Twice Claimed: My Bully

Chapter 2

AMARA

Twenty-four hours wasn't nearly enough time to forget the weight of them on either side of me, but it was all I'd gotten. My phone buzzed on the counter Nova, checking in. You survive? I didn't answer that either. Some questions didn't have short answers.

I straightened my spine, told myself this time would be different firmer boundaries, thicker skin—and made myself walk toward that dining room anyway, because some promises you make to yourself are really just promises you already know you're going to break. I sat at the dining table again, textbooks and notes already laid out in precise stacks.

My shoulders were tense from the moment I got home from classes. Last night's session had left me drained-endless teasing, constant interruptions, and that suffocating way Kingston and Maddox took up every inch of space around me. I'd gone to bed replaying their taunts, annoyed at how easily they got under my skin. They were bullies, plain and simple. Hot as hell, sure, with those identical athletic builds and piercing green eyes, but still jerks who made my life miserable.

I checked the clock. They were late from practice, as usual. Probably on purpose, just to make me wait.

The front door finally banged open. Loud voices and heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Maddox came in first, no glasses, hair damp and messy from the shower, gym bag slung over one broad shoulder. His compression shirt hugged his chest and abs, and the gym shorts showed off powerful legs built for dominating the ice. He dropped his bag with a thud right next to my chair, nearly knocking over my water bottle. "Miss us, bookworm?" he asked with a cocky grin, flopping into the seat beside me. His knee immediately collided with mine under the table as he spread his legs wide.

Kingston followed a step behind, black-framed glasses perched on his nose, giving him that fake-intellectual look that clashed with his messy dark hair and hockey-player swagger. He wore a similar hoodie stretched tight across his shoulders. He took the chair on my other side, elbowing my arm as he reached across for one of my highlighters. "Let's make this quick. We've got a game this weekend. Coach is riding our asses about these grades."

I pulled my arm back, rubbing the spot where he'd jabbed me. "Then pay attention. We're doing more derivatives today, plus some practice problems from the quiz you both failed."

Maddox snorted, spinning his hockey puck on the table like a top. It wobbled and rolled straight into my notebook, smudging a line of notes. "Whoops. Guess you'll have to rewrite that, huh?"

I snatched the puck and set it aside firmly. "Stop. I'm not rewriting anything because of your games. Open your books." For about fifteen minutes, they actually engaged-sort of. I walked them through the chain rule again, using examples tied to hockey stats to keep them interested. Kingston solved one problem correctly, adjusting his glasses with a smug nod. "See? We're not as dumb as you think, tutor."

"Yeah, but she still thinks she's in charge," Maddox added. He leaned back, stretching his arms so one draped along the back of my chair. His fingers drummed annoyingly close to my shoulder. "Bet she stays up all night planning these little lessons. Color-coded and everything. Pathetic."

I ignored the jab and pointed to the next equation. "Focus. Maddox, try this one."

He scribbled something, then slid the paper over-right over my own notes, wrinkling them. His handwriting was a messy scrawl compared to mine. When I leaned in to check it, he bumped my shoulder hard enough to make me jostle the table. "Careful there, stepsis. Don't fall into my lap or anything."

"As if," I muttered, correcting his work. The elbow jabs and knee bumps kept coming. Every time I shifted to create space, one of them would stretch or move, crowding me right back in. It was like they had a radar for making me uncomfortable without doing anything their dad could call them out on. Kingston twirled my pencil between his fingers, then used it to doodle a tiny hockey player in the margin of my textbook page. "There. Improved it. You're welcome."

"Give that back!" I reached for it, but he held it high, passing it over my head to Maddox, who laughed and tossed it back. Keep-away again. Their deep, identical chuckles filled the room while I stood up halfway to grab it, face burning.

"Sit down, shorty," Maddox said, finally dropping the pencil in my lap. "You're supposed to be teaching, not playing games."

I sat, smoothing my notes with forced calm. "You two are the ones playing games. If you fail this class, you're benched. No more hockey glory. No scouts. Nothing. So maybe act like you care for once."

That sobered them slightly. They buckled down for a bit longer. Maddox got through a related rates problem with only two hints, slamming his hand on the table in victory. The impact rattled everything. "Boom. Told you we could do it when we feel like it."

"Doesn't mean you get to slack the rest of the time," I said, highlighting the correct steps. But the bullying resumed almost immediately. Kingston "accidentally" knocked my stack of flashcards onto the floor, then watched with amusement as I bent to pick them up.

"Nice view from here," he commented dryly, adjusting his glasses. "All that studying must keep you flexible."

"Shut up." I straightened quickly, cheeks hot with irritation.

Maddox reached over and flicked my ponytail, pulling it just hard enough to annoy. "She gets so red when she's mad. Cute. Remember when we used to hide her backpack in the garage? She'd run around the house yelling our names like a little maniac."

"That was before Dad married her mom," Kingston replied, smirking. "Now we have to be 'family.' Which means putting up with her bossy tutoring sessions every night."

I crossed my arms. "You're the ones who need the help. I was doing fine before you two turned this house into a frat zone."

They spent the next stretch mocking my setup-my neat handwriting, the way I organized problems by difficulty, even my choice of snacks (a simple apple on the table). Maddox stole a bite of it when I wasn't looking, crunching loudly. "Tastes better when it's yours."

Physical stuff never stopped. A shoulder nudge here, a knee bump there. At one point, Maddox hooked his foot around my chair leg and dragged it closer to him, forcing me to scoot or lose balance. "What? You were too far away. Can't hear your boring explanations from over there."

By the forty-five-minute mark, we'd covered decent ground. They weren't geniuses, but they were absorbing enough to probably pass the next quiz if they kept it up. Still, the constant low-level harassment left me exhausted and on edge.

"Alright, that's enough for tonight," I said, closing my book. "Review these problems before tomorrow."

Maddox stood first, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He ruffled my hair roughly on the way past, messing it up completely. "Don't stay up too late thinking about us, bookworm."

Kingston lingered a second longer, pushing his glasses up as he looked down at me. "Yeah. Try not to dream about failing us. Coach would love that." He reached over and deliberately tilted my water bottle, spilling a few drops onto my notes before I could grab it. "Oops. Better clean that up."

I dabbed at the spill with a napkin, fuming. They sauntered out together, identical builds filling the doorway, laughing about something from practice. The house felt quieter-and smaller-once they were gone.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. Another session survived, but barely. Their bullying was relentless: the crowding, the stolen items, the endless verbal jabs about my nerdy habits and "bossy" attitude. Part of me resented how their presence dominated everything-the broad shoulders, the easy confidence from being campus hockey stars, the way their green eyes always seemed to find new ways to mock me.

Yet I had to keep going. For Mom. For Desmond. For the stupid peace in this blended family. Even if it meant enduring weeks more of Kingston and Maddox's normal, everyday torment. Tomorrow night would be the same. I already dreaded it. But deep down, a tiny voice wondered how long they'd keep this up before something had to give. For now, it was just bullying as usual-frustrating, invasive, and exhausting.

I gathered my damp notes and headed upstairs, already planning stricter rules for the next session. They might be hot bully twin stepbrothers, but I wasn't going to let them break me.