Chapter Seven: Escapes and Reversals

I felt like I'd been standing there for hours, but it was only mere minutes, as I stood there looking up at Ian, dumbstruck. Talking rationally had officially gone out the window, and I found that, more than anything, I needed to understand my family. My family—never thought that I'd think that, let alone say it, and now that it was actually happening...

"Scar? You okay?" Ian asked.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. "Yeah. Yeah, I will be, I just..." I felt my brow begin to furrow then as I squared my shoulders. "I mean, how do you feel?" I asked, not wanting to be subjected to an interrogation. "Are you...I don't know...cool with having another sister?" I asked, mentally crossing my fingers that I didn't sound too desperate.

"Frank hasn't not put his dick anywhere, so it's not so much a surprise," Ian replied, and looked shocked at the expression I gave. "But, let's face it, Scar, there were beginning to be too many similarities to count. What were we supposed to think?"

I sighed, bringing up both hands to the bridge of my nose and shaking my head again. "Just keep your fingers crossed that I don't get arrested," I muttered.

"You'd fit right in if you did," Ian said with a laugh.

"Ian!" I cried out, lowering my hands in exasperation. "This is serious! I mean, what if word gets out that Lip and I...dated?" I asked, not wanting to go too far, especially in public. "It makes me sick just to think..."

"You didn't know," Ian reassures me. "If you honestly didn't know the information, then you can't be held accountable, right?"

I shrugged. "I don't know the laws on this sort of thing, okay? The whole topic just made me uncomfortable, to be honest..."

Ian smiled. "Well, the fact remains that your family—officially now," he says, looking down at my birth certificate.

"What are we supposed to do now, then?" I asked, checking my phone to make sure I had time for this conversation.

"What do you mean?" Ian asked.

I shrugged. "Well...you're the only one who knows..."

"You haven't told Lip? Or Fiona?"

I shook my head. "No. I've been dodging their calls..."

Ian looked around then, looking uneasy and unsure. "Well, you should tell them..."

"How?!" I demanded, talking over him, tears springing to my eyes that I couldn't call back, and I hated myself for it. "How the fuck am I going to talk to them?!"

"Scar..."

"You've got to admit, on some level, at least, how fucked up this is," I say, feeling as if I am going numb at the very thought of it. "What we did...Lip and me... We can't ever take that back, and now..."

Ian closes the distance between us then, pulling me to him in a hug that I immediately feel is just what I needed. As I sob into his shoulder, he just holds me against him, saying nothing. That's what twins are supposed to do, right? Sense the other's needs and thoughts, and just go with it until the one in pain or filled with joy manages to calm themselves enough to complete the conversation at hand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It's not your fault, Scar," Ian replies, not letting me go. "It's fucking Frank. He must've done this for some reason..."

I laughed then, feeling nothing of positivity towards my biological father, due to everything that Ian, Lip, and Fiona had managed to tell me about him. "We don't know the circumstances yet, Ian, so we really shouldn't judge... Besides," I say, pulling back to look up at him, "I hate him for what he did to you guys growing up. I should've been there to, I don't know, ward off at least a fraction of the behavior..."

Ian smirked. "Well, we were barely surviving as it was. What's one more mouth to feed when you really think about it?"

I laughed again, wanting more laughter in my life, but I'd cried more than I had now in the last week than I had in my entire life. "I shut off my feelings for so long, because of my family dynamic, and because I had no one to turn to. Now that I have everyone I could've ever wanted to turn to, it feels too good to be true."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you said so yourself, Ian—there was something between us, we just couldn't shake, and now that we know the reason why..." I shook my head. "Sorry, but it's still unreal to me. I guess I never fathomed having biological siblings, let alone a twin..."

"Yeah, about that..."

"What?" I asked.

"You know that Frank isn't my biological father, right?"

I shook my head. "No, I...didn't know. So, what does that mean for us? I mean, you said we were born on the same day..." My mind began to work then, and I shook my head. "Well, I guess our dear mother Monica must've slept with Frank and whoever your father is in the same week, thus making us twins but only half-siblings...weird."

"Clayton."

"What?"

