The Parent Trap (Ch. 3)
Summary: Modern AU — Elijah and Elias were separated as toddlers following their parents' traumatic divorce and conditioned to believe they were the only child. Decades later, they've established successful lives on opposite ends of the country, without ever knowing the truth. When Stack travels south for work, a bizarre encounter at a local grocery store disrupts all they thought they knew. As buried lies emerge and family secrets come to light, the twins are forced to confront the past that was stolen from them.
Pairings: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!reader and Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Annie
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, use of the n-word, family dynamics, uncovered secrets, angst, hurt/comfort, family trauma, parental lies, emotional distress, sibling separation
Word count: 3.4k
(ch. 1), (ch. 2), (ch. 4), (ch. 5)
Before the front door could even close completely, a small figure raced down the hallway and shouted, “Daddy!”
Smoke barely got his boots off before Elisa launched herself at him, arms wrapping tight around his legs like she’d been waiting all day. He instinctively bent down and scooped her up, settling her against his chest, her small hands already fisting into his shirt.
“Hey, Peanut,” he greeted warmly, pressing a kiss to her hair.
She smelled like soap and crayons and whatever fruit snack Annie had given her after preschool. The smell was all too familiar and brought some much-needed comfort to the man of the house.
“I missed you,” Elisa said, voice muffled against his shoulder. “You late.”
“I know,” Smoke acknowledged softly. “I’m here now.”
He held her a beat longer than usual, his grip just a little tighter, like he needed the reminder that this was solid. That this part of his life hadn’t shifted under his feet today.
From the kitchen, Annie watched them. She didn’t say anything, but she could tell from the way her husband held his shoulders something was off.
Annie had learned Smoke’s silences the way some people learned weather patterns. She could tell the difference between tired and distracted, between stressed and troubled. The way he stood there now—still, heavy, brown eyes unfocused even as he held their daughter—told her something definitely had gone wrong.
“Elisa, sweetie,” Annie called gently, stepping closer with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Why don’t you go wash up for dinner, okay?”
Elisa pouted. “But I just got him.”
“I know,” Annie said, brushing her daughter’s cheek. “You can tell Daddy about your day after you wash your hands.”
Elisa hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”
She slid down from Smoke’s arms and padded off toward the bathroom, humming softly to herself, blissfully unaware that the ground beneath her father had shifted.
The moment their little girl disappeared down the hall, Annie turned back to Smoke. “You okay?”
Smoke stared at the bathroom door for a second too long.
“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not really.”
Annie’s jaw tightened—not with fear, but with readiness. She stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest, right over his heart, feeling the uneven beat beneath her palm.
“Talk to me,” she urged.
Smoke swallowed twice, throat burning like the words refused to be set free. He exhaled sharply before finally meeting her gaze and covering her hand with both of his.
“There’s a man,” he began, then stopped. He shook his head like the sentence didn’t know how to be truthful yet. “No. There’s…someone I met today.”
Annie waited.
“He looks like me,” he said finally.
Her perfectly arched brows knit together as she studied his face more closely now—the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders sat like he’d been forced with the task of lifting a dumbbell that held the weight of the entire planet.
“Like you how?” she probed carefully.
Smoke’s voice dropped, rough around the edges. “Like blood.”
Annie let the word settle between them. She didn't panic, but Smoke was still talking around the situation. She just turned her palm and slid her fingers into his, warm and grounding.
“Elijah,” she said softly, using his name the way she did when something mattered. “What aren’t you tellin' me?”
Smoke closed his eyes for a brief moment.
“I think I have a brother.”
From down the hall, the bathroom sink turned on, and Annie Moore—wife, mother, woman who had built a life with him brick by brick—stood very still, already understanding that nothing in their house would ever be untouched by what he’d just said.
Annie didn’t move right away, hand still resting against Smoke’s chest, feeling the uneven rise and fall beneath her palm. She’d learned early in their marriage that when Smoke dropped something this heavy, he needed space to say it out loud before anyone tried to shape it.
She repeated it softly, not in disbelief, but in understanding. “A brother.”
Smoke nodded once, eyes still unfocused. “A twin.”
Annie’s breath caught just enough to mark the weight of it. She gently guided him into the kitchen, turned off the stove before the green beans burned, and then leaned against the counter, folding her arms loosely, eyes meeting his again.
