Family Secret

Chapter 20

The morning arrived far too quickly. Nate had barely slept, his mind caught between the rings, Alexia’s voice, and the unsettling way his chest tightened whenever he thought about her. But dawn didn’t care.

It came crashing into the house in the form of Ryan and Kyan.

“Ryan took my socks!” Kyan shrieked down the hallway, darting after her brother.

“They’re not even yours!” Ryan shot back, one sock already on his foot, the other dangling in his hand. “They were in my drawer!”

“They’re mine! They have the pink stripes!” Kyan screeched, lunging at him.

Nate stepped out of his room, already dressed in a crisp grey button-up, black tweed vest, and slacks, his tie draped around his neck but not yet knotted. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was worse than gunfire.

“Kyan, Ryan—” he began in a low, warning tone.

Neither child heard him. Kyan launched herself at her brother, Ryan dodged, and the sock went flying.

From the kitchen came another sound—a loud clang, followed by a muttered curse from Alexia.

Nate’s instincts prickled. He turned and headed for the source of the noise.

The sight that met him nearly broke his composure.

Alexia stood in front of the stove, blonde hair already frizzed loose from her bun, wearing an apron. Smoke rose from the pan in front of her, something blackened and vaguely egg-shaped clinging stubbornly to the skillet. The smell of scorched oil hung thick in the air.

She noticed him and gave a sheepish smile. “Breakfast.”

Nate arched a brow. “Is it?”

She glared playfully. “Don’t start. It’s just eggs. People make eggs all the time.”

“People who know how to cook,” Nate murmured under his breath, stepping forward. He reached around her, switching off the burner with a flick of his wrist. The proximity made her stiffen for half a second, though she didn’t step back.

“Excuse me, Mr. Professional,” she said dryly.

He said calmly, eyeing the charred mess in the pan. “Clearly eggs are your undoing.”

Alexia swatted his arm lightly with the spatula, though she laughed. “Fine, then. You cook.”

Nate sighed, taking the pan from her. “Move aside.”

She raised her hands in surrender and leaned against the counter, watching as he cracked fresh eggs into the pan with smooth precision. His movements were efficient, controlled, almost surgical.

Behind them, the fight over socks escalated into Ryan trying to barricade himself in the bathroom and Kyan pounding on the door, demanding justice.

“Children,” Alexia muttered, shaking her head.

“Undisciplined,” Nate corrected, plating the first batch of scrambled eggs with meticulous neatness.

“Children,” she repeated firmly, softer this time, her tone carrying something almost fond.

Nate glanced at her, catching the way her expression softened when she said it. For a moment, the smoke-filled chaos, the shouting, even the ruined breakfast didn’t matter.

But then Ryan screamed from the bathroom, Kyan yelled louder, and reality came crashing back in.

Nate placed the eggs on the table with a sigh. “They’ll be late for their first day if we don’t intervene.”

Alexia smirked. “You go. You’re scarier than me.”

He raised a brow. “That’s debatable.”

She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Not to them.”

The ride to school had been a battlefield of its own—Kyan bouncing in her seat, Ryan staring out the window with nerves tight in his stomach, Alexia trying to keep the peace, and Nate driving in silence as though steering through enemy territory.

When they finally arrived at the gates of the academy, the chaos only grew. Children ran across the yard in a blur of backpacks and squeals, teachers tried to corral them like herding cats, and parents hovered, either teary-eyed or anxious.

Ryan clutched the straps of his backpack tightly, his lips pressed into a thin line. He’d been quiet the entire ride, and now his eyes flicked from the kids laughing together to the looming school doors.

Kyan, on the other hand, had no such hesitation. “Come on, Ryan!” she tugged his arm. “It’s just school. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.”

“I’m not scared,” Ryan muttered, though his tone betrayed him.

Alexia crouched in front of them, brushing Ryan’s hair back with one hand. “Hey. You’ll be fine. You’ve got your sister, and you’ll make friends in no time.”

Ryan’s shoulders eased a little, though he still looked uncertain.

By the time the twins made it to their classroom, the nervous energy had shifted into something else entirely.

“Ryan! Kyan!” a voice called from across the room.

It was Clint—the skinny redhead with glasses too big for his face, and buck teeth that made him look like he was perpetually grinning. He waved both arms wildly, almost knocking over his pencil box.

Next to him stood Elijah, shorter but sturdy, with warm brown skin and a heavy accent that made his words bounce with rhythm. He grinned at the twins like they’d already been friends forever.

Beside him was Miha, a tiny girl with straight black hair clipped neatly with pink barrettes. She gave a small wave, her smile shy but welcoming.