"Clayton Gallagher, he's—well, we think he is—my biological father," Ian explained. "He's your uncle, actually. He's Frank's brother." Ian pulled at his hair. "It's how I got this, but yours is red, too..."

"A variation of a similar color," I say, shaking my head. "The pigments must've transferred to you and onto me," I joked.

"I don't know if that's how it works..."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Well, I'm a lawyer, not a fucking doctor," I replied, and Ian and I shared a laugh.

Ian turned and looked up at the courthouse. "That douchebag still giving you a hard time?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Maybe," I said, following his gaze towards the massive building before I turned to look at him again. "Why do you want to know?"

"The Gallagher family sticks together," Ian replied. "All I'm saying is, if that jackass gives you a hard time, well..."

"Ian!" I cry out, pulling away from him and smacking him on the shoulder, to which he grinned at me, and I shook my head at him. "Don't sink to his level! Besides," I say firmly, lowering my voice, "Nicholas is my boss's son."

"Oooh, so his name is Nicholas!" Ian said, his eyebrows going up and down. "Is he hot? Maybe we should give him a call..."

"Ian!" I cried, my face turning as red as my hair. "Please! Nicholas is my superior and I don't even want to think about fucking right now, let alone fucking him..."

"Why?" Ian asked, trying to figure out which coat pocket I kept my phone in. "A little angry sex can work wonders..."

"You're a fucking pig," I said, managing to evade his grasp. "I love you, but you're a fucking pig who shouldn't say things like that..."

Ian stopped trying to find my cell phone, his eyes locking with mine. "Wait. You love me?" he asked, sounding strange.

"Well, yeah," I replied, giving him the same expression. "You were my friend first and now that you're my brother..." I shrugged. "Of course I love you."

Ian smiled. "Love you, too," he replied.

I checked my phone again and sighed. "Look, we should table this," I said, knowing I had to get back in there, before I got out of Judge Whitmore's good graces. I reach out then and take back the file folder, which he is still inexplicably holding onto. "We should figure out a way to tell everyone, but..."

"As a family?" Ian asks, smiling.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"One question..."

I smiled. "Shoot."

"Did you tell me first because I'm your twin, or because you can't face Lip yet?" he asked, and I lowered my eyes. "Scar?"

"With Lip it's...complicated..." I say, putting the folder back into my briefcase.

"Because you love him?" Ian asked.

I raised my eyes to his. "I'm not allowed to love him that way," I reply, my voice and eyes betraying me as I turn away from him and go back up to the courthouse.

. . .

Getting back into the courtroom itself was physically fine, but emotionally draining. I shoved open the doors, crossing the room and feeling relieved that Judge Whitmore had not yet come out of chambers. I slipped into the attorney area and onto the correct side of the courtroom, where I joined Nicholas at our shared table, and opened my briefcase, moving around my case notes and gripping tightly to the bottle of water I'd procured from the vending machine down the hallway, and Nicholas gave me a harsh look as I opened it.

"What?" I hissed from the side of my mouth.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

I gave a curt nod. "Fine, then." I checked my phone, seeing that we still had a few moments, so I pulled my notes towards me and scanned the questions I would have for the next witness, just wanting to distract myself from Nicholas.

"Where were you?"

I gritted my teeth, knowing full well that I had to play nice. "What I do on my lunch break is hardly any of your business, Nicholas."

"It is, if you're not present, which could mean that we could lose the headway we've gotten on our trial."

I scoffed, positioning my hair to my other shoulder—it was rather warm in here. "Please—the judge can decide for himself given the criminal history—"

"More like by you having him in your back pocket," Nicholas replies.

Immediately, my eyes snap to his. "And just what are you insinuating here?" I whispered, trying to keep level-headed about this, this horrendous implication that Nicholas was pinning on me, which was, quite frankly, disgusting.

Nicholas shrugged. "Nothing, it's just that you're relatively new to the Chicago area, and suddenly you and Judge Whitmore are all buddy-buddy. I can't help but wonder if there's something more going on here."

My eyes flashed then with rage—I could feel them narrowing as I stared at him. "You're so lucky we're in a courtroom, Nicholas..."

