Offside With You

Aveline's POV

For eighteen years, Asher Carter was the center of my mother's universe. I was just the other twin, the spare. People always assume having an identical twin means you're automatically best friends. That you finish each other's sentences, share some weird psychic connection and spend your lives in perfect harmony.

Clearly, those people have never met actual twins.

Asher and I shared a face, a birthday and a talent for irritating each other to the point of violence. What we didn't share was our mother's attention.That belonged entirely to him. To be fair, coronary artery disease tends to do that. It's hard to compete with a heart that might decide to quit whenever it feels dramatic. Still, a little balance would have been nice.

"Asher, did you take your evening medication?"

I had barely walked through the front door when Mom appeared from the kitchen, pill organizer already in hand. Asher sighed like the burden of swallowing tablets was simply too much for one man to bear.

"I was literally about to."

"You know," I said, dropping my hockey bag by the front door, "one of these days, Mom's going to accidentally call me Asher and neither of us will notice." Asher looked up from the couch, one eyebrow lifting. "That would require her acknowledging your existence first."

I tossed a throw pillow at his head. He caught it effortlessly, grinning. "You're insufferable."

"And yet, here you are."

I narrowed my eyes.

He smiled wider.

That was Asher Carter, brilliant, sarcastic, and far too pleased with himself for someone who had nearly failed chemistry last semester. Dinner was the usual routine. Mom hovered over Asher like he was made of spun glass while I existed somewhere in the general vicinity. Asher and I attended different schools but my mom unfortunately cared only about Asher's school life. He talked about Crestwood's latest hockey game, rattling off statistics with the enthusiasm of a sports commentator on caffeine. "How was practice?" Evelyn asked.

He shrugged. "Coach thinks I should start helping with strategy next season."

"Seriously?" My mom responded.

Hockey was everything to Asher and maybe everything to me too though i would have denied it under an oath. He couldn't play, not with his heart but Crestwood's hockey had still given him a place, he is their team's mascot and strategy assistant. if it involved hockey, asher was there. I pretended not to care, mostly because I was still bitter that he had inherited our mother's obsession while I inherited her sarcasm. His face lit up whenever he talked about hockey.

"Coach says I see plays before they happen."

"You do," I admitted.

He smirked. "I know."

There he was. Insufferable.

Mom looked at him like he had personally invented oxygen then she glanced at me. "Aveline, can you please stop leaving your skates by the garage door? Someone could trip."

And just like that, my existence had been acknowledged. For all the wrong reasons.

"Good talk," I muttered.

Asher snorted into his water, I kicked his shin under the table and he kicked back harder.

By ten o'clock, I was in my room pretending to study while actually watching hockey highlight reels. Across the hall, Asher's music drifted through the wall. Terrible taste, as usual then it stopped. I barely noticed at first but ten minutes passed. Then twenty. There was no music, no footsteps, no sarcastic voice yelling at me to stop stealing his charger. A strange feeling settled low in my stomach. I ignored it for exactly thirty eight seconds then I got up. I crossed the hallway and knocked on his door.

"Asher?"

No answer. I knocked harder.

"Open up, you dramatic little goblin."

Still nothing.

If I had known that would be the last normal evening of my life maybe I would have paid more attention. Maybe I would have noticed the way Asher kept rubbing his ribs. Or how he flinched when he reached for his backpack. Or the bruise half hidden beneath the collar of his hoodie. But I didn't because Asher always had bruises, because hockey kids were basically walking injuries.

Now my pulse was racing, i turned the handle. The door swung open and my entire world shattered. Asher was sprawled across the floor, pills scattered around him. A broken glass lay inches from his hand. For one frozen second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. Then panic hit.

"Asher!" I dropped beside him so fast my knees slammed against the hardwood. His skin was cold, his breathing shallow. My hands shook as I grabbed his shoulders. "Asher, wake up." Nothing. I shook him harder. "Wake up!" Still nothing. Terror unlike anything I had ever known ripped through me.

