Cassian

"Gabe," I say, running a hand through my hair. "I can't get Pen out of bed."

"Well, what happened?"

"I'm not sure," I reply. "She won't tell me. The last time she spoke a single word to me was when I collided with her on the beach."

Gabriel sighs. "Okay, I'll be over as soon as I can."

When Gabriel hangs up, I set Penelope's phone down on the counter. Thank God for facial recognition—I'd never be able to crack her passcode. I'm not sure what she's hiding on her phone, but her passcode is foolproof; no one could guess it. I'm assuming she's got years of information from trying to find her biological parents, but I could be wrong. Maybe she has a secret life I'm unaware of.

Sighing, I grab the kettle from the stove and pour the boiling water into a teapot, allowing the tea to steep. I've already tried to talk her out of bed, but she refuses to move. But Pen never rejects a steaming cup of tea. Especially when it's my mom's homemade tea. Pen loves everything my mom does and fully supports resorting to Indigenous alternatives for things like headaches and period cramps. From the cupboard, I remove two mugs and then collect the teapot. The heat is tolerable, so I brave the journey to Pen's bedroom.

Before I enter, I knock. I will her to respond. I want her to roast my out-of-character politeness or to make a comment about being too loud. Although it's only been two days since her exchange with Patrick happened, I miss the old Penelope. I miss joking around with her, teasing her. I miss her laugh and smile. Work was boring as hell today, save for the anger that was stirring deep in my gut while I watched Patrick beat the shit out of the old counter. My lack of information is the only thing that kept me from using the sledgehammer on him. And while I have my theories, acting without knowledge isn't smart. Ophelia's presence wasn't enough to curb my concern, either. Although she wanted to talk and see how my weekend went, I was short and snippy to her. I must apologize later, but Penelope's well-being is more concerning.

Her bubbly, no-shit personality and dry sense of humour have been absent since Saturday night, leaving me with no one to poke fun at. Or talk to. The only noise I've heard are the choking, gasping sobs behind her closed door.

When there's no response, I press my forehead against the door and curse beneath my breath. She's reminding me too much of Jake just after his parents died. I have the tools to support someone battling depression, but it's anguishing to watch someone I love suffer. Support can only go so far. But I'm doing what I can.

Shaking off my bleeding heart, I straighten my posture and grab the handle. "I'm coming in, Pen. If you're not presentable, at least use your hands to cover up. Like I did. Though, in my opinion, I was presentable. You didn't seem to mind staring, either."

I shove the door open, darkness and the potent smell of vanilla perfume overwhelming me. Somewhere, behind all the sweetness, I can smell hair that hasn't been washed in a few days and old socks. Without consent, I flick the light on. Penelope groans, pressing a pillow over her face. Because she's laying in the middle of the bed, I sit down on the edge. My weight weighs the mattress down, causing her to slide up against my hip. While ignoring her curses—though, hearing her voice again brings a smile to my face—I set the tea pot and mugs down on the nightstand and pour the steaming liquid into each mug. I smell lavender, honey, and something bitter.

With her mug in my hand, I swivel around and hold it out. "Sit up, Pen. I brought you some tea."

"I'm not hungry or thirsty," she replies.

As soon as the sentence has left her lips, her stomach rumbles. In the silence, it sounds like an earthquake with high magnitude. I set my hand on her shoulder and give her a shake, careful not to spill any tea. "Come on. You're hungry and you need to clean yourself up. Whatever happened between you and Patrick"—my voice fills with venom when I speak his name—"is something I'm willing to lend an open ear to. Did he reject you? You enjoyed texting him and you seemed to have fun at the barbecue."

I think back to the barbecue when I was watching them dish up at the buffet table. Jealousy, thick as tar, fills my gut. It causes my frustration to peak. I'm frustrated with my own feelings, and Penelope's inability to get her ass out of bed. I understand she's hurt—for what reason, I'm not sure—but this is not the Penelope I know. The Penelope I know would battle with a smile, even if she was breaking inside. She's similar to Jake in that respect, which is why I think they work so well together at meetings and business expos or trips.