"And why is that?"

"Because I would fucking slap you if we weren't," I replied, turning back to my case notes, my hackles fully raised now.

Nicholas grabbed my wrist then, pulling it towards him, and I looked at the table, but they hadn't noticed what was happening between us. "Go ahead," he said, and I found myself staring at him then, wondering just what he was thinking. "Do it. See what happens."

I managed to yank my wrist back and away from him, knowing exactly what he was after, but I wouldn't allow myself to sink to his level. "Oh, believe me, Nicholas, I know your game, and I won't fall for it."

"My game?"

"To get me out of the attorney game," I replied, shaking my head at him. "Well, it's not going to work, because I know your type."

Nicholas looked skeptical at that, almost as if he was attempting to judge my perception of him in the little time we'd known one another. "My type?" he asked.

"Yes, your type," I said hotly, gripping onto my case notes and attempting to study them. "You think you deserve everything in your life just because it was fucking handed to you—well, it doesn't work that way! You can't solely rely on your parents' accomplishments and just expect to get ahead in life. There are plenty of other people that can do your job, Nicholas—don't think you're the only competent one out there."

"Do you think you could do my job for me, Scarlett?"

I gave a stiff nod. "I could, one day," I replied. "But just because I'm not completely ready for it now, doesn't mean that I know it couldn't happen. I have enough humility to know when I need to learn more before I presume I have enough experience and know-how to step into someone else's shoes."

"You certainly do have a lot to learn, Scarlett."

"You know, maybe I do," I reply, whipping back around to face him, "but at least I have the courage to admit that. Do you?"

Nicholas opened his mouth the speak, but the bailiff entered the courtroom then, announcing Judge Whitmore's presence, causing our conversation to come to an end.

. . .

Court was scheduled as a half-day the following afternoon, meaning that Nicholas and I were expected there promptly after lunch. I dreaded another afternoon in a hot room, being subjected to his presence, but I was relieved to know that I wouldn't have to be in such close proximity to him for the entire day. I arrived at the office just before nine that morning, and Rachel came to meet me, as usual, to inform me of any messages I'd received before I'd come in that morning, or left over from last night.

"Talk to me, Rachel," I said, flashing her a smile and handing over a mango smoothie—her favorite—as I sipped my strawberry one.

"Thank you, Scarlett," Rachel said, always touched that I thought of her, gripping the cold drink in her hand. "Here are your messages," she said, handing me the slips of paper with her hurried, looped handwriting on them. "Oh, and perhaps the biggest message of all..."

"Yes?" I asked, turning around just before the hallway began.

"Hugo and Allie returned this morning," Rachel said promptly. "Red eye from California the night before, landed just before four this morning. They wanted to get back to their normal sleep schedules, so they took a brief nap before coming in today."

I nodded. "All right, then. That's wonderful."

"Allie is waiting for you in her office to debrief you on the next several days," Rachel went on, nodding towards Allie's office. "An emergency cleaning crew came in to clean each office, but you kept most of your things in your office by end of day, anyhow. Everything is as it should be, and Allie is awaiting you now."

"Thank you, Rachel," I replied, smiling at her as I turned around and headed directly to my office at a steady clip. Slipping in, I put my messages down on my desk, finishing the rest of my strawberry smoothie and disposing of the plastic cup before I knocked on the adjoining door of my office and Allie's.

"Come in, Scarlett!" she called.

Smoothing my suit, I opened the door quickly and stepped inside. "Good morning, Allie," I replied, my case notes under my arm, in case she wanted to take a look at them. "The flight and Charlotte were well?"

"Yes, thank you, Scarlett," Allie replied, gesturing for me to sit in the chair opposite her desk, and I promptly moved to do so. "Charlotte accompanied me and Hugo back on the flight. We thought it would be better if she was home with us for a while."

I nodded. "Parents usually know best, I find."

"Did your parents usually know best?" Allie asked.

I sighed. "My adoptive parents—well, my mother, as my father left when I was five—took a hands-off approach..."

"Why do you think so?"

