The Theory of Second Best (Cake #2) Read online

  The Theory of Second Best

  (Cake Series Book Two)

  J. Bengtsson

  J. Bengtsson Books

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Kyle: My Brother’s Keeper

  2. Kenzie: My Mother’s Daughter

  3. Kyle: Family Matters

  4. Kyle: A Mind Reader

  5. Kyle: The ‘Prodigy’ Son Returns

  6. Kyle: The Tale Of Two Jellybeans

  7. Kyle: Someone For Everyone

  8. Kenzie: Baby Steps

  9. Kyle: Fifteen Minutes of Fame

  Marooned: The Rules

  10. Kenzie: First Impressions

  11. Kyle: The Left Coast

  12. Kenzie: The Island Of Misfit Toys

  13. Kyle: Sunscreen and Disney Princesses

  14. Kenzie: The Sleep Train

  15. Kyle: The Blue Lagoon

  16. Kenzie: No Winner

  17. Kyle: Udder’s Day

  18. Kenzie: Daydream Believer

  19. Kyle: Nerd Speak

  20. Kenzie: Taming the Dragon

  21. Kyle: Secret’s Out

  22. Kenzie: Charity Case

  23. Kyle: Truth Be Told

  24. Kenzie: Bonds That Tie

  25. Kyle: Never Have I Ever

  26. Kenzie: A Storm Is Coming

  27. Kyle: Night Terrors

  28. Kenzie: The Betrayal

  29. Kyle: Seething

  30. Kenzie: Making the Case

  31. Kyle: The Decision

  32. Kenzie: Homecoming

  33. Kyle: Self Discovery

  34. Kenzie: Tale of the Triplets

  35. Kyle: A Brother’s Bond

  36. Kenzie: The Apology

  37. Kyle: Finale

  38. Kenzie: Facing the Truth

  39. Kyle: The Awakening

  Kenzie: Epilogue

  Kyle: Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by J. Bengtsson

  Copyright © 2016 by J. Bengtsson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  In economics, the theory of second best roughly refers to the idea that if the optimal choice is not available, it’s possible to change some variables and make things work with the second best option. Well, that’s me: Kyle McKallister, little brother to probably the most famous rockstar in the world. I’ve lived my life in the shadows of excellence and made a career out of being a step behind. You know, like the athlete who crosses the finish line milliseconds after the victor. Or the runner-up in a beauty pageant who stands there smiling as the winner accepts her crown.

  In the words of the great Ricky Bobby, “If you ain’t first, you’re last.” I don’t subscribe to that way of thinking. In fact, I’ve always been okay with a second place finish. Not everyone is destined for greatness.

  1

  Kyle: My Brother’s Keeper

  “You want me to have Travis send her back?” I asked my brother Jake, as we headed to the dressing room after his show. Two hours of performing under the glaring lights had taken its toll on him. His shoulders were slumped, and his normally determined gait was heavy with exertion. Sweat clung to strands of his hair before giving way to the weight and dripping in a steady stream to the floor below. I purposefully kept my distance, knowing that Jake occasionally took pleasure in shaking his head and showering me in a fountain of his perspiration. Although I doubted I needed to worry tonight. By the looks of him, his state of mind was anything but playful.

  “I don’t know. She’s hot, I guess,” Jake replied, shrugging noncommittally, as he sponged his flushed face with a towel.

  “You guess? Dude, you have warped standards.”

  “She just… she looks really clingy, and I seriously don’t have the energy tonight.”

  “The energy for what? Sex?”

  “For anything. I just want to sleep.”

  Jake had been doing a lot of that lately. Nothing seemed to really interest him anymore… not even an unbelievably hot chick. Covering up my growing concern, I opted to reply to my distracted brother with an insulting joke.

  “I’m sorry. How small did you say your chode was again?”

  Jake cracked a slight smile. Finally! Shit! It was taking more and more to coax one of those out of him. I had to resort to dick jokes… not that I had a problem with that.

  “Anyway, I’ll pass,” he replied.

  “Oh, good. More for me.”

  “Have at it.”

  “I will, don’t you worry.”

  “Awesome,” Jake responded sarcastically. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Yep. And this time, I won’t have to settle for sloppy seconds,” I smirked.

  “Eww… god!” Jake complained, his face scrunched up in disgust. “That’s just wrong on so many levels.”

  “Dude, what can I say? After you, they’re begging me for it,” I said as a smug dig.

  Jake’s response was a swift punch to my arm. The blow wasn’t that hard, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I wanted to rub the area to soothe the ache, but I couldn’t let my brother know what a goddamn wimp I really was. Jake and I were about the same height, 6’1, both on the slim side of the body spectrum, but Jake made an effort to work out and look good. After all, it was his job to be hot up on the stage, and over the years he’d filled out nicely.

  I, on the other hand, was like one of those gangly guys who’d gone through an unexpected growth spurt in a very short period of time and whose body hadn’t quite caught up yet. I suppose I could put more effort into my physique, but working out really wasn’t my thing. Sure, I’d lift a weight or two if the mood struck, but getting ripped was not in my vocabulary. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress anyone.

