Stream: The Sequel

Chapter 2

PARKER

It's been a year and a half. Eighteen entire months since I last saw Isla.

If FaceTime counts, which it doesn't, it's been four. Four months since she picked up my call, frazzled, cheeks flushed, telling me now wasn't a good time. Four months since I heard a guy's voice calling her name through her apartment door. Four months since she butt-dialed me and left a voicemail of sex noises.

She was fucking someone named Dalton.

With a name like that, I'm certain he's a scrawny trust fund kid from Cape Cod. The image of a pile of Vineyard Vines at the foot of Isla's bed makes me want to hurl.

James told me to chill, that he's probably a fuck buddy. He reminded me that I've had multiple since Isla and I broke up, but the thing is, Isla Talbot isn't the no-strings-attached type. When Isla has sex, it's meaningful. The guy she commanded to come inside her couldn't be her fuck buddy.

Nope. That was a boyfriend.

I don't know if I had any right to be angry, but I sure as hell was. I stopped answering her texts. After a month, she gave up. We haven't spoken since.

And now, here she is, sitting in the driveway next door, drawing chalk flowers with her little sister while she chats with her mom and Austin. I rest my head against the steering wheel, planning my walk from the car to my front door. Ducking my head down and booking it inside is rude, but a quick wave is neighborly. Waving while walking tells them that I'm too busy to talk but still courteous enough for a hello.

God, I hate the suburbs.

I push open the door, and Adrienne immediately foils my plan. At the top of her little lungs, she shrieks, "Day!"

In toddler-speak, Day translates to James. Isla's sister is obsessed with my brother. He took her on a wagon ride around the block once, and that's all it took to earn her loyalty.

As an identical twin, I'm used to cases of mistaken identities. Our parents and Isla are the only people who call us by the correct names a hundred percent of the time. Most of our friends and relatives have to pause and assess before greeting us.

Being referred to by my brother's name doesn't usually bother me, but today, I wish we were fraternal and discernable to toddlers. Adrienne is so excited to see "James" that she scrambles up from her driveway and runs straight towards me as quickly as her tiny legs will carry her.

So much for rushing inside.

"Day!" she squeaks. "Day home, day home."

"Hi, Adrienne!" I say back. She collides with my shins and kneecaps, wrapping my legs into a hug. I pat her back a couple times, chuckling.

"That's Parker, right?" I hear Mary ask Isla.

I don't catch Isla's response, but I guess she confirms, because Mary hollers, "Hi, Parker!"

I start to shout back a hello, but I'm distracted by a tugging on my hand, which is now covered in pinkish dust. "Day, play?" Adrienne asks, staring up at me with huge doe eyes.

I try to find the resolve to say no, but her toddler charm is irresistible. She's bouncing on her heels with excitement, and there's a gap between her two front teeth. I can't disappoint someone so adorable, no matter how awkward the situation I'm agreeing to.

"I can play for a few minutes," I tell her.

She emits a squeak of joy and leads me to the sea of chalk drawings and scribbles on her driveway. Mary and Austin shoot me friendly grins. Isla, kneeling between them, avoids eye contact like the world will explode if our gazes meet.