by Snow, Nicole
I frown. “I’m not sure what your dad did, but Jordan seems like a sweet kid. It’s not the end of the world that you got an adorable half brother out of the deal. What’s the big—”
“My mother was dying from terminal cancer when the puke I called dad cheated on her. I knew he was doing it for years, stepping out on her, but he swore he’d stopped after I came back to Chicago from the military.”
It’s like a shot through his chest. I can’t even breathe when I look at him, gazing into the harsh, furious shine in his eyes.
“God, Mag. I’m sorry.” I want to reach over, throw my arms around him, and just hold him, but from the way he looks, I’m scared he’ll push me away.
“He not only fucked around on her till her dying day, he got his fling pregnant,” he growls, raking stiff fingers through his messy hair. “Then he bullied her into silence.”
I drop my head against the couch because I can’t reach out, can’t comfort him behind that unreachable stone wall. “Oh, Mag...”
“As of this morning, his mom’s still in a damn coma, lying in ICU. Jordan’s going to be here indefinitely. He refused to eat until you came, and I still can’t get him to say more than two words. He calls me a rich prick.”
If it weren’t for the tortured look on his face, I’d laugh at the last part because it’s too true.
But I play the words through my head several times, trying to come up with the best way to say this. However I phrase it, he won’t like it, so here goes.
“I mean, your outburst this morning probably didn’t help. I know you were stressed, but...”
“I know,” he says, shrugging. “I tried to be congenial the best I could. Turns out, I’m just not very good at it. Jordan didn’t deserve the shit flying off my tongue and frankly, neither did you, Brina. I’m sorry.”
Gutted.
That’s exactly what I am when he looks up again, the angry blue moonlight in his eyes dimmed to a mournful winter. A deeply regretful one.
I smile.
“You’ll get the hang of Jordan.” He sips his tea and I stare at his face. “I’ve never seen you so exhausted. You should get some sleep.”
“I’m okay,” he says.
“Mag, you need sleep. Have you slept at all?”
“I have to wait until Jordan’s in bed in case he needs anything.”
I laugh. “He’s fourteen. Not four. If he really needs something, I’m sure he’ll manage, but I’m also here.”
“You’re going to take care of my brother while I sleep?” he asks. “After this morning, I’m amazed you came back here.”
“I’m a believer in second chances.” I nod. “Let me put away the groceries. I’m still helping you at work if I’m helping you here. I take care of everything else for you anyway, even if you don’t need my help at home.”
“Sad, but true. I’m just overwhelmed right now.”
He sets the mug down on the coffee table with a loud clink, pulls me into his lap, and closes his huge arms around me.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, kissing my neck until I bristle.
It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself, but if something happens now, when he’s in this state?
Bad, bad idea.
“You’re right.” I lean back and whisper in his ear, “You should go to bed.”
“You’re getting rid of me?”
The vulnerability he’s shown since I came back from the office makes me bold.
“No. But if you kiss me like that again, I’m not sure you’re getting any rest tonight.”
His teeth sink into my neck. “Don’t tempt me, woman.”
I let out a laugh that ends in a grin and wiggle out of his hold.
“Go to bed, Magnus.”
“You’ll be here when I wake up?” he asks, more like a possessive demand than a serious question.
God.
Does he want me here? Or is he just saying stuff he’ll regret later due to stress?
“Of course I’ll be here,” I tell him.
What I don’t say is, you’re the one who always leaves.
“Thank you.”
My heart sings to hear those two simple words again. He’s getting soft with all of these thank yous.
Magnus slips off to his room, and I go find Jordan.
The penthouse is huge, bigger than several of my parents’ houses put together. It takes time to navigate the strangely beautiful, sleek, and modern corridors, but eventually I figure out how to get back to the sunroom. Jordan sits on the floor in the dark, hugging his knees, staring at the snow falling lightly out the window with the city’s lights twinkling in the distance.
“Hey, guy. Are you okay?” I ask.
He turns and looks at me. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“I’m going to order some food, so there’s something in this apartment besides coffee. Got a minute to help me fill up an online cart?”
He gives me a curious look, his lip curled. “Why do you need my help?”
“So I know what you like. Mag usually eats at the office. If you wait for him to buy groceries, you’ll starve.”
“What is it with you guys and food?” Jordan rolls his eyes, almost the same beautiful shade as his big brother’s in the darkness.
I shrug and grin. “We like to eat.”
He presses his lips together.
“So you’ll just buy whatever I want?” His voice goes up an octave.
I nod.
“But why?” He seems confused.
“Because your brother wants you happy here, and so do I. I know this is a tricky situation. We’ll make it as easy as we can.”
“Thanks, I guess,” he says before going quiet. “So if I wanted sour gummy bears, marshmallows, and hot chocolate?”
“We can definitely get those things, but you’ll regret an all-sugar diet pretty fast. How about some protein and veggies, too?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He pops up off the floor and follows me back to the couch.
“What are some of your favorite meals at home?” I ask, pulling out the laptop.
“Meatloaf, pasta, beef stew, fish and fries,” he says without hesitation.
Crap. Magnus may need a chef.
