Heavy steps echo behind the couch. I glance over my shoulder and spot Jordan walking to the kitchen. His eyes are wide, his mouth partly open.
“Hey, there. Have you eaten today?” I call out.
I know I’ve asked the wrong thing when he growls and bangs his head on the wall.
“Jeez, lady! Not you too.”
“He won’t eat,” Mag tells me, leaning over to my ear.
The hot rush of breath against my skin sends needles through my blood.
I focus my gaze on Jordan. “You need to eat. What would you like?”
“Scrambled eggs.” The words are barely more than a whisper.
He’s in luck. I go to the kitchen and stare into a mostly empty fridge bigger than three of me combined. I see sports drinks, cheeses, an egg carton, some butter, and heavy cream.
I pick up the egg carton. It’s so light I hope it’s not empty, and I have no idea how old the eggs are. Flipping the top, I find four eggs left.
Someone needs groceries.
He can’t keep a teenager here without any food in the house. I figure butter will work as well as grease to cook eggs, so I grab that too and search for a pan and utensils.
I cook up all four eggs and pile them onto a plate. A couple of my cousins are his age, so I know how teenage boys can eat. I set the plate on the counter for him.
“Dinner’s ready, Jordan! Come and get it,” I call.
He plods in and sits on a stool in front of the bar, and his stomach roars like a bear before he takes the first bite. Poor kid. He’s starving.
When he finishes the eggs, he brings his plate around to the sink, turns on the water, and picks up the sponge.
I pat his arm. “It’s okay. I’ve got it. Your mom taught you well.”
“Thanks.” He gives me a quick smile.
As I wash the plate, Jordan takes off, his heavy footsteps drumming on the floor.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I like the sunroom. Even at night.”
Sunroom? Oh, right, that must be the room with all the crazy glass windows I found them in earlier. I nod at him, then follow him out and veer off to the living room.
“Mag, if I make you a cup of peppermint tea, will you drink it?” I ask.
“Do I have a choice?” He smirks.
“Not tonight, and I’m thinking you should get some sleep soon, too.”
I find a gooseneck kettle with M.H. engraved into it, and when the water’s done, take a peppermint tea bag from my purse and drop it in, then carry the steaming cup to him.
He curls his fingers around the handle and places his other hand on the side of the mug.
“Thanks, Brina. Did he actually eat?” Mag asks.
I nod happily.
“He ate all four eggs. Scrambled. It’s a start.” I pause, unsure how to approach the next question. “How long will he be here?”
He looks at me.
“Jordan. How long is he staying with you?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. A couple of weeks. Maybe longer. The medical team can’t estimate when she’ll wake up yet.”
My lips tighten, and it happens then while I’m studying him, staring into his icy, worried eyes.
God help me, I feel sorry for Magnus, king of the jerks.
“I’m going to order a few groceries. You can’t keep a kid in the house with no food. I know you’re used to eating all your meals at the office, but that’s not going to work for this.”
“Good thinking,” he says. “I owe you again.”
“You’re welcome.” The response is automatic for me. But then I realize Mag isn’t one to say thank you often, much less several times in one night. “Umm—for what?”
He gives half a laugh and finally takes a sip of tea.
“Getting him to eat. I’ve been trying all day and failing hard. The groceries should help, too. What are you ordering?”
“Well, do you cook?” I ask, grazing a finger against my chin.
“Not if I can avoid it,” he says.
“Okay. So it’s frozen pizzas, chicken nuggets, taquitos, and chips,” I say. “All the best things in life for a growing boy.”
He gives me a smile that makes my heart twitch.
“We’ll find a way to get some vegetables in him, sooner or later. I’m a lucky man. You accomplish any task I hand you without fail. I wish I’d known that includes taking care of a minor.” He takes a sip of his tea. “At the door, you asked what I had to break the truth about...”
My breath stalls, and I sit down next to him.
I nod. “Yes. If I have to play CEO so you can babysit, I should at least know why.”
“Of course,” he sighs.
Mag stares down at the warm cup in his hand for a long time, and at first I think he’s not going to say anything.
“I already told you Jordan’s my little brother. My half brother.” He closes his eyes. “He’s the product of a wretched move—if you could even call it that—my father made. A terrible fucking mistake.”
A chill sweeps up my spine at the smolder in his voice.
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.”