Chapter 2
Two
SINCLAIR brOTHERS
Morning light spilled across the cramped living-dining-kitchen, making the chipped paint look almost intentionally distressed rather than just old.
Jaxson nursed his coffee, the aroma blending with the mouthwatering scent of Wei’s perfectly seasoned eggs and French toast. Even on a shoestring budget, his Chinese stepbrother managed to turn their bargain-bin ingredients into something that could pass for actual cuisine.
A pile of bills peeked from beneath a loaf of store-brand bread, their numbers the only unappetizing thing on the table.
Jaxson found himself straining to hear the telltale sounds of movement from Lan’s converted closet bedroom.
The memory of their morning interaction lingered—Lan’s sleep-rumpled appearance, that oversized shirt sliding off one pale shoulder, dark hair tousled in a way that made Jaxson’s fingers itch to run through it.
He’d forced himself to leave before he did something stupid, like trace the exposed line of Lan’s collarbone or pull him close and—
“What’s wrong?” Wei’s voice cut through his inappropriate thoughts. Jaxson looked up to find his stepbrother studying him like he was analyzing a business proposal, those smoky-dark eyes missing nothing. “You’re staring at that hallway like it owes you money.”
“What do you mean?” Jaxson focused on his coffee, pretending he hadn’t been mentally undressing their youngest brother. The ceramic mug suddenly seemed fascinating, its chipped rim a metaphor for… something. Probably his sanity.
“You seem preoccupied.” Wei leaned against the counter, his knowing smirk suggesting he could read every inappropriate thought running through Jaxson’s mind. “Your coffee’s getting cold, and you haven’t even complimented my cooking yet. I’m wounded.”
“Your culinary genius continues to astound me,” Jaxson deadpanned, though his fond smile betrayed him. “Happy now? Or should I write you a five-star review for our poverty-chic kitchen?”
“I’ll settle for you actually drinking your coffee before it becomes a science experiment,” Wei replied, nodding at Jaxson’s untouched mug. His dark eyes held that infuriating gleam that suggested he knew exactly what—or rather who—was occupying Jaxson’s thoughts.
Jaxson lifted the cup to his lips, but his attention drifted back to the hallway.
The image of Lan from earlier flashed unbidden in his mind—drowning in Colt’s old shirt, one pale shoulder peeking out like some Renaissance painting come to life.
Beautiful. The word had floated through his mind before he could stop it, followed by an inexplicable urge to press his lips against that exposed skin, to feel Lan’s pulse quicken beneath his touch.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was Lan—his adorable little brother who needed protecting, not fantasizing about.
The familiar guilt settled in his stomach, heavy and persistent.
“You’re hovering again,” Wei’s knowing tone pulled him back to reality. A smirk played on his lips as he added, “Though I suppose that protective streak runs deeper than the ocean.”
Jaxson set his mug down with more force than necessary, the ceramic clinking against wood. “I’m his eldest brother. That’s my job.” The words felt rehearsed, like lines he’d been repeating to himself for years. A mantra that was becoming harder to believe with each passing day.
“If our little Celestial Peach wants to test his boss’ patience, let him.
Not everyone can rock the ‘fashionably late’ look like Lan.
” Wei pushed off from the counter, refilling his cup with their premium coffee—the one luxury he insisted on.
His dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though I have to say, Jaxson, this whole mother hen routine is getting a bit much. What’s next—heart-shaped notes in his lunch box?
Maybe channel some of that nurturing energy into finding a date instead of memorizing our baby brother’s schedule? ”
“Watch it,” Jaxson warned, though there wasn’t much heat in it. Maybe because the image of Lan drowning in their hand-me-downs was still too fresh in his mind, the way the fabric had slipped to reveal that smooth expanse of skin that had no business looking so tempting.
Colt chose that moment to stride in, still glistening from his run.
Droplets of sweat traced tantalizing paths down his neck and chest, his running shorts clinging to powerful thighs in a way that would have made lesser men self-conscious.
He slid into his chair, arranging his napkin just so before serving himself with the kind of meticulous care that made breakfast look like a formal dinner.
“Oh, are we finally addressing Jaxson’s terminal case of mother hen syndrome? ”
“How about we address your terminal case of bad timing?” Jaxson shot back, grateful for the distraction from his inappropriate thoughts. “Or better yet, your fascinating relationship with that running shirt. I think it’s becoming sentient.”
