Shock and panic collided in Taylor. The instinct to hide coursed through her, but she shook her head reminding herself of where and who she was at that moment. Still holding the door, she retreated a step, allowing room for entry.

"You're late," she said, remembering to keep her voice in her normal pitch. "Also why did you ring the doorbell?"

"I'm not late," Weston said. "Mom always starts five minutes later than she plans. And I bumped the doorbell on accident."

Weston stepped into the house, kicking off his shoes and hanging his jacket on the peg rack by the door. Within a second, the determined detective was replaced by the easy-going brother. In socks and a t-shirt, it seemed impossible that the two existed in the same person.

From down the hallway, their mother stuck her head out of the kitchen.

"Oh Weston, you're right on time," she said.

Weston looked to Taylor and she rolled her eyes.

"Wow the golden child is right on time, how did I ever doubt him?"

As Taylor made for the kitchen, Weston hooked his hand around her arm and tugged her back.

"Woah, Woah, Woah," he said. "You going to explain to me how this happened?"

He pointed at the still healing bruise on her face. Taylor prodded the area, almost forgetting it had been there. The earthy smelling cream Clint's sister had given her was working, the bruise was now in the last ugly yellow-brown stage. Taylor crossed her arms.

"You know how school is, it's not the students that are dangerous, but the locker doors. They show no mercy."

Weston's concern wasn't assuaged by the comment.

"You understand, you can't lie to me. I'm a detective. Tay, I know a right hook when I see it."

"So lockers are more adequate at combat than you would think."

The joke had the opposite effect that she wanted. Weston took a step closer, frowning.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

Taylor dropped the joking grin, knowing that he would press more than her own parents. Lucky her, she had a detective for a brother.

"Wes, it's nothing to worry about, it honestly was an accident."

"No one gets a punch to the face by accident."

"In this case someone does. Can you please not make a big deal out of it? They don't need to worry."

It was a sly trick and one Taylor knew would work. When Weston eased back, she knew she had won him over and hated herself for it. Sighing, Weston ran a hand over his short hair.

"Fine, but do you need help with this?"

"I got it. It's not something likely to happen again."

After a long minute - where her brother scrutinized her - he nodded but the line of concern etched between his brows remained. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bringing into contrast how much taller and broader he was than her, having gotten all their father's genes. When they walked into the kitchen, their mother beamed. Weston accepted her hug and kiss on his cheek, despite the fact he had to bend down to receive it. Before he could return to his full height, their mother cupped his face.

"Are you eating?" she asked.

Even though he was thirty-two, his mother still looked at him as if he were a twenty-year-old college student who was trying to figure out life.

"Yes, mom, I'm eating."

Taylor almost snorted at this, having first-hand knowledge that his food was often left to go cold on his desk. Admittance of this was not an option though so the taunting of her older brother was set aside.

"Where's dad?" Weston asked.

"Out back with the grill."

Taylor and Weston exchanged glances. Their mother caught this and placed her hands on her hips.

"You know it makes him feel more manly to grill," she said.

"That's great," Taylor said, "but I would like to eat a hamburger that's actually edible."

Weston nudged her shoulder. "What you don't like the taste of charred meat?"

"Strangely enough, I don't."

"Well, I feel the same. That's why I brought this."

Weston lifted the plastic bag he had been carrying and set it on the counter. D'Carlos was written on the side in swirly letters and the aroma of goodness floated from inside. Taylor spread out her arms in pure adoration.

"My hero!"

Weston laughed and she was reminded how even that sound was different than the one she got from him in his office. This one was boyish and completely untroubled. The other was always tinged with the reality of his position.

"I'll go get the ones your father is slaving over and exchange them."

As their mother left, Taylor called out after her. "Don't let him leave his book out there. The other one got ruined." With an acknowledgment from her mother, Taylor looked to Weston. "He took War and Peace with him. And we wonder why we can't eat what he cooks."

When their parents returned, father and son embraced while blackened lumps were switched out for more palatable versions. At the table, Taylor reached to snatch one of the best looking burgers but stopped when her father cleared his throat.

"Forgetting something," he said.

Embarrassed, Taylor took her mother's hand and stretched her other to grasp Weston's.

"Dear Lord," her father said. "Thank you for food and clothes and teaching us to be content. Thank you for being our savior. And thank you for keeping Weston safe as he protects your people. Amen."

Silently, Taylor imagined the final part of the prayer included her.

As they dug into food, updates on ordinary life were woven between bites. The topics all hovered in the realm of pleasant, never straying too far to what could bring unease. It wasn't until their plates had been cleared of all but crumbs and the last flecks of chips, that their father steered the conversation in a more interesting direction.

"What case are you working on lately?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Adjacent to each other, the father and son resemblance was strong, though Weston's skin stole a bit from his mother's fair complexion. Strongly alike in appearance, they differed in everything else: Weston driven, calculating while his father was reserved, contemplative. Still, their hearts were the same, both looking to help where they could.

