by Snow, Nicole
I stare at my phone, wishing Brina would call or text. She doesn’t, though, and I can’t blame her one bit.
I’ll have to come up with a real apology.
Flopping down at my home office, I Google “kid food,” “food for teenagers,” and “young adult nutrition.” Hamburgers, hotdogs, nachos, and pizzas pop up.
Yeah, not for breakfast, or when I’m light on antacids.
I’m not young enough for this shit anymore. I try “teenager breakfast food.”
The links show sugary cereals, donuts, pancakes, and French toast.
Ordering food is something I can handle. I pull up a delivery app and order two pancake breakfasts and an orange juice from my favorite cafe while I start brewing my Kona coffee.
When Jordan wakes up, breakfast sits in the brown paper sack on the coffee table, and I’m on the phone with the hospital.
“How can I help you?” the operator asks.
“I need Marissa Quail’s room, please. I think it’s four fifty-three,” I say.
“I’ll transfer you right away, sir.”
Jordan sits up on the couch and stares at me with a clenched jaw.
The phone rings in my ear seven times before the operator picks up again. “How may I help you?”
“I was transferred to room four fifty-three, and it bounced back to you,” I say. “Could I speak to her nurse? I just want to make sure she’s okay. I was hoping she’d be doing better this morning.”
“Do you know the patient’s unit?” the operator asks.
“ICU,” I tell her.
The phone rings in my ear again. I mute the call for a second.
“Jordan, I ordered pancakes if you’re hungry.” I slide the package closer.
He doesn’t answer but his eyes don’t leave me.
“ICU, this is Nurse Becky. How can I help you?”
I take a deep breath. “I wanted an update on Marissa Quail’s condition.”
“Can I ask who’s calling? I need to make sure you’re on the approved list,” she says.
“Magnus Heron, her emergency contact.”
The clicking of computer keys fills the phone. Then the nurse sighs.
“She’s still in a coma. Stable. She could wake up any time.”
“But we flew in that surgeon overnight—”
“Right,” she says. “And that’s why she’s no worse off. Traumatic brain injuries are precarious. She sustained multiple direct blows to the skull. It could go either way right now, but we’re all rooting for her. I’d recommend coming in to visit.”
“And your visiting hours start at nine?” I ask, aware of Jordan’s eyes riveted to my face and his white knuckles from the grip he has on my couch pillow.
“That’s right.”
“In your experience, with comas...you’re thinking she could be there for a while?”
The nurse sighs again. “If she goes home, it’s not going to be for a while.”
The word if hangs in the balance. If she goes home.
Fuck.
I study the kid—my little brother—perched on the couch. We need to find a way to bond, or at least co-exist, because he’s going to be here for who knows how long.
Shit. I hope his mom pulls through. Jordan has already lost so much, and now he’s in a world of trouble. I know what it’s like having Baxter Heron for a father.
Jordan thinks he’s been deprived because he’s never met our dad. I know he’s better off.
“Eat breakfast and we’ll go see your—”
“Is she okay?” He doesn’t let me finish the sentence.
“She’s in a coma,” I tell him as calmly as possible. “But she has the best medical team money can buy, I assure you.”
Jordan jumps up on his feet. “We don’t have time to eat. It’s almost eight thirty. We have to go see Mom.”
I’m exhausted, slumped in an overstuffed chair, thinking what to say. The boy has to eat some time.
“Dude.” He looks at me expectantly. “I meant like now.”
The kid drives a hard bargain.
“I’ll call my driver.” I go to the kitchen and pour my coffee into a cup with a lid.
Yet another reason I hate myself for flaying Brina so raw with my words.
I won’t survive this day without a whole heaping lot of coffee, and now I’ve got to supply my own dumb ass.
* * *
We’ve spent the last hour in Marissa’s hospital room in total silence.
The poor woman looks awful. She’s pale with bruises on her face, her skin swollen. I can tell from Jordan’s expression that he’s about to lose it. His lower lip keeps trembling, like he’s trying to put on the brave face a man carries around like a mask, but it can’t hold up forever.
“Do you like sports?” I ask.
“Huh?” Jordan looks up from another world, dazed.
“You’re tall. Do you play basketball? I did when I was your age.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
“Are you on the school team?”
He shakes his head. He hasn’t said two words to me since our last confrontation this morning, and he doesn’t look like he wants to talk right now, either.
“What, are you being shy? You weren’t so shy around me this morning.”
He shrugs, sullen. “I’m not shy. I’ve got other things on my mind. Take a hint.”
Right. If only surly teenagers came with handbooks...
Holding in a rough sigh, I look at his mom in the hospital bed with IVs and monitors hooked to both arms and stitches across her head.
“You still haven’t eaten,” I say quietly. “Would you like something from the vending machine? Or cafeteria?”
“I’m not hungry,” he grinds out, shaking his head.
Yeah. This isn’t working. The kid’s a brick wall, just like I’d be in his position.
“I’ll give you a moment alone,” I say.
I leave him at his mom’s side, his head bent so he’s practically resting it on the side of the bed. I walk into the hall and pull out my phone, then check to see if it’s working.
No calls or texts from anyone.
Just this eerie silence.
What the hell? How can it be that there are no fires to put out at HeronComm? Sabrina must be handling the news of my temporary leave, but I knew she would.
A nurse approaches just as I’m about to go back into the room. “We’re going to take Marissa for more tests. We’re investigating how much of her brain activity was affected by the trauma and what areas it’s localized to.”
