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If you asked George Forbes what he does for a living, he would say one of three things: boxer, club owner, jewellery collector

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If you asked George Forbes what he does for a living, he would say one of three things: boxer, club owner, jewellery collector. All of these are true, he boxes, he owns clubs and he collects vintage watches and rings.

The question that doesn't get asked is: is it legal? The answer is, no. None of it is legal. He underground boxes where people place illegal bets, he owns clubs that cover up his deals with drugs and arms and he steals the jewellery he collects.

His brother and dad are no different which is what lead me to believe for a whole year that George was locked up rightfully for first-degree murder. My beliefs were wrong and after one very painful visit (the first and only visit) I found out that he was put away because a rat was sniffing around with the bets. The murder part came in because George has accidentally killed before-manslaughter. He's not like his dad in that sense, I don't think.

But despite all of that, when he got arrested and taken away from me, I hit the rockiest bottom known to man. So rocky that I actually lost my daughter because of it. I didn't expect it, it didn't even cross my mind that it was a possibility. But it was and now I'm living with the aftermath.

"You alright?" Albie swings his legs over the side of my bed and slips his boxers back on. I lay staring up at my ceiling, sweating and out of breath from the sex we just had.

"He gets out today," is what I say as I wrap my bed sheet around myself and head over to my walk-in wardrobe.

Albie exhales, slides a cigarette packet out of his jeans pocket and puts one in his mouth. He's like his brother in some sense. With them being twins and all but there are a lot of differences.

Albie smokes cigarettes, George only smokes weed. Albie prefers me on top during sex, George likes to take complete control. Albie styles his hair with gel almost every day, I've never seen George and a tub of gel in the same room. Ever.

And even though Albie was there for me when I lost Rose, he just wasn't George. Of course, I had my best friends and sister to support me through it. But sometimes I craved that much-needed physical intimacy and Albie was the closest I could get to George in that way.

I wouldn't say me and Albie are proper dating, maybe just friends with benefits who also have more than benefits. If I'm drunk and alone at three in the morning, he's normally the one I end up crying too. I'm not sure if normal FWB share those deep moments.

Flicking through my wardrobe, I twist my lip to the side in the debate about what to wear. Probably something black (I'm still in mourning), something that shows off my legs, something that is appropriate for dinner with my ex-boyfriend who just got released from jail. A lot to think about.

"Why did you bail him out again?" I ask over my shoulder.

Albie chuckles, blowing smoke out of the window because I don't allow the smell to be trapped in my room. "Because he's my brother."

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