My thoughts were a swarm.
I should tell him.
I shouldn’t tell him.
God, how would I even start if I did?
“Hey, Coop, by the way, my mom and Mr. Standish sat me down and dropped the world’s worst family plot twist in my lap.”
Yeah,that would go over great.
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The grip felt like it belonged to someone else.
Mom’s face flashed through my mind—tight smile, nervous hands, the way she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Eddie is your father.”
Then Mr. Standish, stiff in that way that said he thought he was being noble but mostly just looked constipated.
“I know this is a lot to take in, Frankie.”
Believe. Like it was some kind of theory. A hypothesis. A casual suggestion over brunch.
I swallowed hard. My stomach twisted like someone wrung it out with both hands.
Then Archie—God—Archie’s reaction was the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling.
"It’s crap,"he’d said, straight up, no hesitation."They’re both messed up, and they’re projecting. You arenotmy sister."
He backed it with genetic theory and then—because he couldn’t just leave my brain intact—he’d pulled me in and kissed me like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting for the excuse to do it or the excuse to prove something or maybe just waiting for me.
He kissed me solidly enough that I couldn’t pretend the moment didn’t happen. Couldn’t pretend I didn’t melt straight into him. Couldn’t pretend anything at all.
So maybe I didn’t kiss my maybe-brother before.
But that ship? Oh, it had sailed. It had sailed, hit a hurricane, broken into emotional splinters, and was currently sinking with a melodramatic violin quartet playing in the background.
I didn’t want to be his sister.
God, I didn’t.
The thought made my heart thud almost painfully, each beat echoing in my ribs. My stomach twisted again, sharp and nauseating.
The whole time, Mr. Standish—potential father, classic disappointment, world-class critic of Archie—hovered like a specter behind the thought of all this.
I didn’t want that man attached to me by blood. I didn’t need a father. Never had. Sure as hell didn’t want one now. Especially not one who couldn’t see Archie’s worth even on his best days.
The entire mental monologue unfolded in silence, loud enough to drown out everything else. Loud enough to make my ears ring. Loud enough to make my throat tight and hot and awful.
I didn’t even realize how quiet I’d gone until Coop exhaled, shaky and thin, and said softly, “I can feel you hurting. And I hate it.”
My hands froze on the wheel.
His voice wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t prying. It just held this raw sincerity, gentle and rough at the same time, like he was confessing something without meaning to.
I blinked hard, like that would clear the pressure behind my eyes.
“I can feel you hurting too,” I whispered back. The truth tasted strange. Heavy. Familiar. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize how bad it was until right now.”
