Lifeline

Responsibility.

Fuck.

With a slight shake of my head, I walk to the front door. “Lock behind me.” I pull it shut and head to my car.

Just as I drive away from the curb, my phone starts to ring. Not recognizing the number, I answer, “O’Brien.”

“Just wanted you to have my number as well.”

I frown for a second. “Lindsay?”

“Yeah. Now you can call if you need anything.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that will never happen, but I bite the sharp retort back. “G’night.”

“Drive safely,” she gets in before I end the call.

My place is on the other side of the city. Upper West Side, to be exact. My dad was a stockbroker, and Mom being a publicist, also added to the wealth. Uncle Carl controlled the trust fund until I turned twenty-five. I have enough to hold me over for three lifetimes, but no one at the bureau except for Uncle Carl knows. My inheritance is one of the reasons I’m so private.

Parking at the back of the property, next to the Corvette Stingray and Camero SS, I grab the bag from the passenger side and head toward the back entrance. Dad and I used to spend our Saturdays working on the cars. It was our bonding time together.

The house is a six-bedroom, but I only use two on the third floor. Leaving the lights off, I walk to the kitchen.

Uncle Carl once asked me why I won’t sell. It’s the only place I feel connected to my parents. I haven’t changed a single thing, except for my bedroom.

I’d give up every dollar I have in a heartbeat if it would bring my parents back.

I drop the bag in the kitchen, and grabbing a beer from the fridge, I take the stairs up to the second floor while glancing at the family portrait spanning across the one wall that’s illuminated by the lights shining in through the copper-clad rounded bay window.

Mom was forty-one and Dad forty-five when they passed away. The portrait was made seven months before the accident. I never visit their graves, choosing to remember them here at home instead of cold and six feet under.

I loved my parents. More than anything. And God, they loved me.

The first year after their deaths, I couldn’t function. I was drowning in grief and almost failed my senior year. If it wasn’t for Uncle Carl, I would have probably ended my life.

Stopping in the doorway of the main suite, I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and look at the dressing table where all Mom’s perfume bottles still stand exactly the way she left them. Sometimes I gather the courage to spray some into the air so I can smell her.

It’s been eighteen years since they died, and I still don’t have the strength to wipe out the last traces of them.

That’s the kind of man JJ would see if she looked too deep. One who’s unable to move on from the past.

A man that’s thrown himself into his work because this house is too big… too empty. A constant reminder of what I’ve lost.

A man who hasn’t let in anyone but Uncle Carl for fear of suffering such a devastating loss again.

Things are easier when it’s just you. No responsibilities.

Now I’m stuck with the Jefferson sisters, caring whether they live or die.

How the fuck did that happen?

You know how.

You took one look at JJ, felt protective, and now you’re fucked.

Chapter 5

JJ

Dropping down in a kitchen chair, I let out a huff of air, finally able to let my turbulent feelings rise to the surface.

Lindsay warms my plate of food, and setting it down in front of me, she takes a seat, shutting her laptop. “Just by the look on your face, I can tell something happened.”

I shake my head, meeting my sister’s soft brown eyes. “To keep cover, we kissed.”

Shock flutters over her features. “What?”

“O’Brien kissed me,” I repeat the words. It feels surreal now that some time has passed. “It was all an act, of course.” My shoulders slump. “On his part, at least.”

“And you?”

I let out a sputter of laughter, the worry that I might’ve given something away during the kiss, filling my chest again. “I was so overwhelmed. I got swept up in it, and now I don’t know whether O’Brien picked up on my attraction for him because, on top of it all, the man’s a damn empath just like Dad was.”

“Oooh.” Lindsay scrunches her nose as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ve given my feelings away to O’Brien. “Did he say anything after the kiss?”

“Nope. He got back to work like it didn’t happen.”

“Ouch.” She reaches across the table, nudging my plate closer to me. “Eat.”

“I have zero appetite.” Bringing my hand up, I rub my fingers over my forehead while letting out a sigh. “What if he caught on I’m attracted to him?”