Page 5

I thought I could do this.

It’s been a goal for so long, but I really, really can’t.

With desperate, jerky movements, I take my earbuds out of my pants pocket and put them on, then select the playlist I need, and as soon as the first notes of the song fill my ears, all my other senses stop frying my nerves.

London knows I’m picking her up, and unlike Mom and Dad, she didn’t try to change my mind, she was only excited about it.

I look down at my phone when I still don’t see her anywhere near the conveyor belt where her bags should appear soon, and make sure she did text me and I didn’t just imagine that.

She did, only thirty minutes ago.

I breathe out slowly, cross my arms tightly over my chest, and look back up, this time focusing only on the descending escalator, or the lower half that’s visible.

When she comes, it’ll be from those stairs .

She managed to get through to the plane using the private entrance at Heathrow, and they let her board before anyone else. She told me all of that hours ago when she was leaving England to come back home, so I know she was on that plane .

And she just texted me , I remind the paranoia in my head.

Another slow breath out.

Paco, my sister’s driver, is waiting for us in the parking lot, and all she has to do by herself is get through customs then walk over here.

She’s sixteen, more than old enough to be traveling by herself, and she isn’t reckless.

I keep reminding myself of all the things I know, and all the facts as I wait for her, and I push down the self-hatred that I didn’t manage to stand here even for ten minutes without needing my earbuds.

But that’s the whole point , I hear Dr. Becky’s voice in my head. You’ve found something that helps you, and using that tool is never a failure.

I’m not a failure , I remind myself, and this time the exhale is less shaky.

I feel my shoulders drop, my fingers extend, and I know I’m relaxing.

London will finally be back home after four long weeks, and I’ll stop worrying about her. I’ll have control of my thoughts back, and once again be able to focus fully on finding more investors for ESoothe, then finally get more programmers on the team to finalize the first version of the app.

Just as that thought flits through my mind I see her, my little sister, the most perfectly imperfect human on earth, and she’s not alone.

A frown mars my face and all the tension returns to my body like a flood.

I hurry to take off my earbuds and shove them carelessly in my pants, not caring about putting them in their case—which gives away just how alarmed the sight makes me.

She’s smiling up at the man with caramel skin and rich black hair while he gestures elaborately with his hands. They’re on different steps of the escalator, him one below her, but she still has to look up at him. She’s a short one, just like Mom.

It all seems innocent enough, but he has to be close to my thirty-six years—definitely closer than he is to London’s sixteen—so it’s definitely not innocent at all.

Then her bright blue eyes, same as our mother’s, focus on me and her smile widens. That alone helps with the rising panic, but when the man turns to look at me, he’s not smiling, but instead looks... curious?

In that moment I want to be able to get to her more than anything, but I’m not allowed since I’m not a passenger. I curse the damn airport security even while she picks up her pace until she’s practically running to me.

Her arms wrap around my torso as soon as she’s close enough, but though I wish I could, I can’t enjoy it. With the joke of a barrier that are the Tensa bands set up by the airport between us, I keep my eyes firmly on the man who’s now smiling softly at the back of my sister’s head.

“Who the hell are you?” I growl at him.

His eyes widen in alarm—good—but for some reason I can only focus on how absolutely black they are. It’s like you could fall into them and never get back out—not good. Thankfully, eye contact with strangers has never been my thing, so instinct has me looking away before it’s too late.

“I’m Carter Din,” he says in a hurried tone that mollifies me just slightly, though my arms are still holding London to me a bit too tightly by the way she squirms. I don’t let her go, and she doesn’t protest.

She more than anyone knows that when I don’t let go of a hug, telling me to let go is a bad idea.

“Why were you talking to my sister?” I demand, my voice still sounding animalistic.

Some part of my defective brain wonders what playlist I need right now—and okay, I know it’s not defective, but sometimes I slip and fill up with self-pity, sue me—but I make sure to keep as much of my focus as I can on Carter . Even if it is only on his forehead.

“He saved me from an old pervert.” London’s voice comes softly, and I know why, what she’s trying to do.

The deceptiveness of her tone is to offset the rage.

“What?” I snap, pushing her back by the shoulders so I can take a good look at her.