Shaking his head, Weston cast a glance at Taylor. The glance puzzled her since she found she was at a loss for what lay behind it.

"You know, nothing all that interesting," Weston said, fiddling with his fork.

It was a lie, that she knew, but she didn't understand why it was given.

"Well, you just helped one of the biggest cases of the year, I'm guessing everything else seems boring in comparison."

"Exactly. How's work? How is school going?"

The diversion was seamless as the last question was posed to Taylor and cast light on a touchy subject. Noticing the brief look shared between her parents, she saw where this line of inquiry would go and decided to veer off the road.

"It's fine, how's Diego?" she asked.

Her ploy worked as Weston scowled at her. "No."

"What?" she asked with all the innocence she could muster. "I can't ask about your co-worker?"

"You can ask about any of my co-workers, all except policeman Diego."

Taylor rested her chin in her hand. "That seems a little rude to Diego, is it cause he's Hispanic?"

Weston stared at her, the look telling her he knew exactly what she was doing. In retaliation, she grinned, showing her teeth.

"No, it's cause even though I'm a guy I'm still aware of how attractive Diego is. Besides he's too old for you."

"He's only twenty-four."

"And you're seventeen. He's too old."

Taylor huffed and sank back in her chair, the perfect picture of affronted sister.

"Fine, since you are cutting off my love life before it began, let's talk about yours. Why aren't you seeing anyone new?"

Weston glared at Taylor for having driven the conversation into a territory that her parents were invested in: the prospect of grandkids.

"Honey, what happened to Veronica?" her mother asked.

Putting away his annoyance, Weston rubbed his forehead as if the memories irritated him.

"She moved away to Kentucky," he said.

"Ouch, moving three states away just to not marry you, that has to hurt."

Another glare was thrown Taylor's way, but she shrugged as if saying, you asked for it. From there the conversation broke down into their mother talking about ladies from their church who had nice daughters that might be perfect for Weston, while their father suggested undergraduates who were promising and Weston argued that work was too much at the moment and dating was not a possibility at the time. Through it all, Taylor picked at the last flakes of chips, safely out of the line of fire.

When Weston finally agreed to a date with a 'nice' girl that his mother knew, the dinner broke up. Dishes were assigned to the two troublemakers and from the look, Weston gave Taylor as they gathered up the plates, she wasn't going to survive the task.

Bubbles billowed in the sink as hot water gushed from the facet. A pan, greasy plater, and a scraped out bowl of potato salad were dunked into the water. As Taylor reached for the sponge, Weston came into view, arms crossed.

"Mom and dad already told me about school," he said. "You managing to avoid the conversation at dinner doesn't change that."

Sighing, Taylor dropped her hand into the burning water.

"I didn't think it was something that needed to be revisited."

Weston bumped his elbow with hers. "What's going on, Tay? Your grades are bad and on top of that you're not sleeping?"

"I think it's the whole not sleeping thing that explains the bad grades."

"Nightmares?"

The single word was heavy with a guilt that was entirely misplaced, but Taylor could do nothing to change that. The only way was the truth and that wasn't an option.

"Just bad nights."

"Anything I can do?"

The irony of that question wasn't lost on Taylor. Hours tailing Vincent was one of the main sources of lack of sleep, but not doing that was also not an option.

"Not really," she said, handing him a soapy bowl for him to rinse. "Now that we've dealt with my thing, are you going to talk about why you lied to dad and said that you weren't working anything interesting."

"I didn't-"

"Wes, I know your Tell, you fidget. What's wrong with telling him what you're up to?"

Weston turned his back on her to grab a towel.

"It's not him I have a problem telling stuff to."

Taylor scrubbed at the pan, ridding it of grime.

"Okay, well I can understand why you wouldn't want mom to know, you don't want her to worry. But what about me? I can listen. You can tell me anything."

"No."

The answer was so vehement that Taylor spun towards him. Weston stared at her, ready for her pushback. Taylor wasn't one to disappoint her brother.

"What? Why?"

She crossed her arms, ignoring the soap bubbles that were left on her shirt.

"Tay, you don't need to know about the darker side of life."

This almost made Taylor laugh, she dealt with the darker side of life every night. She raised a challenging eyebrow.

"And why not? Just because you won't talk about it doesn't mean it still doesn't exist."

"I know that. But you don't need to know about it."

She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Why?"

"Cause you've already been through enough!"

His explosion stole all of Taylor's arguments from her. She leaned against the side of the sink, the rim pressing into her waist. His anger was tangled with guilt that had yet to leave him, even though they both knew he was not to blame for what happened that summer. Still, she could tell he wore it like his detective's badge, always ready to whip it out when it meant her protection.

"Wes, I'm not a little kid," she said.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're right. But you are still my baby sister and I want to watch over you." He jostled her affectionately. "You should be having a normal life with high school, getting good grades." She rolled her eyes at his reminder that she was not doing well. "Leave the problems of the city to me. Okay?"

