Page 6 of Beautiful Sin
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 madeeverything 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 Lanstruck 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.
“Indeed,” Wei agreed, swirling his premium roast like a wine connoisseur. “And let’s be realistic about our finances. We’re not eating instant noodles anymore, but you’re still our primary breadwinner, Jaxson. Plus, this place is practically a family heirloom. Mom and Stepdad poured their souls into making it livable for our situation.”
The mention of their parents created a momentary silence, a shared pause of remembrance. Jaxson could almost seethem—his father’s broad shoulders as he painted the kitchen, their stepmother’s delicate hands arranging flowers on the windowsill, their laughter filling the spaces that now sometimes felt too quiet.
As if summoned by the scent of domesticity—or more likely, breakfast—Nico breezed into the kitchen, his ash-blond hair performing an impressive impersonation of artistic bedhead, managing to look both completely disheveled and inexplicably stylish. He brought with him a wave of energy that dispelled the momentary melancholy, his presence like a sudden burst of sunlight through clouds.
“Morning, all my favorite bros!” He dropped into an empty chair, eyeing the spread with undisguised hunger. “What’s for breakfast? French toast and eggs? Don’t mind if I do!” He began piling his plate with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered food existed.
Nico was the easiest of them—uncomplicated, genuinely happy, untouched by the weight of responsibility that sometimes pressed down on the rest of them. Watching him attack his breakfast with gusto, Jaxson felt a rush of protectiveness. He wanted to preserve that lightness, to ensure Nico never had to shoulder the burdens the others had carried.
“No selling,” Jaxson declared firmly, returning to their conversation about the apartment. “Too many memories embedded in these walls… Not to mention we all worked too hard to get our names on that deed.” The apartment represented more than just a place to live—it was tangible proof that they’d survived, that they’d kept their promise to their parents to stay together.
“The Sinclair-Ji Trust owns it now anyway,” Wei pointed out practically. “Mom and your dad made sure of that before they passed. Equal ownership for all six of us.”
“Which means we all get a vote on moving,” Colt added, his precision extending to property matters as well as breakfast etiquette. A drop of sweat traced a path down his neck, disappearing beneath his running shirt—a reminder that he’d been exercising while the rest of them were just waking up. Always the overachiever.
“Democracy at its finest,” Nico mumbled through a mouthful of French toast. “Though my vote is always going to be for whatever gets me the fastest internet.” He grinned, a smudge of syrup on his chin making him look younger than his twenty-two years. “Do you know how long it takes to download game updates on our current connection? I could grow a beard waiting.”
“The apartment’s paid off,” Jaxson said, his tone softening as he looked around at his brothers. “That was the hard part. Maintaining it between the three of us working full-time should be manageable, even with you two”—he nodded toward Xander and Nico—“focusing on your studies. Though I do have enough saved for a deposit if we needed it.”
The admission made Xander’s eyes narrow slightly. “That savings is yours,” he insisted, echoing Wei’s earlier sentiment. “We’ve been parasites long enough. Besides, some of us might spread our wings soon.”
The casual comment hit Jaxson like a physical blow. Something visceral twisted in his chest—not just emotional discomfort but an actual physical pain that momentarily stole his breath. “Nobody’s flying this coop anytime soon.” The words came out sharper than intended, laced with a possessiveness that surprised even him.
The thought of any of them leaving—especially Lan—sent not just anxiety but something deeper through him, a primal fear that made no rational sense. This apartment, for all its flaws, kept them together. He couldn’t explain why, but some part ofhim knew with bone-deep certainty that separation would be disastrous.
Wei watched him over the rim of his coffee cup, something ancient and knowing in his eyes. “Family should stay together,” he said, his tone casual, though his gaze was anything but. “It’s tradition, after all. Some bonds aren’t meant to be broken.”
“Well, I’m certainly not planning my great escape,” Colt interjected, dabbing his mouth with a precision that bordered on compulsive. “Plus, I’m starting a new job at one of New York’s gaming giants next week.”
Wei perked up like a cat spotting an unattended tuna sandwich. “Does this mean vacation plans might become more than fantasy? I’ve been dreaming of going back to China for years.” His expression turned wistful, a rare glimpse of something beneath his usual composed amusement. “Shanghai in autumn. Or maybe Beijing—I haven’t been since we were kids.”