Pasta, I could probably handle. The rest of that’s beyond me.
“Your mom cooks well,” I tell him.
“Most days.”
“What if Mom works late? Then what do you do?”
“Oh, did you mean you wanted me to pick frozen foods?”
I nod. “Well, no one here really has the skills to cook from scratch, so I was thinking of things you could make your—”
He pumps his arm in the air and brings it back down.
“Yes! I want mini pepperoni pizzas, frozen burritos, insta-chicken—”
“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Insta-chicken?” I ask.
“Like boneless wings that just get microwaved. Oh, get a big bottle of ranch,” he says.
Okay. So the kid likes his snacks.
“I have a better idea.” I hand him my phone. “You fill up the cart, and when you’re done, I’ll approve it, okay?”
He’s all too eager, grabbing the phone away. He sets to work filling up the shopping cart.
Twenty minutes later, he hands it back to me. “All set.”
I scan the long list of frozen junk food, hot chocolate, marshmallows, candy, and popcorn.
“One condition: you have to tell me some fruits and vegetables you like too.”
“Aw, I’ll eat any fruit. Vegetables, I only like carrots and cucumbers,” he says.
“That’s easy enough.” I add some basic supplies in case someone feels up to cooking, confirm the order, pay with the company card, and set up delivery. “You can have hot cocoa before bed tonight.”
“Cool.” He gives me the first real smile I’ve seen.
I study the boy. I need to try to break the ice for Magnus.
“So how are you doing with—everything?” I venture.
He shrugs. “All right, I guess
.”
There’s a but in there somewhere, I think.
“But?”
He lets out a long, sad sigh.
“Will you be straight with me? Is my mom gonna be okay?” he asks, staring at his sneakers.
I hold in a breath before answering carefully. “I think so, but I honestly...I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. I’ll see if I can get more info, though.”
“You’re nice,” he says, his eyes beaming in the darkness.
I smile. “I try.”
Jordan releases a breath so hard his body slumps forward, palms resting on his knees. “It’s weird having a half brother. Or maybe the half brother part isn’t that crazy. It’s having a half brother I didn’t know about until Mom got attacked. It kind of freaks me out.” He looks around like he’s making sure we’re alone.
“Mag’s asleep,” I reassure him.
“I don’t like this place. Feels like a fancy hotel where I’ll break something without even trying. I want to go home,” he says in a cracked voice.
“Well, I don’t think that’s a possibility until your mom heals up. You’d be alone, and the state has rules—”
“Yeah, stupid ones. I’m fourteen. Pretty old.”
“Wait until you’re twenty-three and tell me how old it feels,” I say, leaning against the wall.
“Is that how old you are?”
I nod.
“Jeez. It’s not even a ten-year difference. You just get to drink and drive. Uh, hopefully not together.”
I laugh at the cute blush on his face.
“I know. But ten years ago, you were only four. That’s a big difference with life experience.”
“Maybe. So why has he stayed away all this time?” He meets my eyes, searching.
A question I can’t answer.
“I don’t know, Jordan. I don’t have a lot of details about what happened with your family. But the important thing is, he cares about you. Magnus Heron can be gruff, demanding, and kind of a Jerk Store special—”
The kid looks at me with his brows raised.
Yeah, I’m not making this smoother.
“But he’s not a bad guy!” I sputter. “Honestly. He’s surprised me many times with his kindness, and lots of people agree. He’s done amazing favors for people like Armstrong, his driver. Try to give him a chance, okay?”
Dang. I can hardly believe what I’m saying.
I’ve turned into Armstrong, defending Magnus against skeptics who think he’s the worst.
“Whatever. He sends me presents a couple of times a year,” Jordan says, turning so he can stare back at the wintry Chicago night.
“See? That’s nice of him.”
He shakes his head. “They’re lame gifts. Always. The last thing he sent was like these stupid journals and pens just because I won a contest in some dumb writing group my mom signed me up for.”
I wince.
“My mom’s a writer,” I say with a smile. “If she heard you call writing dumb, she’d have a heart attack.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean...” He trails off, looking genuinely upset at hurting my feelings.
“Just kidding. It’s no big deal. But why would your mom sign you up for something you hate?”
“She said it’d look good on college applications. I do a lot to keep Mom happy, because it’s always been just us. And she tries her best with me.” He stares back into the night, a new sadness filling his eyes.
I smile at him. “You’re a good kid, Jordan.”
“Can I tell you something?” He gnaws on his lips.
“Anything,” I say softly.
“This whole thing just...it creeps me out,” he whispers.
“Why?”
He wipes his hands down his arms, as if suppressing a tremor.
“That bad, huh?” I laugh softly. “Shaking off the heebie-jeebies?”
“Basically,” he throws back.
“What’s got you so freaked out?”
“Being here. Staying with a brother I didn’t know I had. There’s something really wrong with that dude—”
“Hey, he’s not a total lunatic. I’ve spent enough time around him to know. The only thing wrong with Magnus Heron is that he’s a workaholic. He runs a huge company with a lot of clients, and he’s awfully good at it.”