She nodded, knowing there was no pushing passed this. Annoyed that there were two versions of her that he knew, but were completely exclusive to each other, she knocked his hands away and turned back to the sink.

As if taunting her of this fact, she felt a tug in her stomach. The feeling was common and she waited for it to subside, an overheated argument that she was sensing. But as the feeling grew, she had to stop, the intensity of it clawing at her insides. She gripped the edge of the counter and closed her eyes, breathing. The strength of The Pull was past the level of even a drunken bar fight and more towards danger.

Taylor gritted her teeth, knowing she couldn't leave, not with her preceptive brother always looking for the identity of his shadow companion. She willed it to go away. Not knowing what else to do, Taylor imagined The Pull like a cord tying her to someone else and cut the tether.

The second she did the sensation vanished. She leaned against the sink, breathing hard, the sudden lack of feeling unsettling. As she became aware of the world outside herself, she felt Weston's hand on her shoulder and realized he had been calling her name. Shaking her head, she righted herself.

"Sorry," she said.

Every line of his face was twisted in fear and panic.

"What happened?" he asked, still not letting her go as if afraid she would collapse if he did.

Taylor shook her head again, buying time as she scrambled.

"Cramps. Periods are the worst."

Instead of pulling back in embarrassment at the topic, Weston studied her.

"Is that the truth or are you throwing out an awkward subject to make me back off?"

Taylor had to admire the keen intellect of her brother but knew that this was a subject that could be talked over.

"Do you really want me to go into detail of how it sucks to have ovaries and the crippling pain they cause?"

Still eyeing her, he retracted his hand. Taylor finished off the last dish, all the time reeling over the fact that she somehow stopped The Pull, something she had never done before. When she hadn't been able to answer it, she had knuckled her way through the pain, waiting for it to pass.

Before she could dive further into the completely baffling turn of events, she was dragged from her thoughts by Weston tapping his foot against hers.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, drying the pan.

"Nothing. Are you staying the night?"

"Unfortunately, I can't."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a black phone similar to the one buried in Taylor's backpack. He dashed off a text and she knew that above them, her binder had reacted to the vibration of her phone.

"I know you don't make a lot as a detective, Wes, but that is a dinosaur."

He laughed and slid the phone away.

"It's a work phone." Before Taylor could question him over that, he hurried on. "I can't sleep here, but dad said he had a new documentary about literary writers in the 19th century that he wants to watch. So I figure we'll eat ice cream and talk over it while mom and dad fall asleep to it."

Taylor kicked the dishwasher door closed and crossed to the freezer.

"Sounds like a plan to me."

The night slipped by as the siblings emptied a carton of ice cream while ignoring the documentary and finding less than dangerous subjects to talk about as their parents slowly fell asleep, their father with his head resting back on the couch, mouth open with his wife tucked under his arm.

After they guided their sleepy parents to their room, Weston left making a promise of returning more frequently. As the door shut on him, Taylor climbed the stairs to her room and changed. She'd replied to Weston's message during an excuse to use the bathroom. She stuffed her bed with pillows and waited.

On the dot, she popped out of existence and reappeared in his office. For once the desk was free of an uneaten meal. Weston sat tilted back in his chair, staring at the evidence board.

"You ate," she said.

The lower, monotone voice felt strange to use after hours of talking to him only half an hour before. Using his foot, Weston spun the chair towards her. The quick-to-smile countenance was replaced with his serious one, though this one had its own form of a smile, just one not as carefree.

"It happens from time to time," he said.

Taylor waited a beat, wondering if this would be the time that he would notice the similarities. Though she did everything she could to disguise them, a part of her always feared that he would see through it. Part of her wanted him to. But a large part of her knew he would never forgive her if he did find out.

When Weston had no accusation to put to her, or a question that would prove he knew, she spoke.

"What do you need from me?"

Weston laced his fingers and settled them on the back of his head.

"I need an ear to bounce ideas off of."

Despite knowing that this was the roll Shadow played in his life, she felt a sting of hurt that he could easily confide in a stranger more than the real person beneath the hood. She leaned back against the wall, folding her arms.

"Of course," she said. "You can tell me anything."

**********************************************************************

"WAPOW"

(Quote from Sunshine Girl because I totally nailed that plot twist!)

Tell me honestly, did you ever think that Weston was Taylor's brother?

Any other wild and shocked thoughts you want to share with me! 🦹🏼🦸🏾‍♀️🦸🏾‍♂️

This was one plot twist I was worried that someone might put it together but since there is a 15 year age gap I figured it wouldn't be something people would naturally think. Still, I've had people call things that I never imagined they would!

I'm glad I pulled this one off! 😏

Now what's the biggest plot twist you never saw coming?

(I'll save my story about dangerous adventures through a 200 year old house for the next chapter)

你懂吗 (Chinese): Chris Evans  of Captain America twice before accepting it, because he initially wasn't comfortable taking on that level of commitment and fame.

Vote, comment, follow but only if you stand for a good plot twist!