Chapter 4
Four
SINCLAIR brOTHERS
“Wǒ huí lái le,” Jaxson called out, stepping into their shared apartment.
The Mandarin phrase had become second nature over the past decade—his idea to help their new stepbrothers feel at home when Lan and Wei first arrived, all wide eyes and careful silences.
Though watching Lan’s face light up every time they used his language might have been an unexpected bonus.
One he absolutely did not think about. Much. Or at all. Definitely not the way Lan’s eyes would brighten or how his lips would curve into that soft smile reserved only for moments of genuine happiness.
“Huí lái le.” Colt emerged from the kitchen, lips quirked in that irritating way that meant he was about to be insufferable.
His running clothes clung to his athletic frame, still damp with sweat, dark hair pushed back from his forehead in artful disarray.
But beneath the casual posture, Jaxson could sense the same restless energy that thrummed through his own veins—a constant awareness of Lan’s absence from the apartment, like a missing limb they were both pretending not to notice.
“Let me guess—our little brother made it to work on time for once?” The way Colt said “our little brother” carried an undercurrent of possession that should have been alarming but instead resonated with something equally possessive in Jaxson’s chest.
“Surprisingly enough.” Jaxson loosened his tie, ignoring how his fingers still tingled from where they’d touched Lan’s face.
The phantom sensation of soft skin beneath his palm lingered, a dangerous memory he needed to suppress.
The scent of honey and cherry blossoms still clung to his fingertips, making his pupils dilate unconsciously each time he caught a hint of it.
His body remembered the contact in ways his mind was desperately trying to forget. “The apocalypse must be nigh.”
“Shame. I had money on him being late.” Colt’s casual tone didn’t quite match the intensity in his eyes when he mentioned Lan.
He leaned against the doorframe, his posture deceptively relaxed though something in his expression seemed tightly controlled.
“You’re getting soft in your old age, letting him slack off like that. ”
“Says the guy who still hasn’t showered?” Jaxson deflected, the familiar banter a welcome distraction from his inappropriate thoughts.
“Some of us don’t need to look like model covers before breakfast.” Colt stretched, catlike, somehow managing to look like a fashion spread even in his sweat-dampened running clothes.
Trust Colt to be perfectly disheveled after his morning run—it was probably genetic.
“Some of us just naturally wake up this perfect.”
“Right,” Jaxson drawled, eyeing his brother’s coordinated athletic wear.
For someone who claimed not to care about appearances, Colt’s “casual” running outfit probably cost more than most people’s entire wardrobes.
“Because you definitely didn’t spend twenty minutes picking out that ‘thrown-together’ look. ”
The morning light filtering through their worn curtains caught on Colt’s profile, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. There was something almost predatory in his stance, a coiled tension that seemed at odds with their casual conversation.
“Hilarious.” Colt’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You know, for someone who claims not to be a helicopter parent, you’ve got the hovering down to an art form.”
“He’s our youngest,” Jaxson protested weakly, aware of how pathetic it sounded. “And he’s still too damned cute for a twenty-one-year-old. Remember when we first met him?”
The memory rose unbidden—eleven-year-old Lan, all wide eyes and hesitant smiles, clutching Wei’s sleeve at the airport.
How small he’d seemed then, how vulnerable.
How the moment their eyes had first connected, something had clicked into place in Jaxson’s chest with such force it had nearly staggered him—a recognition that had no place in a first meeting, a sensation of coming home to someone he’d never met before.
Even then, at twenty himself, he’d felt the inexplicable need to shield this boy from the world, a protective instinct so fierce it had frightened him with its intensity.
As if some ancient part of his soul had instantly recognized its purpose.
“Ah yes, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.” Colt’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“But what I’m trying to say is, even though he’s our youngest and even though he’s cute—” There was a subtle shift in his tone, a possessive edge that made Jaxson glance up sharply.
“—he is twenty-one. An adult. He’s bound to leave the nest sooner or later. ”
The words hit like a physical blow, sending a jolt of actual pain through Jaxson’s chest—not metaphorical, but real, visceral pain that made him press his palm against his sternum before he could stop himself.
