Air hostesses announced flight numbers through loud microphones. We'd been waiting out here now for quite a while — an hour or so — and there was still no appearance of my step father, and his enstranged bastard son who would be living with us for the next two years or so while his mother would be getting remarried.

Flynn Henderson, had been married to my mother, Greta for over five years now. At first, I opposed their union, but later stopped fighting when the psychopath who called himself my father kidnapped my mother and had almost gotten her killed if it were not for Flynn's timely intervention. Only then I realized, how much they loved each other and I couldn't bring myself to continue being a nuisance to something so beautiful. My little sister, Lia still hadn't accepted Flynn wholeheartedly but she tolerated him, which was more than enough for Mom.

Here's what little thing I knew about Flynn's past life: he'd been a cop working at the only station down at Forks. One night out with his pals brought him Terra, a brooding, mysterious stripper in a cheeky red dress and they had a careless one-night stand. Terra disappeared into thin air after that night and Flynn's attempts at finding her whereabouts proved futile, till she reached out to him last week and informed him that he had a son, one she could no longer accommodate in her life as she'd found true love again.

Terra had sent him photographs and told him everything he needed to know about Damien, his son. Flynn wasn't pleased to know that Damien was a tattoed punk and an alcoholic, who, according to Terra, was allowed to do whatever he wanted. She never wanted him in the first place, hence she never wasted her time on motherly supervision with a job as tedious and time consuming as stripping.

Lia and I were not happy we'd be having another addition to the family. Flynn's entry into our lives and our father's exit was already tough on us, but our mother was not having any of it. She'd almost kept Damien's arrival a secret had I not been eavesdropping.

When Flynn had shown us the photographs, I'd been pretty intimidated with his inky black hair, which he'd probably inherited from his Forks-bred mother, tanned skin and Flynn's hazel-coloured eyes that glowed in the sunlight. He also had handsome features, looked clean-cut and would've probably fooled me with his innocent facial expression had Flynn not revealed how out of control he could get. 

Damien had gotten his first tattoo at the tender age of nine and had gotten into trouble for underage drinking and smoking pot before he had the chance to hit seventeen. Flynn blamed Terra for not telling him he had a son sooner and rebuked her for attaching too much attention to her stripper job and neglecting her motherly duties. If she hadn't wanted the child she'd have told him, and he'd have come for his son.

Flynn had claimed he'd proposed to Terra that first night they met at the pub. She was so incomparably beautiful, and they shared such a dizzying connection and attraction for each other that intensified with their love-making. But Terra had been adamant, saying stripping was the only thing she was good at and stopped coming to the pub, in order to avoid Flynn who she was sure would return for her.

Now that Terra didn't want Damien in her life anymore, Flynn looked forward to setting him straight over the course of his two-year stay with us.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I stared searchingly at the throng of people moving out the airport entrance to where taxis lined the dirty snow paths. That was wierd. I'd never had butterflies since Jamie, and that was a lifetime ago in middle school.

I had a step brother. How cool was that?

The thought alone was both exhilarating and overwhelming both at once. I was not looking forward to us getting along as I never mingled well enough with males, which was shocking considering I was a male too. But when you're gay and in the closet, you're bound to understand. I had nothing keeping me back from revealing my sexuality, but being the disciplined kid that I was, I knew such an important aspect of my life didn't matter to anyone else but me alone. 

When Mom had caught me kissing Sebastian Windham, our neighbour one scorching-hot summer ago, she'd said nothing. And I felt I didn't need any explaining to do, seeing as she was pretty okay about it. Our bond was more of less talking and more understanding as we never discussed these things but understood ourselves.

I didn't know how Lia was feeling about this, but with how moody she was of late, I could very well tell how unkindly she was taking all this in. She'd even refused to come along with us to pick Damien up had not Mom threatened to have her grounded in her room for a week.