I shrugged. "Well, she got remarried pretty quickly after the divorce was finalized, and then there was the matter of her biological sons—three of them—that came along in quick succession. I suppose she thought she owed her biological children something that she didn't owe me... Oh, well, not like it matters now..."

"I should say not, considering you've just found your biological family."

I lowered my eyes. "Yes, I have..."

"Attorneys and judges talk, Scarlett—we travel in similar circles. Judge Whitmore actually married Hugo and I."

I nodded. "I didn't know you three went that far back."

"He's Nicholas's godfather," Allie said with a chuckle. "I can't believe that, after so long of working together without us here, that Nicholas didn't mention it."

I sighed. "Nicholas's and my conversations... Well, suffice it to say that they consist more of sparring matches than anything else..."

"Sparring? You're not getting along?"

I felt my shoulders slacking then. "Honestly, no," I replied. "I must admit, and I'm not proud of it, but I threatened to slap him the other day..."

"Goodness!" Allie cried, but she looked more concerned than anything else when I looked up at her. "He must've said something atrocious!"

"I think implied is the correct word here..."

"Well, what did he imply, Scarlett?" she asked.

"Well, he... He implied that I had Judge Whitmore in my back pocket, but the insinuation was of something of a more inappropriate nature. That's how I interpreted his words," I say, feeling ashamed at what I was doing.

Allie clicked her tongue and shook her head. "That boy has been coasting for far too long on his name alone... I'll have a word with Hugo about it," she said.

I sighed. "If you think it will make things better. I was pleased—grateful, even—when Judge Whitmore said something on my behalf. He'll actually let me do some work on the business side of things, but the resentment in his eyes..." I shook my head. "I honestly can't place it, Allie. It's almost as if..."

"What?"

"That he made his mind up from the moment we met to dislike me," I said, feeling like a traitor for telling her this about her own son. "I tried very hard, Allie, honestly. I just don't understand why he—"

Allie sighed, cutting me off. "I will speak to Hugo and Nicholas on this matter. It's not acceptable, especially given the announcement..."

"What announcement, Allie?" I asked.

"Timothy informed us while we were away that he is retiring at the end of next month. He's been priming Nicholas as his successor for three years now, while Nicholas worked as a graduate lawyer at Northwestern..."

I nodded. "I see. So the firm will now be Blomqvist, Blomqvist, and Torrance?" I asked, gripping tightly onto my case notes.

"In technical terms, yes," Allie said. "But in light of recent events, I'm tempted to withhold the name change. Nicholas has to have a deeper understanding of the way you treat people before he gets his name on the letterhead."

"Will Hugo see it that way?" I asked. "I know you're married, Allie, but husbands and wives can't see eye-to-eye a hundred percent of the time..."

Allie nodded. "No, you're right. But we've got to make Hugo understand where his loyalties truly lie here. With his son who has coasted his entire life, or with my personal assistant, who is in the right here?"

I lower my eyes. "I appreciate you going to bat for me, Allie," I told her softly, "and for everything else you've done for me. You didn't have to do that."

"Women have to stick together," Allie replies, and I raise my eyes to hers. "Because the more we turn against each other, the less work we can get done where it matters."

. . .

We got out of court the following evening and all I wanted to do was to go home and forget the side eye that Nicholas was giving me that entire day in court. I reached my apartment without much issue of traffic and headed directly upstairs, letting myself in and thinking that a shower was in order. I got undressed and went straight there, just tossing my clothes off as I went like some high-maintenance bitch. Once under the stream of hot water, did I permit myself to come undone as I sobbed beneath it.

Just as I got out, I heard knocks at my front door, and, wrapped in a towel, gathered my clothes and thre them in my hamper before I checked to see who it is. When I saw Lip through the spyhole, I sighed, knowing that it was now or never as I unbolted the door and unhooked the latch and stood back to let him inside without ceremony. As I shut the door behind him, I felt uneasy as it squeaked, but wouldn't allow myself to show my unevenness in front of Lip, so soon after finding out what I knew.

"You've been dodging my calls ever since you got back from god knows where," Lip said as I turned around to face him. "Come on. What's so important? Didn't you get my voicemails? I was worried sick that something fucked had happened to you..."

