminating the small droplets of water left on Dylan’s shirt collar after splashing his face just minutes ago.Neither of them said very much about what happened on the roof that morning. They didn’t have to; somehow the previous night had done something neither of them thought the words could do — drinking, silence, all the unraveling excuses from weeks past. Now, in the mundane light of a school bathroom, the silence continued on, slow and warm.Logan kissed him again, slowly, and Dylan’s hands wrapped around the hem of his shirt. It took a moment for everything else to fall away, leaving only them in the sound of the light buzzing above them, the dr

FALLING BOOKS AND FALLING WALLSThe school library storage room was musty and filled with the smell of paper glue. It was a cramped space hidden behind the big reading hall, which contained many years' worth of old magazines that weren't being read anymore. On all the walls there were metal racks full of publications that had never been touched since before Logan and Dylan had even been born; their covers were faded and yellowish-grayish.Mr. Holloway stood by the entrance and indicated towards all those books on the floor and at the folding table at the far end of the room. "You'll sort all of these according to date in order of the newest to the oldest, by series. All National Geographics go together. Yearbooks in a different pile. Sports Illustrateds over there."Logan stared first at the messy piles and then at Mr. Holloway, who looked at him with that same expression of indifference that he wore the previous day. "Why do we have to do this anyway?" Logan wondered in a disapprovin

THE MASK COMES OFFDylan woke up slowly, piecing together the world around him one piece at a time, beginning with the smell, that dank concrete and oil, heavy and metallic at the back of his throat; then the cold, piercing through his jeans where his skin was pressed against whatever it was he was tied to, and finally the pain, that dull throbbing in his wrists where thick rope was digging into his flesh and pulling his arms back around a wooden chair.His eyes opened and the world swam into clarity.It was some kind of garage or warehouse bay. Streaked, dirty brick walls, one lone lightbulb dangling overhead, throwing shadows that shifted and danced across the concrete floor. Rusting shelves filled one entire wall, piled high with things Dylan couldn't even begin to identify in the poor light. There was a tiny slit of moonlight through one window near the ceiling, but that was the only indication he had that it was still night.His head pounded. His mouth filled with the metallic ta

BLOOD IN THE ALLEYRocky's pistol fired twice in the space of half a second, the muzzle flash the only light the narrow alleyway needed to see the figure who had stepped around the corner fall back, a choked gasp the only noise he managed as his gun fell from his hand to land on the wet concrete before he slid slowly down to the ground."MOVE!" Rocky's command shattered the ringing in Dylan's ears, and a hand rough with dirt yanked him up by the back of his jacket.His legs were waterlogged as he ran, sides stumbling over potholes in the pavement. His shoes, as they cut through oily puddles, reflected flickering crimson and blue in the distance... Some sort of emergency response team. Or the police! Dylan couldn't say if they were coming or going.They stepped into the alley and just as fast found themselves in front of a block of storefronts, a row of closed shutters obscuring the windows above them. Dylan felt himself stumble to a halt at the abrupt change in scene. More shouting

WHAT ROCKY NEVER SAIDDylan woke to a thin, gray light filtering through the small round window of the attic, his body stiff and aching from the thin mattress beneath him. For a moment, he simply lay there, blinking up at the exposed rafters, his mind slow to catch up with the memory of the night before — the warehouse, the gunfire, his brother's blood soaking through gauze under fluorescent bathroom light.Then it all came rushing back at once, and he sat up too fast, his head spinning, his stomach twisting with a fresh wave of nausea.He climbed down from the attic slowly, every muscle protesting, and made his way through the quiet upstairs hallway. His own bedroom door was still closed — the girl from the night before, presumably still asleep inside, though Dylan couldn't bring himself to care enough to check. He continued down the stairs instead, following the pale morning light spilling into the living room below.The house looked different in daylight. Someone had apparently cle