Kyan beamed, dragging Ryan toward them. “See? We already have a group!”

The five of them clustered together in the back corner of the classroom, an odd little collection of personalities. Clint had already pulled out a comic book to show off, Elijah was telling a story in rapid-fire words Ryan barely kept up with, and Miha quietly organized all their crayons by color.

The teacher—an older woman with a strict bun and sharp glasses—paused when she saw them. Her lips twitched like she wanted to laugh but thought better of it.

By the time recess rolled around, whispers had already started floating across the playground.

“Look, it’s the misfits.”

“Yeah, the new kids. They’re weird.”

Ryan stiffened at the name, bracing for teasing. But then Clint puffed out his chest. “Clan of misfits!” he shouted proudly, like it was a title of honor.

Kyan jumped in immediately. “Yeah, that’s us!”

Elijah laughed, clapping Ryan on the back. “Better to be a clan than alone, eh?”

Miha just smiled, her small voice adding softly, “Clan of misfits.”

Ryan blinked at them all, the tight knot in his chest loosening. The name didn’t feel bad anymore. It felt like a shield. A group. His group.

By the end of the day, Ryan and Kyan were already walking with their new friends, sharing snacks and stories like they’d known each other longer than a few hours.

Alexia and Nate were waiting by the gates. Kyan waved her arms so hard her backpack nearly tipped her over. “Mommy! Daddy! We’re the clan of misfits!”

Alexia blinked, smiling in confusion. “The what?”

Ryan rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

Nate’s brow furrowed, but there was the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll assume that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” Ryan said quietly, for the first time that day sounding confident.

The first week together felt like it lasted a month.

By Monday night, Nate realized living with children—and Alexia—wasn’t a mission you could simply strategize through. It was endurance training. Chaos came in waves, sometimes loud, sometimes subtle, but always relentless.

Ryan and Kyan were the sharpest contrast. Ryan took Nate’s rules seriously—or at least, he tried. He did his homework without being asked twice, lined up his shoes neatly by the door, and even lowered his voice during meals when Nate gave him a look. But he still slipped now and then, following his sister’s lead into little bursts of mischief.

Kyan, on the other hand, was a force of nature. She tested every limit Nate set. If he said bedtime was nine, she’d push for nine-thirty. If he told her to keep her voice down, she somehow got louder. Yet beneath the testing, Nate noticed how quickly she gravitated toward Alexia’s energy, like the two of them had an unspoken agreement: chaos made life fun.

Alexia thrived on it. She leaned into the laughter, the messes, the unpredictable moments. She encouraged the twins’ games that left blankets turned into castles in the living room, or “spy missions” that involved sneaking cookies when Nate wasn’t looking. She never crossed the line into outright defiance—at least not often—but she delighted in watching Nate shift uncomfortably, jaw tight, patience tested.

“Relax, Commander,” she teased one night as Kyan raced through the hall in her pajamas, Ryan chasing her with a pillow. “They’re kids. They’re supposed to be loud.”

“They’re supposed to follow rules,” Nate countered, though he didn’t stop the faint curl of his lips.

By Wednesday, Nate adjusted. He learned to choose his battles. If the kids finished their homework and brushed their teeth, maybe the blanket fort could stay up until morning. If Alexia wanted to "attempt" to cook dinner—a chaotic, flour-covered disaster—he’d quietly take over halfway through under the guise of “helping".

Patience became his weapon. Composure his shield.

By Friday, something had shifted. The twins weren’t fighting bedtime as hard, though there was still negotiation involved. Alexia seemed to have found her rhythm, balancing playful encouragement with quiet respect for Nate’s boundaries. And Nate, though he’d never admit it out loud, found himself… settling. Into the noise. Into the chaos. Into them.

That night, as the twins brushed their teeth and argued about gets the pool floaties tomorrow.

Alexia leaned against the doorway, arms folded, a small smile tugging her lips.

“Tomorrow’s the big cookout,” she said lightly.

Nate glanced at her, expression unreadable. “I know.”

“You worried?” she teased.

“I don’t worry,” Nate replied, straightening the twins’ backpacks by the door. “But I am prepared.”

Alexia smirked, pushing off the doorframe. “We’ll see how prepared you are when you’re surrounded by kids and barbecue sauce.”

The twins’ laughter echoed down the hall as they scrambled into bed, Ryan already starting to mumble about being nervous for the weekend, while Kyan insisted it would be “the best adventure ever.”

By the time the lights were out and the house had settled, Nate lay awake for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The week had been chaos—but it was theirs.

Tomorrow would test just how well they’d learned to survive it.