“Alright,” she asserted gently. “Start from the beginning.”
Smoke dragged a hand down his face. “Ain’t much to start with. My daddy told me my mama died when I was little. Said it was just me. Always had been.”
Annie’s brows furrowed. “No pictures with your mom or brother?”
“None that he kept,” Smoke said. “No stories either. Just…me and Sammie.”
She nodded, filing it away for later. “And today?”
“Today I met a man with my face.” His voice wavered. “Sa—same birthday. Same last name. Different life.”
“What did he know?”
Smoke’s jaw tightened. “His mama told him his daddy died. Said he was an only child.”
“So they both lied and made sure neither of you went looking.”
Smoke let out a breath that sounded like it’d been trapped underneath a fallen sequoia tree for decades. “Yeah.”
Annie pushed off the counter and cupped his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes, grounding him, forcing him to look at her. “How you holdin' up?”
Smoke huffed. “Ask me tomorrow.”
“Fair.”
They stood there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync the way they always did when the world shouted too loud.
After a few seconds, Annie pulled back. “Do you want to know him?”
Smoke blinked. “What?”
“Your twin,” she clarified. “Do you feel it's a relationship worth exploring?"
Smoke hesitated because he wasn't sure how this would go. That hesitation told her everything. He was terrified.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Part of me does. Part of me mad as hell and part of me—" His voice cracked again. “Part of me feels like I lost something I never even knew I had.”
Annie nodded. “Your feelings are valid, baby.”
He really looked at her then, shocked at how well she was processing all of this. She was always more level-headed than him. “You ain’t scared?”
She shook her head immediately. “Of what?" she asked, "your lying parents or your twin brother?"
Smoke didn't know which parent to be more pissed at. He wondered if his brother shared the same sentiments. Remembering he had not just a brother but a twin all this time almost brought him to his knees.
Smoke swallowed hard. “His name’s Elias.”
Annie froze. “What?”
“Elias,” Smoke repeated. “Elias Moore.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, flabbergasted as she put two and two together.
“Elijah…” she trailed off.
Smoke frowned. “What?”
Annie looked up at him, eyes wide now—not with fear, but awe. “Our daughter.”
His breath stalled once he made the connection.
“Elisa,” Annie mentioned, voice barely above a whisper.
The room suddenly felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees.
Smoke stared at her like the thought had never crossed his mind—until it did. When it did, it hit him square in the chest.
“I named her,” he acknowledged slowly, the memory of them struggling to decide on a name a month before Annie's due date.
“I know,” Annie recalled. “You said it came to you in a dream.”
Smoke cleared his throat twice. “I ain’t never understood why that name felt so right.”
Annie stepped closer, pressing her palm flat to his chest again. “Maybe you did,” she said gently. “Maybe some part of you always knew.”
Smoke’s eyes filled, and this time he let them fall and didn’t wipe them away.
“I named our baby after my brother,” he whispered, shaken. “A brother I didn’t even know existed an hour ago.”
Annie wrapped her arms around him then and held him tight. No room for hesitation, no room for fear of the truth he carried.
“Or maybe,” she testified softly against his shoulder, “you named her after something that was missing—and life is just now showing you why.”
He clutched her back even tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh around her hips like she was the only solid thing left in the room.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he croaked.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Annie said. “Just know you don't have to carry this alone.”
From down the hall, the water shut off, and within seconds, little footsteps padded closer.
“Daddy?” Elisa called. “Can I tell you what we learned today?”
Smoke closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths before pulling away from Annie. She wiped his tears and kissed his nose once his breathing normalized.
“Of course you can, Peanut,” he said, voice steadier now. “Come on.”
As Elisa came barreling into the kitchen, Annie stayed right there beside him—hand in his, heartbeat steady—already knowing that whatever came next, they’d face it together as a family.
She knew that hidden truths could either break you or finally let you heal. She was determined to do all she could so Smoke would come out of this changed for the better.
~~~~~
The Airbnb kitchen smelled like vegetable oil and onion powder, the steady sizzle of wings filling the space in a way that felt too normal—offensively normal for the kind of day Stack had just lived through.