  There was nothing extraordinary about me, nor did I particularly care to be noteworthy. I was happy living my carefree, Bohemian lifestyle. Although referring to myself as Bohemian might have been a stretch; that implied I was actively trying to be hip or edgy, when in reality, I was just lazy.

  Most days I simply rolled out of bed and was ready to go. Low maintenance – that was me. And since I wasn’t genetically predisposed to growing a thick, full beard, the sporadic patches of whiskers on my face were generally left to fester for weeks before I got around to shaving. It was pretty much the same deal with my hair. The best way I could describe it was that it just hung there past my ears in an unruly mess.

  “Don’t you have to pack, or something?” Jake asked, pulling his sweaty shirt off and throwing it to the ground.

  “Yeah, I’ll get around to it at some point.”

  “You realize you’re leaving tomorrow morning, right?”

  “I know, hence the reason I’ll get around to it at some point,” I replied with a shrug.

  “Whatever,” Jake responded, looking pissed.

  Oh, great! It was going to be one of those days. Recently there had been a lot of ‘those’ days. I studied him as he ran a towel through his sodden hair. He seemed burdened and preoccupied. Over the last couple of weeks, I’d noticed a change in his overall demeanor. Aside from the sleeping thing, my brother had been exceedingly moody. It’s not like I wasn’t used to Jake’s particular brand of irritability, but his current behavior was unsettling, to say the least. With me set to fly back to the States the next morning, Jake would be alone with his thoughts; and that, in turn, filled me with excessive amounts of anxiety. Nothing good had ever c
ome from Jake thinking too much.

  Damn. Why did I have to leave now? Competing on Marooned, the popular survivalist reality show, was something I had been looking forward to since I’d been cast a few months back. After all, I almost never did anything on my own, and I figured a national television program was as good a place to start as any. That being said, I wouldn’t hesitate to give it up if Jake really needed me. And I was starting to get the impression that he would struggle in my absence.

  “Maybe I should postpone the trip,” I blurted out.

  He looked at me in surprise. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking this whole reality TV thing was a mistake.”

  “Since when? It’s all you’ve talked about for three months now.”

  “I know, but I’ll probably just embarrass myself. Maybe I’ll stay on tour with you. Who wants to be a C-list celebrity anyway?”

  Jake didn’t immediately respond, and I assumed he wasn’t going to. He was busy wiping down his guitar. Finally, though, he lifted his head and said, “I’ll be fine… if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s not,” I lied.

  Jake exhaled loudly. “I’m not suicidal. Jesus, K.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

  He was right. I was thinking that. Could he blame me? It’s not like he was unfamiliar with the word. Living with him all these years had been a roller coaster of ups and downs. For the most part, I found people to be fairly black and white, but Jake was more like fifty shades of gray… and not the good kind.

  “So you’re fine, then?”

  “That’s what I said,” he replied passively.

  “Jake, I…”

  “Dude, I’m in pain, that’s all. Just drop it.”

  “Your knee?”

  He glared at me like I was breaking some unstated agreement. Jake always made the rules… and typically, I was in no position to refuse.

  “What else?” He shrugged.

  “You need to get it fixed.”

  “Duh.”

  “So then why don’t you?” I pressed.

  “With what time?”

  “Make the time. Your fans aren’t going to split if you take a few months off.”

  Jake was laying his guitar carefully in its case. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were dulled in somber resignation. “I know. I will… after the tour.”

  I nodded. Yeah, sure you will.

  The room got quiet. The pained expression on Jake’s face actually hurt me. I was acutely connected to his moods. It had been this way for years and was the reason why I worked so damn hard to keep his environment upbeat. We could talk and joke all day long about the stupidest shit, but when it came to discussing things that troubled him, Jake was fiercely guarded. Sometimes I wondered how his head didn’t just explode from all the years of built up pressure.

  “I think you should go on the show,” he replied, his voice void of emotion.

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t know,” I hesitated. “I’m just…”

  “Kyle…” Jake interrupted, his impatience boiling over.

  “Dude. I’m having second thoughts, okay?”

  “Because of me?”

  “Not because of you.”

  Jake huffed as he shook his head. I didn’t know why I bothered lying to him. He always saw right through me.

  “Okay, maybe a little bit because of you,” I confessed. “I mean, you have to admit, you’ve been kind of a shithead lately.”

  “All the more reason to leave,” Jake mumbled, frowning.

  “I was kidding. Don’t be so sensitive.”

  He grimaced and turned away. “I want you to go. It’ll be fun.”

  I eyed him skeptically.

  “Uugghh!” Jake made a weird throaty growl before picking up his sweaty shirt and throwing it at me.

  I ducked just in time.

  “I hate when you do that,” he complained.

  “What did I do?”

  “You act like I can’t manage my life without help,” Jake replied, shaking his head. “But we both know I’m the fucking king of coping.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. That was certainly the understatement of the century. I wanted to ask him if he ever got tired of just coping, but of course I knew such a question would never be answered. As close as we were, there were lines that were not to be crossed. I knew those limits, and the fact that I didn’t push them was most likely the only reason he kept me around.