“Deflection through insults.” Wei clicked his tongue, watching Colt methodically section his French toast into perfect triangles. “And here I thought real estate agents were supposed to be smooth talkers. No wonder you’re single.”
“I didn’t realize my love life was today’s breakfast special,” Jaxson retorted. “Though I suppose it’s more entertaining than watching Colt treat breakfast like it’s a formal state dinner.”
“Some of us,” Colt replied primly, “actually appreciate proper dining etiquette. Even at seven in the morning.” Despite his composed exterior, Colt’s eyes kept drifting toward the hallway, as if expecting—or hoping for—someone to appear.
Someone with dark hair and a tendency to wear shirts that slipped off his shoulders.
Wei’s smirk turned positively feline. “At least Colt’s relationship with breakfast protocol is more active than your relationship with dating. When was your last date? I think our Little Bodhisattva was still speaking Mandarin exclusively.”
“He still speaks Mandarin,” Jaxson pointed out dryly, ignoring the uncomfortable truth in Wei’s observation. It had been… a while. Not that he was counting the months. Or years.
“Exactly my point.” Wei raised his cup in mock salute. “At this rate, you’ll end up married to your Open House signs. At least they won’t mind your obsession with our baby brother.”
Jaxson’s heart stuttered at the casual observation.
Was he that transparent? Had Wei noticed the way his gaze lingered too long on Lan?
The way he found excuses to touch him—a hand on his shoulder, fingers ruffling his hair—gestures that should have been brotherly but felt like something else entirely.
“Your concern is touching,” Jaxson said, fighting to keep his voice even. “Did you workshop these zingers while practicing your coffee art, or do they come naturally with that premium roast of yours?”
“Please.” Wei’s eyes danced with unholy amusement. “I’m saving my best material for when you finally realize you’re—” He cut himself off, smile turning mysterious. “Well, that’s a show I want front row seats for.”
Jaxson shook his head, fighting both irritation and fondness as he watched Wei take another self-satisfied sip of his precious coffee. Before he could formulate a suitably cutting response, Colt’s practical voice cut through the morning air.
“Speaking of shows, is Xander up yet?”
Jaxson welcomed the change of subject, glancing at the hallway where silence reigned supreme. “Still in bed.”
“He didn’t come home until four this morning,” Wei chimed in.
“From the sound of it, he was either reenacting Swan Lake in his bedroom or fighting ninjas. Hard to tell with these walls.” He tapped his fingers against his mug, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Though I did hear him mumbling something in his sleep when I passed his room. Sounded suspiciously like someone’s name. ”
Colt’s knife scraped against his plate, the sound sharp in the morning quiet. “He really should stop working at that bar,” he said, his voice carefully controlled. “Sure, he’s raking in tips like a poker champ on a hot streak, but living like a vampire can’t be good for him.”
Jaxson felt a flicker of curiosity at Wei’s implication, quickly followed by an unexpected pang of something darker.
Who exactly was Xander dreaming about? The thought of Xander with some nameless stranger from the bar shouldn’t bother him, yet somehow it did.
Perhaps because Xander’s romantic escapades inevitably meant more noise in their already cramped apartment.
“And studying on top of it,” Wei added, watching Jaxson’s reaction with those too-perceptive eyes. “I don’t know how he manages without turning into a walking energy drink advertisement.”
Jaxson shrugged, pushing aside his unexplained discomfort.
“It’s not so hard once you’re used to it.
” The memory of his own grueling schedule after their parents died flashed through his mind—the bone-deep exhaustion, the constant worry about keeping the family together, the late nights poring over legal documents to ensure they could keep the apartment.
He remembered how Lan would wait up for him sometimes, curled up on the couch like a small, worried cat, those dark eyes following his movements as if afraid Jaxson might disappear too.
“So says the patriarch of our humble abode.” Colt’s voice dripped with dry humor as he precisely cut another triangle of French toast. “We know you’ve got your work ethic set to ‘superhuman,’ Jaxson, but that doesn’t mean Xander’s signed up for the same program.
Besides, we’re not exactly scrounging for pennies now that we’ve sent the mortgage off with a gold watch and a retirement party. ”