He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, shoulders noticeably hunched, turning each wing with the tongs like it was a paying job that required his undivided concentration. Like if he focused hard enough on something simple, his brain wouldn’t keep looping back to the same impossible image.
His face. His brother.
You leaned against the opposite counter, watching him carefully. You’d already offered to take over the cooking twice now, but both times he waved you off without even looking at you.
“This one’s almost done,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
It wasn’t even an update. It was more like something to say so he wouldn’t have to think about anything else.
You let him have the task. You knew better than to take away the one thing keeping him upright right now.
“Hey,” you said gently after a moment. “You don’t have to keep busy to be allowed to feel things.”
He huffed under his breath. “I’m not.”
That was a lie. A quiet one, but you didn’t call him on it.
The wings popped louder, so he turned the heat down. His jaw tightened, then loosened, like he was physically restraining something simmering within himself.
“I keep thinking…” he started, then stopped.
You stepped closer, resting your hip against the counter beside him. “Thinking what?”
He stared at the cooling oil for a moment too long. “That I’ve lived my whole life believing I was alone.”
Your chest tightened.
“Not lonely,” he added quickly, “I’ve never been lonely. I had friends. Cornbread. My mom. You.” He glanced at you briefly, eyes softening. “But...alone in a way I couldn't find the words to explain.”
He set the tongs down carefully; they clattered softly as he leaned closer to you.
“I missed out on having a big brother,” he barely breathed the words. If you weren't so close, you would've missed what he said.
Although his words were more honest than angry, they still landed pretty heavy.
“A twin,” he continued. “An older twin. Someone who—” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “Someone who might’ve taught me how to throw a punch better. Or covered for me when I fucked up. Or told me when I was moving stupid."
You reached out then, sliding your hand into his, grounding him.
“He’s still alive,” you whispered.
“I know,” Stack replied. “That’s the part that hurts.”
He turned to face you fully now, eyes glassy but not spilling over. Stack wasn’t the type of man to crumble. He was the type to compress what he felt more than anything. He has gotten better, but there is still room for improvement.
“My mom didn’t just lie,” he muttered. “She edited my life.”
You nodded. “And you’re allowed to be upset by that.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I’m not even…that mad yet. I thought I would be. But mostly I just feel…robbed.”
You squeezed his hand. “Smoke seemed to feel robbed too. He just holds his anger louder.”
That earned a ghost of a smile. “Yeah,” Stack hummed. “I saw that.”
He leaned back against the counter, eyes tracing the ceiling. “Did you notice how he stood? Like he already lived life more than me.”
“I did notice,” you said. “But I think you carry things differently. That's all.”
He looked at you again. “How?”
“The way you carry disappointment is louder than anything else,” you said gently. “He carries anger the same way.”
Stack nodded, considering that.
“I keep imagining what my life would’ve been like if he’d been there,” he admitted. “What kind of man would I be if I had someone ahead of me?”
You couldn't help but tease him as you smirked, "You mean someone to tell you how big of a slut you were?"
He snorted softly. "Exactly."
Then his eyes flashed with regret. "A man to make sure I was being the best version of me."
You pressed your forehead against his chest. “You already are, honey.”
His arms curled around you reflexively, robust and grounded, as if touching you reminded him of where he belonged.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “But imagine how much better I could’ve been with backup.”
That was when the anger finally surfaced. The emotion was low and controlled, yet it was no less devastating.
“She let me think I was alone,” he sneered. “On purpose.”
You felt his chest rise with a breath that was less steady this time.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to her,” he admitted.
“You don’t have to know tonight,” you soothed, standing on your tippy toes to kiss his nose. “Tonight you just need to eat, breathe, and sleep.”
He chuckled softly. “You sound like you’re managing a crisis.”
“I am,” you said. “You.”
That got a real smile out of him.
The timer beeped.
Stack pulled away just long enough to grab the wings and toss them in a bowl of warm honey and lemon pepper sprinkles before plating them up. He slid one toward you and plopped in the chair beside you without ceremony; feeding you was always instinctive to him, but even more so now that you were trying for a baby.
“Tomorrow,” he said around a mouthful of chicken, “I’m meeting him at his gym.”
You looked up at him. “How do you feel about that?”