"He didn't reject me," she sniffles. "It was far from that."

Mug in hand, I lean back, draping myself over the side of her body, and hold the steaming mug close to the pillow. "There's tea. Why don't we discuss this over some tea?"

"Cassian," she mumbles, keeping the pillow over her face. I'm worried she's trying to suffocate herself. "Leave me alone. I don't want to talk about Patrick right now. I don't want to talk in general. Just... Just go, okay? I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm not in the mood."

I sit up, setting the mug down, and sigh. "Pen," I say, "you're scaring me. It's not like you to stay curled up in bed for two days, let alone miss five minutes of work. You missed a full day today."

Penelope snorts. "As if you care. At least you saw Ophelia, right?"

Frowning, I stand up and stare down at her. Where did that comment come from? She's been nothing but supportive of my crush on Ophelia. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Cassian," she groans. "You're in so deep you can't see what's in front of you."

I glance around the room. I can see Penelope, the bed, the sheets, and even the fucking window. "I can see just fine," I reply.

"That's not what I meant," she sighs. "Go away. And close the door when you leave."

Defeat clouds my mind. God, she's stubborn—another reason why Jake and I coaxed her to our team. It's the most contradictory trait of all time. When we're working, I love her stubbornness. Right now? I hate it. It means I have no chance of talking some sense into her or digging up any information.

I swipe my mug of tea from the nightstand, leaving behind the pot and extra mug. I made the tea for her, so she can have it if she wants. If not... well it's her loss. My next shot at getting Penelope out of bed is Gabriel. Maybe she'll listen to her cousin.

Once I'm back in the kitchen, I set my mug down, rest my arms on the counter, and lean forward, pressing my forehead against the cool marble. There's a whirlwind of uncontrollable anger welling in my stomach. If Patrick has done anything to hurt Penelope, I'm going to rip his throat out and make him eat it. I'm dangerous when people fuck my friends over. When Penelope finds her voice, he will not know what hit him. I'll make his life a living hell.

Ten minutes later, after I've choked down my herbal tea, there's a knock at the door. As I head over, I try to shake away the bitter taste in my mouth. Mom's herbal tea recipe could scare any cold or flu out of your body, just like the taste could kill every tastebud in my mouth. But I've been drinking it since I was a kid, and I believe all the herbal properties are doing their job. My immune system is a force to be reckoned with.

I open the door and Gabriel pushes past me. "Where is she?" he asks, his voice a pitch higher. "Is she okay?"

Shrugging with defeat, I close the door and follow him into the kitchen. "Beats me. She refuses to speak. I've been trying all morning. She's in her room if you want to try."

Gabriel shakes his head. "Tell me what tactics you've used so far. I'm not going in there to annoy her."

I list off everything I've done this morning. "I made her oatmeal with fresh blueberries and maple syrup—her favourite breakfast," I reply. "I made her tea, I told her we could go out for Thai food, that she could have the king-sized bed. Fuck, Gabe. Her stubbornness is impossible to crack, and it's worrying me!" Furious, I shake my head, giving in to my allegations. "I knew that fucking bastard hurt her," I spit. Directing my gaze to the coffee table, I see my keys. He's done working today, so it would be easy to track him down with Pen's iPhone. Whatever happened, he's bound to answer the phone if he sees her name on the screen. "Fuck this. If Pen won't tell me what's happened, I'll find Patrick myself. I'll beat the information out of him." I walk over to the living room and stoop down to grab my keys. But before I can, Gabriel shoves me to the couch.

I land with an oomph.

"Sit down and take a deep breath, Cassian. I will not let you run around town punching people because you feel like it. I'll handcuff you to the staircase if I have to."

I flex my hand and cock an eyebrow at him. "Wanna bet?"

He clears his throat, intimidated by my dark allure. "Patrick didn't sexually assault her. Penelope assured me."