Mom seemed pretty excited as she ran up the stairs last night, getting Damien's room ready. She'd turned the attic into a big bedroom, and we'd gone to Walmart together to get sheets and other necessities Damien would need. It felt wierd doing bedroom shopping for someone you didn't know. I wondered if Damien would like the violet bedding we picked out.

I'd started memorizing the little pep talk I'd prepared just in case I needed to talk to him when I heard Mom shout and rush forward. “Welcome home, darling!”

This is it Timothy.

I looked up just as Flynn hoisted Mom up and spun her around bridal-style, laughing. A few eyes stuck on them from the crowd but my attention was drawn particularly to the oddly familiar bulk of my dearest step brother who stood a few metres off behind Flynn, watching the scene with tightly-knitted brows and clenched fists.

A lump formed in my throat as Mom called out to Lia and I, and we surged forward to catch up with them. Then together, we all turned to Damien who'd dropped his gaze but looked back up again, this time his beautiful eyes finding mine.

Damien was a fucking six foot tall and beared no other resemblance with his father, except the striking hazel-coloured eyes. The long, curt inky black hair I remembered from the photo had been cut short and tousled carelessly, half-concealing his left eye. He smelt good — strawberries and a hint of orange — but I caught a faint whiff of alcohol too. A heavy chain hung from his neck, which I would've been looking at if he wasn't so intensely scrutinizing me.

Okay, he wasn't scrutinizing. More like eye-fucking, but I knew better than to indulge myself thinking he played for the other team. That's if he was into dick at all.

He took a step forward, then another.

Then halted and asked. “Where's the goddamn car?”

His voice was gravelly, like sweet, melted chocolate. It coursed through my eardrums, down to my dick and settled.

Flynn tsked in annoyance, “It's somewhere around here, but we're not going yet till you say hi to your step mother and siblings.”

I internally cringed at the term. Sibling. I sure didn't want to be his step sibling at all. For one, he probably saw my Mom as the enemy because maybe he thought she held Flynn back from going after Tessa, even with her resistance. Two, once I got my first look at his chiselled face and sexy bulk, it became abundantly clear that while I still felt it best to keep my distance, my body and heart had been instantly put under a spell, one I would've given anything to come under.

He barely spared Lia a wary glance, staring daggers at me. Remembering all Mom talked about maturity last night, I stepped forward, swallowed my pride, and extended my hand. “Hey man. I'm Timothy, and this is my little sister, Lia.”

He said nothing. Several seconds whizzed past before he reluctantly took my hand. His grip was uncomfortably hard, almost painful before he quickly released it. “Certainly not a pleasure meeting you both.”

For some reason, his words ran deep. But I shook it off, and decided to take one more shot at kindness. “You must be really tired after being on air for hours. Come on now, we should get going.”

He kept mute as we made our way to our car. I helped him put his bags into the trunk, and sat next to him on the way home.

The ride was unnaturally silent, and thick with a forbording tension.

“You've still not said a word to Greta.” Flynn pointed out, his cheeks warmed up from the snow and his knuckles white was anger on the steering wheel.

“And that's not because I don't have a lot of things to say to her. I do have. But I don't think she'd be happy to hear them.” Damien retorted, his demeanor cool, collected and in stark contrast to Flynn's bristle.

Suddenly, the car screeched to a dangerous halt and Flynn whipped his head back in a tumultuous anger that made Mom cry out. “Leave him alone, Flynn. He must be tired from the flight.”

“I don't fucking care. We're not moving an inch further unless he grows the decency to say something nice to you.”

“Flynn, please. Let it go. He'll warm up to me sooner enough. The frigid Boston weather isn't going easy on anyone.”

With stiff reluctance thanks to Mom's cajoling, Flynn pulled into our driveway a few minutes later, angrier than a charging bull. The atmosphere around the house was like that of bereavement, not excitement.

That night, Damien stayed behind closed doors. When it was time for dinner and he refused to come down, Flynn went up to talk to him and although we heard them arguing heatedly, we made no move to get involved but let father and son hash out their differences.