  “And besides, if I needed a babysitter, I certainly wouldn’t hire you for the job. I’d get myself a hot Swedish nanny.” Typical Jake – always trying to redirect the discussion away from anything real.

  I laughed anyway. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do the show.”

  “Thank god.”

  My brother picked up his phone and turned away from me. I stood there staring at him. Without even looking up, Jake said flippantly, “You can leave now.”

  I scoffed.

  “What?” He glanced up.

  “Don’t pull that star bullshit on me.”

  “I wasn’t,” Jake mumbled. “I just really want you to go.”

  Well, fuck you too. I didn’t budge – not because I was making a stand for my self-worth, but because I refused to let him win.

  “Seriously? You have nothing better to do than annoy me?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.”

  Refusing to engage me, he replied with edge in his voice, “Fine. Stay. I really don’t give a shit.”

  “Cool.” I pulled my phone out and leaned against the door.

  Finding a game to play, I was halfway through it when I heard Jake groan, “Really, Kyle?”

  His glare was icy.

  “What? You said I could stay.”

  I realized I was being annoying, but with Jake, my motto had always been There’s no such thing as bad attention. I just wanted to make him feel something, no matter how negatively it reflected on me.

  “I seriously can’t wait to watch you crash and burn on national television,” he huffed.

  “It’s going to be a train wreck,” I conceded.

  Jake looked up from his phone with an honest-to-god actual smile on his face. Score!

  “Of epic proportions,” he agreed. “It’ll be awesome.”

  “I really hope I don’t let you down.”

  “Oh, you won’t. When it comes to making an ass of yourself, you never let me down.”

  We both laughed at that.

  “Chances are I’ll get voted out of the game pretty quickly anyway.”

  “Nah. You kill at swimming. Your team will need your mad skills in the water.”

  “Something tells me once my teammates find out you’re my brother, they won’t give a crap about any of that. They’ll assume I’m a millionaire and kick my ass off the island.”

  “So don’t tell them then.”

  “Well, I don’t plan to, but you know me and secrets.”

  Jake laughed. “Oh, shit. Yeah, you’re screwed.”

  I nodded. “And even if I manage to keep my mouth shut, strategic thinking has never been my strong suit.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s for sure. You can’t even pack your bags.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with that? Jesus. It’s not like I need all that much stuff. I get one outfit for the entire show, and I already know what it’s going to be.”

  Jake whipped his head around in alarm. “You’re not going to wear that stupid t-shirt and the short shorts, are you?”

  Of course I wasn’t, but Jake didn’t need to know that. I grinned and shrugged like it was already a done deal.

  “Oh, my god, Kyle,” he whined. “Do you have to be such a dipshit?”

  “Hey, you said you couldn’t wait to see me make an ass of myself, so there you go. You’re welcome. Besides, you don’t even know which t-shirt I was talking about,” I teased, although we both knew which one he
was referring to – my current favorite, a t-shirt with a beaver holding onto a log with the caption Are you looking at my wood?

  Jake rolled his eyes. “The beaver one.”

  “Seriously? You don’t like that one?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  “You have to admit it’s funny.”

  “For a ten-year-old boy, maybe, yeah.”

  I grinned. “Okay, if you don’t like the beaver t-shirt, what about the one with the bucks on it?”

  “Nooo,” Jake laughed. “That one’s even worse.”

  I shook my head emphatically. I thought that one was hysterical. I didn’t know what Jake had against it. What’s better than two bucks checking out a doe and stating, I’d hit that?

  “Can’t you just try to be normal for once?” Jake asked, looking way less wary and annoyed.

  I hesitated like I was pondering the seriousness of his request. “I… I guess I could try.”

  Jake grinned. “Get out. I have to take a shower. And go pack, you idiot!”

  Wandering into the green room, I plopped down on the couch. I was in no hurry to pack my bags. Honestly, I was never in a hurry. Playing second fiddle to my handsome, successful, talented older brother meant there were zero expectations on me. And contrary to what people might think, I frickin’ loved it! I’d made a pretty goddamn good living out of doing jack shit. My job mainly consisted of following Jake around all the time, which I would do whether I was getting paid to or not. Hell, I had been shadowing him my whole life. Why stop now that he was rich and famous?

  Even as a toddler, I’d idolized Jake, and I’d shamelessly followed him around like an attention-seeking puppy. I’d taken hero worship of my big brother to a whole new level. Jake was the golden boy – charming, handsome, and talented. Everyone loved him. I was none of those things; and yet, for whatever reason, having no labels to call my own rarely bothered me. Somehow my worth had become tangled in his splendor. I basked in his glory, never striving for any of my own.

  Although there were only eleven months separating us in age, Jake was the mature and composed brother and I was the hyperactive mess. If there was trouble to be had, I made damn sure I found it. I hadn’t been a malicious kid, just a dumb one. The reckless choices I’d made never resulted in anything more than a few days of house arrest implemented by my irritated parents… that is, until that day. Flashes of it filled my senses with dread.