"You talked to her?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "I saw you guys leave on Saturday. I was worried about her, too. She's my family, Cassian."

Flopping back against the couch, I run a frustrated hand through my hair. "You don't know that!" I snap. "Women have a tough time talking about that kind of shit, man. Have you not read up on this stuff? For the love of God, Gabriel!"

Gabriel snorts and sits down next to me. "Do you think Penelope Montgomery would let a man get away with shit? If Patrick had done anything to her, she would have pulled her big girl panties on and dealt with the issue. She's had a tough life, despite being adopted, and it's made her strong. As shameful as society makes speaking out, she would've."

I loosen a deep breath. He's right. Pen is strong. But it makes little sense why she won't get out of bed. "Something happened," I murmur, eyeing my keys. I'm five seconds away from grabbing them and sprinting for the door. If I catch Gabriel off guard, he won't be able to catch me.

"My name would have been Jules."

Gabriel and I turn around, and my heart caves at the sight of Pen. She looks terrible. There are purple half-moons under her eyes, her hair is matted and frizzy, and she's wearing one of my baggy T-shirts. I frown. That's strange. I don't remember giving her one. Either way, combined with the skimpy shorts she's wearing, that T-shirt looks good on her.

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth.

She rubs her biceps and then snorts with disgust. "Jules Iris Collins. My parents kept my middle name as an ode to my biological parents. Stupid fucking mistake on their part."

Gabriel and I exchange a confused glance. Either Penelope's on crack or she's lost her mind. She doesn't talk about finding her biological parents that much, but she has mentioned it. As far as I know, she came to a dead end in Vancouver. I—wait a second.

"Fuck," I say. "Isn't Patrick's last name Collins?"

Penelope keeps her gaze locked on her hands. She keeps wringing them, and the motion makes me want to grab her hands and force them down to her sides. "Yes," she whispers, a tear slipping down her cheek. When she glances up at us, the truth hits me hard.

The structure of her cheekbones. The golden-blonde hair colour. Her blue eyes. There are even similar mannerisms shared between the two of them.

"Holy fuck," I breathe. "Pen."

A sob wracks her body, and before I can stop myself, I rush over and pull her into a tight hug. She hugs me back with a level of fierceness that surprises me. It also surprises me when she buries her face in my neck and loses all self control. She's crying harder than Gemma did when she found out about the rumour. "They gave me up, but not him!" she sobs, fisting my shirt. "Why? I don't understand! What parents split up twins?"

A wave of shock courses through me. "Hold the fuck up," I say, stepping back. I keep my hands on her shoulders. "Are you saying Patrick is your twin brother?"

Penelope stares at me through wet lashes. "That's exactly what I'm saying. He showed me a picture of us on Saturday night. And then he showed me a picture of our mom. I don't need a DNA test to know he's not lying." She sighs in defeat, the tears still streaking down her cheeks. "I still want a DNA test, though. Just to be sure."

"Well, shit," Gabriel breathes.

After I've pulled Penelope into my arms again, I exchange a glance with Gabriel. Okay. Patrick's not a rapist. But I'm not happy with the way he sprung this news on Penelope. He should have eased into the topic instead of springing it on her. I can't imagine the mixed emotions she's feeling. She's wanted to know about her biological parents for years, and now she's found out they kept her twin brother and got rid of her. It sounds harsh, but it's the truth. Those pricks kept him, but not Pen.

I glance down at her. Do I keep calling her Penelope? Or does she want to go by Jules?

The thought is stupid. Of course she's still Penelope Montgomery. She's the badass woman everyone loves.

"What do I do, Cassian?" she whispers. Her breath is hot on my neck, making my body react in a way I never thought possible with her. My hands tighten on her hips, and I note the way her hips fit perfectly in my hands. The way her body moulds to mine. If I were to push my hips forward...

No.

I shake away my dirty thoughts. Penelope needs support, and that's what I'm here to provide. "You start with the DNA test," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And then Gabe and I will help you find your way from there."