The thought of the apartment without Lan in it—without his laughter filling the hallways, without his quiet presence in the evenings, without those moments of unexpected connection—created a hollow feeling in Jaxson’s chest that felt like his organs were being carved out with a dull blade.
“Actually,” Jaxson said carefully, studying his brother’s reaction, “Lan mentioned something about moving.”
Colt went very still, his body tensing like a predator that had spotted prey.
The change was subtle but unmistakable—a sudden sharpness in his posture, a predatory focus that seemed to transform him from brother to hunter in the span of a heartbeat.
“Moving?” His voice was too controlled, too careful. “Out of the apartment?”
“He didn’t say exactly, but…”
Something dark flashed in Colt’s eyes, there and gone so quickly Jaxson might have imagined it.
His knuckles whitened where they gripped the counter, the only outward sign of tension in his otherwise composed demeanor.
But beneath that composed exterior, Jaxson could sense something volatile—a territorial rage that mirrored the one churning in his own chest.
“So?” Colt’s casual tone was back, though it sounded forced now, brittle around the edges. “What are you going to do about it? If he wants to move out, you obviously can’t stop him, right?”
The rational part of Jaxson knew Colt was right.
The irrational part wanted to barricade all the doors and windows.
Maybe install a moat. Or perhaps handcuff Lan to his bed—a thought that immediately veered into dangerous territory he refused to explore.
The possessive impulse wasn’t just inappropriate; it was overwhelming in its intensity, a primal need that felt encoded in his DNA rather than formed through years of cohabitation.
“I’ll talk to him about it.” The words came out more determined than intended, revealing more than Jaxson meant to.
“Good luck, then.” Colt’s smile was sharp enough to cut, his eyes holding Jaxson’s for a beat too long—a silent challenge from one predator to another, though neither would acknowledge the territorial undercurrent.
“Have fun taking your client around inspecting apartments. Try not to buy them all in a misguided attempt to keep certain people from moving out.”
As Colt disappeared to his room—probably to brood handsomely, it was a family trait—Jaxson tried not to think about how empty the apartment would feel without Lan in it.
Without his sleep-rumpled morning appearances or the way he’d stretch like a cat on the couch while reading, completely oblivious to the effect he had on… certain people.
The thought of separation sent another lance of that strange, physical pain through his chest. It wasn’t just emotional; it was visceral, like something in his body physically rebelled against the idea of Lan being anywhere he couldn’t see, couldn’t reach, couldn’t protect.
Right. Work. Work was safe. Work didn’t involve thoughts about certain stepbrothers or the way they bit their lips when nervous or how their skin felt beneath his fingertips or—
Definitely time for work.
Colt slammed his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the hinges. The perfectly maintained mask he wore around his brothers cracked the second he was alone, frustration boiling over like a pot left unattended too long on the stove.
“Moving out?” he muttered, pacing the length of his meticulously organized room. Every item had its designated place—unlike the chaos currently swirling in his head. “Fucking perfect.”
The thought of Lan leaving punched a hole straight through his chest. Not seeing him every day.
Not hearing his voice. Not being able to keep an eye on him.
The pain wasn’t just emotional—it was physical, a sharp stab that made him press his hand against his sternum like he could somehow push the sensation back inside.
His body reacted with a violence that transcended normal attachment—his heart racing, his skin burning, his muscles coiling with the need to hunt, to claim, to drag Lan back to where he belonged.
He’d felt this before. Three years ago, when Lan went on that weeklong school trip.
By the third day, Colt had developed migraines so severe he’d been curled in the dark, his body burning with fever that vanished the moment Lan walked back through the door.
The relief had been instant and overwhelming—the moment Lan’s scent had reached him, every cell in his body had relaxed, like a starving man finally fed, like a parched man finding water.
No doctor could explain it. He’d written it off as coincidence, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Now he wondered if there was something ancient and primal at work, something that made his very DNA demand Lan’s presence.
“Get your shit together,” he growled at his reflection in the mirror mounted on his closet door. Flushed cheeks. Bright eyes. Every line of his body screaming tension. Unacceptable for someone who prided himself on control.