“Saige,” Dad says, another warning.

“Just get in the goddamn car,” I say, pretending to lose patience. What I really wish I could do is grab his arm, take him back inside the basement of the warehouse and tell him. Tell him the truth and tell him how many times I wanted to spill everything.

Tell him… so many things.

But he breathes once through his nose and gets in the car. I shut the door behind him and get in the front seat. I turn my head and look at him over my shoulder.

“Put your seatbelt on,” I say as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Fuck. You,” he says, biting each word. Even his anger is a beautiful thing. It makes me want to crawl into the backseat and bite his bottom lip, drawing blood and making him growl. Of course, since my father is here, that would definitely be… frowned upon would be an understatement. It would ruin everything. There are more important things than my libido at stake.

“I’m so glad I got to meet you, Sylas,” I say. Every now and then I let some truth slip though, camouflaged as a lie. He doesn’t know the difference now, which is fine by me. Dad clears his throat and I turn back around, but not before I hear him say something that I think is directed toward Dad.

“Fuck you too.”

I keep facing forward as Dad starts the car and we head back toward my parents’ house. I’m sure Sylas wants to know where we’re going, but he won’t know until we get there. Or he recognizes the route. Whichever comes first.

Just to annoy him, I start humming “Take Me to Church”. I know he’ll recognize the tune. It feels like a sort of anthem of our relationship. If that’s what this is anymore. I don’t think there really is a word for what we are now. He thought he was conning me, I conned him right back.

I suppose I’d check the box that says, “it’s complicated” on my social media page, if I were asked to pick one.

Sylas is definitely complicated.

There’s a clicking coming from the backseat and I know he’s cracking his knuckles. He’s nervous and trying to hide it.

I know the exact moment Sylas has figured out where we’re going. There’s a sharp intake of breath and he shifts on his seat. Preparing to defend himself. I don’t blame him. I’d be shocked if he wasn’t suspicious.

We pull into the circular driveway and Dad stops the car. He gets out without another word. I fight the urge to look at Sylas as I get out, and it’s not easy. I’m just so aware of him. He’s always in my peripheral vision and turning my head to see what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, is a reflex.

I have to walk behind him to get him into the house. He’s not visibly fighting, but I know if anyone makes a sudden move, he’s going into attack mode. I’ve watched him wail on the punching bag in his apartment, nearly destroying the thing, his body dripping with ribbons of sweat.

Not the point.

He almost puts the brakes on, and then he sees her.

His sister. Lizzy. The moment she turns and sees him from her vantage point in the den, she’s on her feet and flying toward him.

“Brother!” she yells, laughing as she hurls herself on him. He catches her and holds her, even though he’s in shock.

“Lizzy? What are you doing here?”

He sets her gently on her feet, but doesn’t look away from her face.

“The man brought me,” she says, looking back at Dad. My stomach twists and I know that after the truth comes out, there’s no going back.

“What man?” Sylas asks, his face gaining a hard edge. Dad clears his throat.

“That would be me,” he says. He’s dropping his “Mr. Beaumont” face and is back to being my dad. I’m used to the switch. It’s all I’ve ever known.

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Sylas says, turning his body so he’s protecting Lizzy. Her wide blue eyes look up at him as if he hung the moon. He might as well have. I’d believe it.

“Bad words, Brother,” Lizzy says, touching his lips. “No bad words.”

Sylas looks down at her and his face loses all hardness. Only love and tenderness shine out of his eyes when he looks at her.

“Sorry, Lizzy. But what are you doing with her?” His eyes flick back up and change so fast. Just like Dad. They’re more alike than they could ever imagine.

Here it is. The moment. Dad looks at me and lets out a breath before dropping the bomb on Sylas that’s going to shatter his entire world.

“She’s my daughter.”

Dad’s declaration is met with silence from Sylas. It seems as if Lizzy hasn’t even heard him because she’s busy touching Sylas’ face and shushing him like you would a fussy child.

Once Sylas gets over his initial moment of shock, the next automatic emotion is disbelief.

“No she’s not,” he says, completely confident that this is just another con. Another snow job. Another lie. “Why don’t we talk about this privately?” he says through gritted teeth. Clearly he wants to get her out of here in case this gets violent. His body’s humming like a just-struck tuning fork. I’ve never seen him this dangerous.

Thinking someone needs to do something before Sylas pulls the pin out of this potential grenade, I turn to Lizzy.

“Hey, you want to see my room?” It’s going to be a little awkward being alone with her, but at least I can take her out of the line of fire.

Her eyes light up and she claps her hands, completely unaware of the animosity between her brother and her… father.

I still haven’t wrapped my head around the fact that Lizzy is my half-sister. But I take her arm and lead her out of the room, throwing looks over my shoulder at both Dad and Sylas. They’re getting ready to face off and just before we’re out of earshot, Sylas speaks.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull? Lizzy is not your daughter.”

Lizzy just skips ahead of me, singing to herself.

“It’s upstairs,” I say and she bounds ahead of me. Her energy is almost contagious. She’s light and bright and makes me think of cotton candy and sunshine and smiles.

I open the door and she runs inside. It’s very different from the last time I was here with Sylas. That was a very different situation altogether.

Lizzy hops on the bed and lays back, looking up at the canopy. I have no idea what possessed my mother to decorate the room like this. It’s so far from my style, it’s not even on the same planet. I’m never going to be frills and lace and pure white. That is fine for some other girl, but not me.

“Your room is awesome,” Lizzy says, sitting up and looking around again.

“Thanks,” I say. I’m trying to figure out how to proceed with this situation when Lizzy just starts talking.

“My brother is mad, isn’t he?”

“Oh, I think it’s going to be fine,” I say, moving to sit on the bed next to her. Looking at the two of us, you probably wouldn’t know that we are even somewhat related. We share no similar features, but I can see little bits of Dad in her face here and there. Softened, of course, but still there.

“Are you sure?” Her wide blue eyes grow concerned and I pat her on the arm.

“Absolutely. Do you, um, want to watch a movie or something?” At least then I won’t have to talk. I mean, I do want to know about Lizzy, but I’m not really ready yet. Dad just told me about her a few weeks ago. I didn’t speak to him for a few days because of it. I mean, who does that? Who keeps a secret like that for my whole life? Lizzy and I are only a year and a half apart. How different my life might have been if I had known she existed sooner.

“Uh-huh,” she says and I go to the cabinet that holds my old television and show her where the DVD boxes are. I don’t care what she picks, but she surprises me by choosing Pretty in Pink. I had a hardcore John Hughes obsession a few years ago and bought anything and everything that he was even somehow involved in.