He paused mid-bite, chewing once then twice like he was buying himself time to answer truthfully.
“Terrified,” he said honestly. He dipped a drum in ranch, and his voice softened, “Hopeful.”
You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That sounds like the right mix.”
He nodded, chewing slowly, eyes distant but steadier now.
“I don’t know what kind of brother I’m going to be,” he faltered. “But I know I don’t want to miss out again.”
You rested your head against his shoulder, wings forgotten for a moment.
“You won’t,” you encouraged. “Despite all odds, you found him.”
Stack closed his eyes, and for the first time since Chow’s Market, the ache in his chest felt less like a wound and more like a door that had finally been opened.
When dinner was over, Stack dried his hands on a towel and leaned back against the counter, watching you plate the leftover wings like this was any other night. Like his world hadn’t quietly tilted on its axis not even two hours ago.
“I’m gonna text him,” he said suddenly.
You glanced over your shoulder. “Text who?”
“Smoke.”
You paused. “Didn’t he tell you to meet him at the gym tomorrow?”
“Yeah. On Sunrise.”
“Did he give you his number?”
Stack’s mouth curved as he reached for his phone. “No...”
You stared at him. “So how—”
“I figured since he owns the gym," Stack explained, thumb already unlocking his phone, "the number on the business page is his.”
You grinned. “You just assumed?”
“He seems like the type of nigga to have two phones,” Stack shrugged.
You snorted now, shaking your head. “Baby,” you said, turning to face him fully, “you are the nigga with two phones.”
That did it. Stack let out a genuine, unguarded chuckle, the first real laugh since Chow’s Market. He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head.
“Well,” he said, still smiling, “seems we got a lot in common already.”
He typed.
~~~~~
Smoke sat at the dinner table with Elisa perched beside him, swinging her short legs while Annie cut her food into neat, careful pieces. The house smelled like home and glowed with a warm light. The clinking sounds of forks and the faint singing of Gracie's Corner flowing in from the living room brought forth a sense of normalcy and safety.
Elisa was mid-story, talking animatedly about finger painting and how yellow was “the best color because it’s loud,” when Smoke’s phone buzzed against the table.
He glanced down. It was a text from an unknown number.
Annie noticed immediately. “You expecting someone?”
Smoke shook his head absently, already opening the message. The first sentence made his breath stall.
Hey big bro, this your lil brother Stack. Found your number on the website homepage. Hope it’s okay me having it. Just wanted to confirm the time we meeting at your gym tomorrow.
Smoke blinked at the screen. It was as if the words blurred for half a second.
Big bro.
That feeling in his chest tightened one last time before loosening completely. Too many emotions began to swirl inside of him: pride, relief, responsibility, belonging and the loudest of them all—brotherhood.
He didn’t realize he was smiling until Annie made a soft sound of amusement across the table.
“Let me see."
Smoke turned the phone toward her.
Annie read it once. Then again, before she let out a full-blown laugh. “Oh, so he already callin' you big brother?”
Smoke huffed. “Don’t act like you not enjoyin' this shit too.”
“I ain't,” she said, eyes shining. “And I like him already.”
Elisa leaned over, curious. “Daddy, who textin' you?”
Smoke glanced at his daughter, then back at the message.
“My brother,” he finally answered.
The preschooler gasped. “You have a brother?”
Smoke hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, baby. Looks like I do.”
She beamed. "So...I have uncle?"
Annie and Smoke couldn't help but emit a soft noise that was a mix of adoration and glee. Their four-year-old was too sharp for her own good. Before he could answer her question, she fired off another one.
“Is he nice?”
Smoke smiled wider. “Yeah, Peanut,” he said. “He is.”
Annie reached over and squeezed his hand under the table.
“You gonna text him back?” she questioned, her tone more curious than anything.
Smoke nodded and squeezed her hand back while the thumb on his other hand hovered over the screen.
He didn't want to overthink a reply, so he typed a reply that just felt right.
Yeah, it’s cool you got my number. Tomorrow at 2. Gym on Sunrise. Don't be late, lil bro.
He hit send before any anxious thoughts could resurface, and for the first time that day, the future didn’t feel like something he had to fear.
It felt like a call that had been waiting on hold for decades, and he finally had the option to answer.