“I’m fine, Liam.” She keeps talking softly.

I hate it.

I hate everything in this moment because my little sister, the most precious person on this planet, has to be strong so I won’t lose my shit.

I grind my teeth together and breathe deeply as I keep staring down at her, trying to find it in me to be calm and support her . That’s what I have to do .

I look back up at Carter and he must see some of the rage, because he takes a tiny step back while his eyes narrow.

I open my mouth to thank him before I ask for more explanations from London, but a ringtone blares right then, and Carter’s eyes release mine as he fishes his phone from his pocket. He answers the call and quickly murmurs at us.

“I’ll get the bags. You tell your brother what happened.”

I have mixed feelings about the stern look he aims at my sister before he puts the phone to his ear, then he turns on his heel and walks away.

On the one hand, he needs to back off and never tell London what to do, but on the other, I really want her to tell me what happened, so I focus back on her instead of Carter’s wide back.

“Speak,” I command, and the epic eye roll tells me she’s at least feeling like herself, which helps me breathe a little bit easier.

She doesn’t protest and instead goes through her morning in London—the city—step by step, knowing it’s what my brain needs.

I actively want to wring someone’s neck—a new experience for me—when she tells me the “old pervert” touched her knee, but then she tells me how Carter intervened, and I manage to unclench my teeth and my jaw.

“Where is this man?” I demand, looking at the baggage claim area where Carter is, with two suitcases already on a cart next to him.

“Carter made sure he didn’t get a chance to talk to me again.

We can trust him,” London hurries to add, and how she can possibly know that, I have no idea, but I keep my mouth shut.

“I talked to Mom right when we landed,” she continues.

“I told her all of it and she told me we have to bring Carter over for dinner to thank him. But first we need to make a quick pit stop because he’s gotta buy a present for a friend?—”

“Wha—what?” I sputter out the question. “We’re supposed to drive him around so he can go shopping ?

” I shake my head before she can answer because that’s not even the most ridiculous part of what she just said.

“We’re supposed to invite a stranger to dinner?

What, as a bribe not to sell this story to the press? ”

My brain is not on board with this, and I’m already shaking my head. God, what the hell is Mom thinking?

“I don’t need to be bribed by you.” Carter’s suddenly right there with a cart full of suitcases, and the edges of his jaw are bunching so he must be clenching his jaw too.

Is that because of anger? “And I wasn’t thinking a home cooked meal would be a bribe,” he keeps talking in a monotone voice that. .. does something to my brain.

I can’t explain it, but he has my full attention instantly.

And that’s worrying.

Especially because he might not sound super angry, but I’m pretty sure he is.

“I was thinking of accepting,” he continues. “Even if none of you owe me anything. But if your rude arse will be there, then I think I’ll pass.”

He finishes by tilting his chin up just slightly.

It makes no difference, we’re practically the same height, or maybe I’m an inch taller, so it’s not like he’s going to be able to look down on me or anything.

Dad explained it to me once, how people use height to assert their dominance.

I don’t get that, but I have seen a lot of men try to do it. It never really works.

“No, please come,” London cries and... she lets go of my hands and grabs onto Carter’s arm. “Don’t worry about Liam. He’s just grouchy because he’s been working too much, and life’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s nice. I promise.”

Carter’s face transforms into a tender expression when he looks down at London.

“Older brothers are always nicer to their sisters than to the rest of the world.” His words are soft, and once more something happens inside me at the sound of his deep baritone. Could be his cadence? His accent? He speaks like he doesn’t have anything to hurry over. It’s... calming.

I think.

I’m not sure.

There’s nothing calm about him, though, when his eyes turn to me and he raises one imperious eyebrow.

“Especially really older brothers.”

It takes me a moment to remember what he’s talking about, but when I do it’s not like I can say anything back, can I? I do want to, though.

I am twenty years older than London—not that it’s my fault, but it’s a fact. Why did he say it like that? Is he making fun of me?

I frown at that thought. I don’t let anyone make fun of me anymore, and that sparks something in my brain to come up with a comeback.

“As opposed to you,” I bite back. “You’re just a spring chicken, I suppose.” I look him up and down, which I’ve learned is something people do when they’re openly judging others.