“Yeah.” He glances around the guest sitting lounge that we rarely use, releasing a long whistle. “Nice pad. I’ve never been here.” He sighs, then leans forwards. “We haven't spoken much, have we?”
“No.” I smooth my hair down again, needing to do something with my hands. Maybe I should offer him tea? Or coffee? Or cake? “Are you hungry?”
“No. I just ate. Don’t be nervous. I’m the one who should be nervous with all those damn guards out the front.”
I wave clumsily towards no-one—feeling a flush of awkwardness rise to my cheeks. “Oh, don’t worry, they are harmless.” I don’t know why I said that; they most definitely are not harmless.
“Right.” He grins again. “Look, I’ll getstraight to it. You know I was a Nerrock, yeah? My first birth certificate says I'm Deakon Nerrock.”
The warmth in my cheeks is replaced by a chill that sweeps across my skin. I find the ends of my hair, coiling them around my finger. “Are we…?”
“Related? No. Not by blood. You're Dustin's biological daughter, and I'm his lie. My mum, his wife at the time, had an affair with Butch, but she died, like yours did.”
I lean back into the sofa. “Oh, yes, I remember this story. Luca told me about her.”
“Yeah, well”—he mirrors my action, resting backwards into the chair—"He didn't want me. Sold me off. That's cool. I'm okay with it now. He could have accepted me as his own, but instead, he got rid of me. Dick move.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Dick move.” Chewing on my lower lip, I feel a tight knot of sympathy curling in my stomach. “He didn't want me either,” I offer.
“I spent a lot of time without family,” he says. “Without birthdays, or healthy food until the Slaters adopted me. Then I learnt how to be a brother to Cassidy and Flick, and how to be a son. It took a long time.”
It’s so sad.
His brows pinch above a remorseful expression. “I didn’t come here to put a black mark on your day. Sorry.” He cringes outwardly. “Blesk told me to write it down, so I don’t say anything hurtful. Should always listen to my girlfriend.”
I lift my chin. “We’re incredible creatures.”
A warm chuckle leaves him. “That you are. So, I was thinking, we are kinda like family. In a way. I heard you want nothing to do with him or your half-sisters. Me neither. How about you think of me as your brother? If things had only been a little different, we might both have been Nerrocks.”
This comes out of nowhere.
My throat tightens.
His eyes soften. “Shit, don’t cry.”
I swallow over an insolent lump of emotion. “I’m not,” I squeak, tears filling my eyes as I nod enthusiastically. “Yes. I’d like that. Can we do that?”
“Yeah, you got it, Sis.”
That word lands like a warm blanket cast over trembling shoulders. Bronson's ‘Sister Fawn’ has always been playful, but this—this carries weight. Konnor and I share more than just a discarded surname. We're connected by more than the father who didn’t want us or a mother who died too young. We are connected by birthdays without presents, by learning to sleep without goodnight kisses, by broken and sewn identities, by scratching for a concept of self.
The word ‘Sis’ from his lips feels like finally being claimed by someone who understands the confusion of identity.
My arms rise slightly before I can think to stop them. "Can we hug, maybe?"
“Yeah.” He stands. “Let’s formalise this.”
Jumping to my feet, we meet for a hug over the coffee table, chuckling softly. “We can practise this. Did I do okay with the whole having company thing?”
He looks at me. “What do you mean?”
“Like inviting you in, offering you food?”
His smile deepens, carving those signature dimples into his cheeks. "You're a natural hostess."
We share matching expressions of resolve as I guide him towards the exit, my mind already racing through my to-do list—cake waiting in the kitchen, needing to pump milk for when I’m at the hairdresser’s and rehearsal dinner.
"Until tonight, then," I say, pulling the door wide as he steps onto the porch, then hesitates.