I nod and follow her into the room. “Jordan, they need to take your mom for some scans. We’re going home, okay?”
He stares at me, a scowl breaking out on his face.
“There’s no point staying. If we don’t come back today, we’ll return tomorrow,” I tell both him and the nurse.
“Today. We’ll be back later today.” He gets up, kisses his mom on the cheek, and walks out the door with me.
I slow down so he can catch up, but he’s intentionally walking three steps behind.
I stop and turn, and he pauses, too. “I’m ready for lunch. Do you want to go somewhere? Or would you rather pick something up on the way home?”
He shakes his head. “What the fuck is it with you and food? I told you, I’m not hungry.”
17
Tempt Me (Sabrina)
Since it’s the Saturday between holidays, we’re a skeleton crew.
My role—or Magnus’ role by proxy— is mostly being around to put out any fires and make sure teams meet their end-of-year deadlines.
It’s remarkably chill.
Most of the team already knows what to do—keep the ship running without his presence.
I’d say he has it easy, but I know he was the one who whipped them into shape.
The jackass doesn’t call or text. Probably for the best.
I don’t want to talk to him, and I’d bite his head off if I had to.
I’m able to start working on
things I would’ve had to do Monday, like the prep work for the airline pitch after New Year’s. Having something important to do keeps my mind off last night.
Off the way he kissed me and touched me and blew up my world.
Off the way he left without a word, and then held me so sweetly all night.
Off the way he chewed my head off this morning.
Hell yes, I’m glad I’m busy.
My phone vibrates with a message. Ugh, is it him?
I tap my phone.
Ruby: Have you heard from Mag today? We all got cryptic emails from him and no one’s seen him in the flesh. I’m worried. He’s never missed work before. I would’ve expected him to call and check in fifty times by now.
I don’t respond to that.
If he wanted her to know more, he’d have told her.
But it makes me smile that he confided in me about his surprise half brother, and no one else. Still, everything about yesterday was wrong.
He can’t keep going hot and cold, and I can’t keep putting up with it.
Ruby’s right, too. He’s a natural control freak, so it’s odd that he hasn’t called to make sure the building isn’t burning down without his holy presence.
That’s how it goes all day. When everyone finally leaves the office, Armstrong is parked by the curb, waiting on me. I open the door and collapse into the leather seat. I’m completely spent.
“Take me to Mag’s place,” I say reluctantly.
I know I’m not supposed to set foot in his penthouse again, but...
If even Ruby is worried, I should check on him.
At the building, the attendant holds the door open, and I go to the elevator. I fish around in my purse for the white card.
Crap. I gave it back to Armstrong this morning. Retracing my steps to the double glass doors, I find the attendant and say, “I forgot my entry card.”
He nods. “Certainly, ma’am. You have two options. You can go get it, or if you use the row of buttons outside the elevator, you can call the person you’re here to see. They’ll buzz you in. You just put in the apartment number.”
“I don’t know the apartment number, but it’s on the forty-seventh floor,” I say.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Heron. That’s number four seventy.”
My feet burn like hell as my red-soled heels carry me back to the elevator. I buzz Magnus. The speaker rings until it goes dead. I try again and again.
I’m just about to text him something horrible when a gravelly voice comes across the speaker.
“Yes?”
“It’s me. Can you buzz me up?”
He doesn’t say anything else but there’s a ding and metal doors slide open.
On the top floor, I bang on his door until my hand hurts. When this jerk opens up, I’m going to tell him where to shove it.
Mag answers the door in flannel pajama pants...and nothing else.
Oh, God.
Of course, I’m staring like a lunatic, baked into place by his muscular good looks and freakishly normal attire.
Of course, his hair is disheveled, and his raging ocean-blue eyes are ringed with dark shadows, but screw it.
He may be a devil.
He may be ridiculous.
He may be a colossal, overbearing pain in my butt.
But this man has the most gorgeous torso perched between two broad shoulders I’ve ever seen, hands down. Lean muscle, corded biceps kissed by ink, abs so shredded I think they might singe my fingertips if I had the lady-balls to touch him right now.
He’s a walking, scowling fitness magazine made flesh.
Mr. Grumpalicious of the century.
Why does he even bother wearing a suit? If I was a guy, I’d walk around buck naked, all the time.
“Brina?” His eyes flicker when he says my name.
“Who are you again? Where’s Magnus Heron?” I ask, unable to stop staring.
He’s so exhausted he looks like he might fall over when he rolls his eyes. His hand cups the doorframe and he rests his head on his outstretched arm.
“What do you need? Did something happen at the office?”
“I just...call me an idiot, but I came to see if you’re okay? Ruby was worried,” I lie.
I was worried.
He sighs. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” I bite my lip. “You look like you just escaped a torture chamber.”
Something about him looking so worn, so haggard, so unsure makes me want to take care of him.
“Thanks,” he says darkly.
“Tell me what’s really going on, Mag?”
“Only if you tell me why it matters. I already had to bullshit to the one person I never wanted to find out anything. It’s going to crush him.” He shakes his head. “I spared him as many details as I could.”
“What truth?”
“Get in. This isn’t a conversation for the hallway.”
Even though this is his hall, technically, I follow him into the living room. He collapses on the couch, and I sit beside him.
“The fire feels nice,” I say, watching orange and blue flames leaping up behind the glass in a hearth that goes to the ceiling. It’s like something out of a castle.
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. Scram
bled. 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.