"Mom!" The scream that left my throat didn't even sound humanly at this point

Everything after that blurred together. Sirens. Mom crying profusely, hospital lights flashing overhead. I held Asher's hand the entire ambulance ride, even when a paramedic politely suggested I move. At the hospital, the waiting nearly killed me. Mom paced the floor so much, I sat completely still, because if I moved, I thought I might break apart. Finally, a doctor approached. "Your son is alive." My lungs started working again.

Then he added, "But he's in a coma."

The air left all over again.

A coma.

Asher?

My loud, irritating, impossible twin?

The doctor continued and somehow things got worse. "He has multiple injuries inconsistent with a medical collapse, bruised ribs, internal bleeding and signs of repeated physical trauma."

I stared at him. Someone had been hurting Asher. Not once, not accidentally but over and over again.

Mom went white. "That's impossible."

But it wasn't. Suddenly, every little thing I had ignored came crashing back. How had I missed it?

They finally let us into his room. Machines surrounded him, beeping steadily, each sound reminding me he was still here for now. I gripped the bed rail until my fingers ached. I had spent years resenting him. Years rolling my eyes whenever Mom chose him over me, years pretending his existence annoyed me more than it mattered and standing there, staring at him motionless in that hospital bed, I realized something terrifying. Losing him would destroy me. Mom stood beside me, trembling. I turned to her. "We need to report this."

She looked horrified. "Aveline...."

"Someone nearly killed him."

"We don't know that."

I laughed. A sharp, bitter sound.

"Really? Because fractured ribs usually don't happen during arts and crafts."

Mom wrapped her arms around herself. "If this gets out, Crestwood could suspend him. Colleges could..."

I stared at her. That was what she cared about? Not who hurt him, not even why. It is always about his future.

"He could have died."

Her face crumpled. "I know."

"Then act like it."

She sank into the chair beside his bed, tears streaming down her face. "I can't risk making things worse for him."

The words hit harder than any slap ever could, I looked at my unconscious brother, at the bruises in his skin, at the evidence of months, months of suffering. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that nobody was going to save him. Not the school. Not the police. Not our mother. So I would.

That night, after Mom finally fell asleep in the hospital chair, I sat beside Asher and held his hand. For the first time in years, I didn't feel like his rival. I felt like his twin.

"I should've noticed," I whispered.

"I'm sorry."

My throat tightened. "I spent so much time being angry at you that I forgot how much I needed you."

I glanced at the Crestwood jacket folded neatly on the nearby chair. The school crest gleamed under the fluorescent lights. I had always hated that place for stealing so much of Asher's life. Now, I hated it for almost taking the rest. A plan began forming before I could stop it. A Dangerous, ridiculous yet perfect plan.

Asher and I were identical, same height, same face. With a haircut, some binding, and a little practice, I could pass for him. I knew hockey as well as any player. I knew Asher better than anyone. And Crestwood? Crestwood wouldn't know what hit it. I leaned closer to my brother. "I'm going to find out who did this."

The words came out steady and certain. "I'll make them regret the day they ever touched you."

The next morning, Mom still refused to involve the authorities, too afraid, too blinded by Crestwood's reputation and Asher's future to see what mattered. Fine. She could protect his future. I would avenge him.

That afternoon, I stood in our bathroom, scissors in hand, staring at my reflection. Long dark hair framed my face. Aveline Carter. I gathered my hair into one fist. And cut. The first chunk fell into the sink. By the time I was finished, a stranger stared back at me. I wrapped the bandages tight around my chest, pulled on one of Asher's hoodies. Looked in the mirror again. Asher Carter looked back at me. Close enough anyway. I grabbed his Crestwood's identity card off his desk. My pulse thundered.

My mission was simple.

Find out who hurt my brother.

Make them pay.

And if Crestwood Academy thought they were ready for Asher Carter's return.

They had no idea they were getting his sister instead.