“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 from 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.