I leaned against the front door. "I went to Mexico."

Lip looked concerned then. "You went to fucking Mexico?! Jesus, Scar!" he said, running his hands through his hair. "You're as bad as Ian, except this time, you went to the fucking border just to get away from us—"

"It was you I had to get away from, Lip, before we did something stupid again!" I cried out before I could stop myself.

"Stupid?" Lip asked, slowly turning to look at me. "How was it stupid?"

"Not stupid," I whispered, seeing the pain in his eyes and feeling it, too. "I'm sorry. Bad choice of words."

"No shit," Lip replied. He stepped forward, putting his hands on my shoulders, and I stiffened at the affect his touch had upon me. "Whatever it is, Scar, we'll work through it," he said, putting his finger beneath my chin. "Come on," he said, inching closer. "Just stay with me and tell me what's bothering you—"

"Don't," I said, hating myself for my voice breaking as I tore myself away from his hold on me and crossing the room away from him, as I tightened the towel around me. "Don't, Lip... You can't...we can't..."

"Why the hell not?" Lip asked, coming up behind me, his hands gliding over like skin, and I felt hot tears flowing down my face. "I love you—"

"Don't say that," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Don't think that..."

Lip turned me around then. "How do you feel about me?"

"What I feel for you is not how I should feel for you," I whispered, "because, if you know who I was, what I am—who I am—then you would think this was so wrong..."

"Scar?" he whispered. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"You always compare me to Ian," I whispered, my eyes not leaving his. "Now, why do you think that is, Lip?"

Lip looked shaken by my sudden declaration, and pulled back and away from me. "Oh, my god," he said, his voice shaking. "Are you saying...?"

"Yes," I whispered; I couldn't look at him, for I knew I would break even further if I did. "Yes, Lip. I'm your sister."

"Are you Ian's twin?" he asked, and I looked up.

"Yes," I replied. "But I'm only his half-sibling. I'm your full sister."

"God, I don't believe this..." Lip whispered.

"Why do you think I ran?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Why do you think I got the hell out of here the moment I got the news? I was terrified, Lip," I said, this entire conversation like a knife in my heart. "Terrified that I would go to you and that all common sense would go out the window and that you and I would do something we'd regret—"

"I loved you!" Lip cried out, and I felt the words sting my very core. "I called you my girlfriend, and you just—"

"I didn't know," I whispered. "Lip, you've got to believe that I didn't know that there was a remote possibility that you and I were—"

"Fucking siblings!" Lip screamed, and I felt the tears come out faster than they ever have before in my entire life. "We're fucking siblings! I'm in love with my fucking sister!"

"You're not in love with me, Lip," I replied, shaking my head. "This is something else—it's not love, trust me. Just...Google it."

"How could you not have known?" he demanded, coming towards me then, slamming me up against the opposite wall. "Is this just a sick game to you, Scar? Stepping into a new environment like a psychotic social experiment and fucking people over?!"

I shoved him away from me. "What was I supposed to do?!" I demanded. "Wait for a fucking DNA test after I cared enough about somebody to fuck them?!" I cried out. "May as well test the whole fucking city! God knows how many kids Frank has!"

Lip reached out without hesitation, intending to smack me, but I caught him by the wrist. "Let. Me. Go."

"No," I replied. "I would rather not show up to work tomorrow with a handprint on my face, thank you very much. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor."

Lip stared at me then, unmoving, and, for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the boy I'd fallen in love with—not love, not love, but something... "Scar..." He whispered, and the boy spoke, and I felt my resolve weakening.

"Lip," I whispered back, "we can't..."

"You don't want to?"

"That's not the question," I replied. "But we can't. Now that we know it's wrong, we can never discuss it or do anything again."

Lip pulled his wrist away from my grip, walking unsteadily towards the door and placing his hand upon the knob. "I don't care what Google says," he told me after a moment as he turned to look back at me. "I love you, Scarlett," he said, opening the door and walking out of my apartment, the door shutting behind him.

I sank to my knees then, covering my face to prevent everyone from hearing my sobs. "Yeah, Lip, I know," I replied to myself. "I love you, too..."