Chapter 12

Magpie went still.

She'd never been told, outright, that her brother had opposed the marriage that strongly.

It turned out, while she'd been throwing herself into what she thought was love-plus-duty, the people closest to her had already seen through the fog.

A complicated mess of feeling welled up in her. Recognition. Regret.

"Mom. Don't." She took Iris's shaking hand. "It isn't your fault. I chose it. And I have Wren. I don't regret any of it."

"But you've suffered so much…" Iris was crying in earnest. "If I'd known you'd have to go through all of this, I would rather have—"

"Rather have what?" A voice drifted up from the stairwell.

Both women turned. Kieran was leaning on the doorframe with a plate of sliced apples in his hand. He raised his eyebrows at Magpie.

"Now you know who around here can spot a deadbeat at a glance, right?"

He dropped it in light, with a flick of smug ease, smoothing the heaviness out of the air.

Magpie watched him distract their mother with easy jokes, and some tight knot in her chest loosened.

Before she could answer, Iris swatted her son. "You're insufferable. You pick on your sister too much."

Kieran mock-groaned and pressed the plate of apples into Magpie's hands.

"Come on. I'm helping Mom educate Sis. Listen to sound advice. Especially when it comes from her older brother."

Magpie looked at the scene. She felt warm in her chest.

The past couldn't be changed. But at least they had each other. At least there was this place to come home to, anytime.

A few days later, Magpie leased a studio space.

She named it Magpie Studio, after herself.

Registration, buildout, equipment, all the logistics. Kieran took all of it on. His excuse was that he was "paving the way for the next great composer of our generation."

He complained that the curtains she picked were too plain, then drove across half the city to hunt down fabric in the same color family.

He complained that the espresso machine she'd picked was overdesigned, then read the manual cover to cover and pulled her first cup.

When Magpie was hunched over scores making revisions, he'd settle on the couch nearby with his laptop and take care of business. Every so often he'd glance up at her profile. The only sound in the room was pen on paper and keystrokes. It had a strange, easy balance to it.

Iris came by a few times. Watched her son circle her daughter. There was contentment in her eyes. And something a little complicated underneath.

One afternoon, Magpie had just walked out a potential client, a producer discussing a film scoring collaboration, when Iris arrived at the studio.

Kieran was out in the hall on a call. The big open studio was quiet, just the two of them.

"Mom. What brings you by?" Magpie poured her a glass of water.

Iris took the glass but didn't drink. She ran her thumb along the side of the cup for a long moment. Then, like she'd made a decision, she spoke.

"Mags. There's something I've been turning over for a while. I think you should hear it."

Magpie sat across from her. Some part of her already suspected.

"Kieran… isn't biologically mine and your father's."

Her voice was soft. The words hit like thunder.

Magpie's head came up.

"He was adopted." Iris sighed. Her eyes drifted out the window.

"I wasn't doing well, health-wise, back then. I couldn't conceive. Your grandparents on both sides were putting pressure on us. We went to a children's home. That's where we met Kieran."

"He was stubborn from the start. He looked at people like they were going to hurt him. But something about him, I don't know, the moment I saw him, he felt like mine."

She turned back to Magpie. She looked at her with a long, careful gaze.

"Kieran carries a lot in his head. He doesn't say much. But what he's done for you, all these years, your father and I have watched every bit of it."

"He knew from the start that you weren't really his sister. And he still chose to be a good brother. For all these years."

Iris didn't spell it out, but what she was saying could not have been clearer.

When they had taken Kieran in, somewhere in their thinking, there had been the faint idea that he might grow up to be the person who could watch over their daughter, the person who knew her deeply and could love her for a lifetime.

Magpie sat frozen, image after image flashing through her head.

As a kid, when she'd been bullied, Kieran had been the one who'd charged in to fight, come home with a bloody nose, and refused to back down.

When she'd taken up violin, he'd sat through every rehearsal, falling asleep drooling in his chair, refusing to leave first.

When she'd told the family she was marrying Damon, he'd had the loudest fight with her, slammed out of the house, then showed up on her wedding day with red eyes and physically carried her out of her childhood home, whispering, "If he hurts you, come home. I'll take care of you."

All of the things she'd taken for granted, the quiet shields, had a reason behind them.

Those long, complicated looks she'd caught from him sometimes, they hadn't been a brother's.

She'd thought he was an exceptionally devoted brother.

Her chest felt too full. Her throat ached.