“Oh.” He puts up a hand and turns to me. “Sorry, lady. I didn’t mean to insult your boyfri—”
“Boss!” I don’t let him finish the thought. “He’s my boss, not my boyfriend.”
“Whatever. I’m fourteen, not four. Remember?” he mutters under his breath.
Savage.
For a second, I’m speechless, and I try to remember he’s just a kid going through some seriously rough times. But the point remains.
Mag is not in any way, shape, or form my boyfriend, and rather than continue that conversation, I figure it’s best to move on.
“Call me Brina, Jordan. Lady just sounds funky.”
“Okay, Brina. Cool. But level with me a little, okay? You have to admit it’s kinda weird that he doesn’t see me, but sends gifts for years. Even for a workaholic gazillionaire or whatever he is, he has time to find lame gifts. Dude’s like a vampire.”
Well, there’s no denying that. Whatever Mag sends him must be personally selected.
I sure didn’t buy any journals.
And Jordan isn’t done.
“If you say nothing’s wrong with him...then why does he send me stuff all anonymous? I don’t like it, and I don’t think Mom does either, and—oh. Oh, shit.” His eyes grow wide like saucers.
“Jordan?” I take a step forward.
“He...he was at a writing conference a few months ago, back in the fall. I just remembered. He didn’t even talk to me. He’s been around a few times, I think. I remember once or twice when this fancy black car followed Mom around, too, usually when we were changing apartments...”
Oof. I can only imagine he’s telling the truth.
It sounds exactly like what a commanding, overprotective control freak like Mag would do, but why? I can’t make excuses if I still don’t have all the pieces.
So the elder Heron cheated with the boy’s mom and made him...but what the hell else happened to cause such a strange, distant non-relationship?
“Did he say why he was there?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level, free from curiosity.
Jordan shakes his head. “Dunno. Think he said he’s an alum or something.”
“Oh, well, he’s probably an alum then. Nothing too crazy about that.”
“But if he knows I’m his half brother, why wouldn’t he just talk to me? What’s his deal, Brina?”
For a moment, I’m rendered speechless by this boy’s sad blue eyes and hurt puppy expression.
“I don’t know.” I admit. “Honestly, there’s a lot I don’t understand about this, but I promise you he’s not a monster. Even the rare times he acts like a big dumb stalker, he’s trying to help. Deep down, he’s a good guy. If you give him a chance, I’ll do whatever I can to make this better.”
Jordan nods loosely, and I leave him be, still wondering if there’s anything I can ever do to help.
18
The View With You (Magnus)
My brain hammers my head into the pillow.
It hurts so bad, I’m afraid to open my eyes. I groan, reaching for space in the bed beside me, expecting warmth and soft curves.
My hand falls on flat cotton.
Damn. Where did Brina sleep? Or did she decide not to stay after all?
Who cares? I don’t have time to chase around a grown woman, who’s doing an A+ job of handling everything I throw at her.
Snarling, I grope around on the nightstand for my phone. It can’t be too late yet. It’s still dark out.
Shit. It’s eight thirty.
Why is it so dark? Apparently, without the office, I’ve forgotten how miserable pitch-black Chicago winters can be.
Not that it matters. Why should today be different fro
m the one before?
Jordan Quail is going to be pissed.
I promised him we’d be at the hospital at nine, and there’s no way that’s happening now.
Ignoring my bad hangover-like headache, I jump out of bed and bolt for the shower, stripping along the way. I’m usually picky about how my clothes are kept, but not today.
If I don’t get my ass in gear, I’ll give my brother a new reason to hate me more than he did yesterday, and it was hardly a bromance then.
I turn the faucet to screaming hot, and when the shower feels nice and steamy, I jump in. The steam erases the stress pain in my head like the sun hitting a snowbank.
Once the headache subsides, I fling the glass door open and towel off.
I can’t give that kid more reasons to hate my guts. I need to bridge the gap somehow.
Bursting through the bathroom door, I plan to throw on my slacks and dress shirt and hoof it.
An unexpected surprise stops me in my tracks.
Sabrina sits on my bed, running her hand through her long dark chestnut hair. I wish like hell it was my fingers combing those locks, fisting them, showing her how sweet it’d feel to be pulled when we—
Her mocha-brown eyes interrupt my filthy thoughts, trawling the length of my body.
Her soft heart-shaped mouth moves, forming a tiny “O” of surprise.
My hand flutters shut as her teeth clamp down over her bottom lip.
Who knew a staring contest could be sexy?
Even wet from the shower in the middle of January, my cock hardens at what that mouth could do.
The rose-red flush on her cheeks helps nothing. She gazes into my eyes, and then her eyes crawl lower, straight to my hardness at full staff.
She likes what she sees.
No question.
Women always do, but with her, fuck.
I back up into the bathroom without turning around and grab my robe.
“If you’re checking out my package, it’s nicer to say hello first,” I tell her.
I pull the robe on and fasten the belt. It’s not completely closed, but screw it.
“Oh, no!” Her blush goes from deep red to almost purple, and she throws her hands up in front of her face. “I just came to check on you, Mag. You didn’t look so hot earlier.”
She’s flustered. It’s adorable. I smirk.
