Fuck that. She rushed back towards the front door. The hotel provided bins full of complimentary umbrellas – Paris had wet winters. Tate pulled out a long one and charged back towards the bedroom. She kicked open the door and let out a growl, holding the umbrella like a bat.

“The cops are coming, mother fucker! You have -,” she started to shout, but was cut off by yelling and screaming. She blinked a couple times, trying to adjust her eyes to the sight in front of her.

Oh. My. God.

“What the fuck, Tate!?” Ang was shouting as he struggled to get out of the bed.

He was completely nude, but that wasn't what shocked her – she had seen Ang naked more times than she could count. No, what shocked Tate was the other person in the room. A woman sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt in a nervous, frantic manner. Tate stared in wide eyed shock.

“I ..., you ..., I ...,” she breathed, feeling a little like she was going to faint. Ang groaned and started to walk towards her.

“I didn't want you to find out this way, I wanted -,”

Tate lost it. Her mind wasn't exactly the strongest thing on the best of days, and it certainly wasn't one of those days. She let out a shriek and banged the umbrella against the bedroom door. The sound was loud, and caused Ang to jump. Tate let out another frustrated yell as she turned and hurried back into the seating area. There was some muffled movement in the room behind her, then she heard footsteps racing after her.

“Don't talk to me. I don't want to talk about it,” she said, her voice fast and shaky. Ang appeared in front of her, now wearing a pair of boxer briefs. He stood in front of the open door, blocking her exit.

“Stop. We have to talk about this, you look like you're going to pass out,” he told her. She stared at him for a second and then whirled away, pacing across the living room.

Don't crack. Do. Not. Crack. One breakdown per day, that's all you get.

“I'm fine. I just have to get out of here,” Tate said, raking a hand through her hair.

“Just let me -,” Ang started again, walking up next to her. He reached for her arm, but she swung the umbrella up, pointing it at his chest.

“Don't touch me!” she hissed at him. “How could you do this? How could you not tell me!?”

“You've been gone! You've been with him! How was I supposed to tell you!?” Ang yelled back, holding his hands up like her umbrella was locked and loaded.

“Stop using him as an excuse for everything! This is why, isn't it!? Why you've been weird for so long, why you never wanted to see me!” Tate yelled. He looked at her like she was stark raving mad.

Jameson never looks at me like that. Sanders never looks at me like that.

“I wasn't being weird, Tate, I was just waiting for the right time,” Ang said. From behind him, Tate could hear soft footsteps coming down the hallway. She narrowed her eyes and stepped to the side so she could point her umbrella at his guest.

“Well, you sure knew how to pick the right fucking time. Was this your idea?”

She was very pregnant, but her sister still looked beautiful. Ellie's honey blonde hair was a disheveled mess around her head, and her shirt had been buttoned wrong, leaving one side hanging lower than the other. She was chewing on her bottom lip.

“Tatum, it's really ..., not what you think,” Ellie insisted. Tate let out a laugh, but it sounded more like a dying cat.

“Not what I think? Not what I think!? Then things sure have changed a lot during my little vacation, cause it looked an awful lot like the two of you were fucking!” she screamed at them, waving the umbrella around as she spoke.

Ang closed his eyes, sucking air through his teeth. Ellie turned bright red. Tate glared at both of them, gulping in deep breaths of air, the umbrella still held out in front of her like a weapon. She glanced around them. The living room made sense, now. Ang and Ellie must have stumbled in, gotten busy on the couch. Knocked over the lamp. Ripped each others clothes off, and then crashed into the bedroom.

Thank god I didn't come in any earlier.

“Tate. Please. It just sort of ..., happened. We spent a lot of time together while you were in the hospital. We both missed you,” Ang explained, holding his hands out defensively. She gasped.

“This has been going on for over two months!?” Tate demanded. He winced.

“It just happened one night,” he told her.

“It just happened one night!? You both missed me!? So, what, you thought sleeping with each other would be like being with me!? That is so fucking weird, and some kind of incestuous, I'm sure,” Tate pointed out, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“It's not all always about you, Tate,” Ang snapped. “We missed you, so that brought us closer together. I get her, and she likes me, I don't know.”

“But jesus, in TWO STATES, my sister and I have managed to sleep with each others ..., whatevers. Somethings. God! She sleeps with Jameson, I sleep with Jameson. I sleep with you, she sleeps with you. Fuck,” Tate swore. Ang went to step forward and she swung the umbrella wide. “Don't fucking come near me. You kept this from me, and it's huge. I may have gone crazy, and I may have sold my soul, but I would never have kept something like this from you.”

“You're not my mother, or my girlfriend, Tate. I can sleep with whoever I want to,” Ang pointed out.

All of a sudden, and very unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. She didn't know who was more horrified, her or Ang.