Chapter 2 #2
The sunlight filtering through their ancient curtains caught on Colt’s damp hair, highlighting the sharp angles of his face.
Jaxson sometimes forgot how much his brother had grown up—no longer the sullen teenager who’d resented Jaxson’s authority, but a man with his own career and ambitions.
The thought was both comforting and vaguely unsettling, a reminder that time was marching on, that their family dynamic was shifting in subtle ways he couldn’t quite control.
“Perhaps a family conference is in order when Sleeping Beauty graces us with his presence?” Wei suggested, dark eyes twinkling as he swirled his precious coffee. “A suggestion to trim his work hours seems timely, considering his academic ventures are ramping up to ‘crunch time.’”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Jaxson agreed, already mentally preparing his ‘responsible older brother’ speech. The one that always made him feel simultaneously ancient and completely unqualified, like he was playing a role in a play he’d never rehearsed for.
As if summoned by their conspiracy of concern, Xander materialized in the doorway.
His golden-blond hair performed an impressive impersonation of a bird’s nest after a hurricane, while his sculpted physique somehow managed to make exhaustion look like a fashion statement.
The old t-shirt he wore had clearly given up trying to contain his shoulders and was now just along for the ride, revealing a strip of tanned skin at his waist that spoke of afternoons spent at the campus gym rather than in the library.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough as gravel but still carrying that hint of charm that probably doubled his tips. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, performed a quick sweep of the kitchen before settling on the coffee pot like it held the secrets to eternal youth.
Wei’s eyebrow arched. “You’re up early for someone who moonlights as a professional night owl. Dream something interesting?” The question seemed innocent enough, but the knowing glint in Wei’s eyes suggested otherwise.
Xander’s movements faltered for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening on the coffee pot handle.
“Nothing worth sharing,” he replied, a hint of color touching his cheeks that had nothing to do with the kitchen’s warmth.
He collapsed into his chair with the graceful desperation of a man who’d been vertical for far too long.
“Hunger beat sleep in a cage match,” he yawned, reaching for the nearest edible item. “Planning a rematch after breakfast.”
“Solid life choices,” Colt approved, dabbing his mouth with his napkin like he was dining at the Ritz rather than their scratched kitchen table.
The morning light caught on his cheekbones, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face.
It was easy to forget sometimes that Colt was objectively beautiful—easy because he was just Colt, the perfectionist brother who folded his socks and alphabetized his books.
Jaxson waited until Xander had inhaled half his breakfast before launching Operation Intervention.
“Xander, we need to talk about your job at the bar.” He adopted his real estate negotiation voice, the one that balanced authority with understanding—a tone he’d perfected over years of being the family’s de facto parent.
Xander paused mid-chew, looking remarkably alert for someone who’d probably seen more sunrises from the wrong end lately.
“Let me guess—you want me to either quit or dial it back?” His honey-colored eyes held a flash of defiance that reminded Jaxson of their teenage years, of Xander’s quiet but determined rebellion against being the “middle child.”
“Reducing hours would be ideal,” Jaxson said, choosing his words carefully. “Especially if it means fewer dawn patrols. But if you wanted to explore other employment opportunities…” He let the suggestion hang in the air, an offering rather than a command.
Xander held up a hand, somehow managing to make the gesture both respectful and dismissive.
“I’ll talk to my boss about cutting back the hours.
” He paused, a flash of determination breaking through his sleepy demeanor.
“But I’m keeping the job. There’s something satisfying about earning money without having to sell my soul to corporate America.
Yet.” His lips curved into a small smile.
“Besides, the tips are excellent, and the… scenery isn’t bad either. ”
Something in his tone made Jaxson wonder exactly what kind of “scenery” Xander was referring to.
Or who. The bar was popular with college students—Lan’s age group.
The thought of Xander surrounded by attractive young people, flirting and charming his way to better tips, created an uncomfortable knot in Jaxson’s stomach that he chose not to examine too closely.
Wei snorted into his coffee, the sound drawing Jaxson back to the present.
“Says the man who sells his sleep schedule to drunk college students instead.” His dark eyes moved between Xander and Jaxson, cataloging their expressions with that unnerving perceptiveness that sometimes made Jaxson wonder if Wei could actually read minds.
Colt’s fork paused midair, laden with a precisely balanced stack of scrambled eggs. “Didn’t you say yesterday you’ve got that meeting with a client this afternoon?” he asked Jaxson, his tone casual, though his eyes were sharp.
Jaxson nodded, grateful for the change of subject. “The client’s itching to inspect a few apartments she’s taken a shine to.” He nursed his coffee like it held the secrets to Manhattan real estate, the ceramic warm against his palms.
“What corner of concrete paradise are they eyeing?” Wei inquired, leaning back in his chair with feline grace.
“Upper East Side.” The words carried weight in their household, where finances were always a carefully balanced equation.
Colt’s whistle could’ve summoned cabs from three blocks away, the sound cutting through the kitchen’s morning haze. “Serious money, then.”
Xander, still waging war against his breakfast, paused long enough to grin. “That’s going to be quite the commission.” His expression softened slightly. “You deserve it, Jaxson. You’ve been carrying us long enough.”
The simple acknowledgment caught Jaxson off guard, warming something in his chest. For all their banter and bickering, these moments of genuine appreciation made everything worth it—the long hours, the sacrifices, the weight of responsibility he’d carried since their parents died.
“If the real estate gods smile upon us,” Jaxson replied, trying not to count his commission before it hatched.
Though the prospect of a substantial paycheck was appealing—maybe enough to finally replace Lan’s ancient laptop, the one he’d been struggling with for his college assignments.
The screen flickered constantly, and the battery barely held a charge, yet Lan never complained.
He’d simply taken to working in the living room, closer to an outlet.
The image of Lan curled up on their couch, dark hair falling over his eyes as he worked, sent an unexpected wave of tenderness through Jaxson. The desire to provide for him, to make his life easier, was both brotherly and… something else. Something Jaxson refused to name.
Wei’s gaze shifted to Colt’s athletic attire, his eyes lingering on the sweat-dampened fabric clinging to his stepbrother’s frame. “Why are you still dressed for the Olympics? Planning to break another personal record before breakfast?”
“Lan’s claimed squatter’s rights to the bathroom,” Colt grumbled. There was something in his voice when he said Lan’s name—a subtle shift in tone that Jaxson might have missed if he hadn’t been listening for it. A softening, perhaps, or a tension. “Been in there for twenty minutes already.”
“How chivalrous of you,” Wei drawled, his lips curving into that knowing smile that suggested he was collecting secrets like others collected stamps. “You could’ve staged a coup and sent him running to work in yesterday’s clothes.”
Colt’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “He needs the bathroom more than I do.” His knife neatly sliced through his French toast, belying the tension in his words. “Besides, I can wait.”
The implication that Colt—the most impatient of them all when it came to bathroom time—would willingly wait for Lan struck Jaxson as odd.
Since when did Colt, who once timed their showers with a stopwatch, become so accommodating?
The thought nagged at him, like a loose thread he couldn’t quite grasp.
Jaxson leaned back, pushing the strange observation aside. “Maybe we should look into upgrading to a place with more than one bathroom.” The suggestion was practical, though the thought of moving—of dismantling the home they’d built together—created a hollow feeling in his chest.
“And six bedrooms?” Colt arched an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly growing on trees in New York.”
Xander swallowed his mouthful of French toast before speaking—a miracle in itself.
“It’s going to cost more than my entire bartending career.
Do we really need to move? We’re making this work, aren’t we?
” He gestured around the kitchen, at the mismatched chairs and the ancient refrigerator that hummed like a small aircraft. “It’s not the Ritz, but it’s home.”
The simple statement resonated with something deep in Jaxson’s chest. This apartment, with all its flaws and cramped spaces, held their history.
The height marks on the kitchen doorframe tracking Lan and Nico’s growth.
The dent in the hallway wall from when Xander had tried to demonstrate a wrestling move on Colt.
The living room where they’d huddled together after the funeral, a broken family trying to find its way forward.