2 Family - 3

But it’s true. He jumped into that pit like gravity didn’t apply to him, hauled Kiara out with her broken ankle tucked carefully against him, and climbed back up like rescuing damsels from death traps was an everyday hobby.

“You had such a crush on him then,” Axel smirks.

“Well — maybe,” I hedge. “But I didn’t know back then what a spectacular asshole personality he held inside that beautiful body.”

Kiara rolls her eyes at Axel.

Great. I need new friends. Or at least Logan desperately needs a better best friend.

“So,” I say quickly, retreating to safer ground, “you didn’t see the gun-wielding demon monster man?”

That question has lived rent-free in my head for years.

I still wonder if that ugly face I saw that day is still lurking in the house. If he still fires his shotgun into the air whenever someone steps on his sticky tile floor. My sneakers were practically married to it. I never did figure out what that tacky substance was — and I’ve made peace with not knowing.

“No monsters,” Axel says. “No ghosts. Just the hobo.”

Figures.

“But,” he adds, “he did say he hears voices sometimes. West side of the building. And he sees flickering lights on the top floor.”

“I knew it!” I shout, pointing wildly. “That place is haunted.”

Axel chuckles, low and fond.

“Ugh,” Kiara groans and gives him a wink. “No matter how much effort I put into her, she’ll never change.”

She tosses the book I was reading at Axel. He catches it easily and studies the flamboyant romance cover as if it stole his honor.

“Her head’s still in the clouds,” he laughs. I’m right here, people.

Kiara flips her palms up. “Exactly.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

“Axel, dear,” she says sweetly, wiggling her eyebrows at me, “is Damion still such a hunk?”

I pout.

“I don’t know what a hunk is,” Axel replies dryly.

“Is he still beautiful?” she tries again.

“You don’t get a beautiful man,” he says, mildly disgusted. She flips off her top and slips a dress over her head, completely unbothered. And Axel never reacts — she changes in front of him all the time — this was just how their friendship worked. There is nothing sexual about it — she is shameless, and he is used to it.

“Oh my God,” she groans. “Ten years of girl talk, and you still don’t speak feminine.” She claps her hands loudly, making me jump. “Okay — how does this look?”

She’s wearing a green dress with long sleeves, hugging her curves, stopping mid-thigh.

“You look great,” I say honestly. She always does — she just likes hearing it.

“What she said,” Axel adds, sounding rather bored, staring at the ceiling like it’s projecting a spaghetti western only he can see.

“So,” he asks, “you girls ready to be guppy freshmen?”

“I can’t wait,” I say, and mean it with my whole chest. “I need to do stuff again.”

“And what stuff might that be?” he asks, still glued to his imaginary ceiling time.

“I want to run. Dance. Ride my horse. Maybe join soccer.” I grin. “And frat parties. You know. Student stuff.”

He finally looks at me. “Busy. Are you at least making time for that dimwit boyfriend of yours?”

Not my boyfriend. Not officially. And honestly — I hadn’t thought about him at all.

“I just want to experience everything,” I admit quietly. “While I still can.”

“Speaking of Ren,” Kiara jumps in, ignoring my glare, “what do you think about this relationship?”

Axel raises both hands. “Please keep me out of your love lives.” He sighs. “Honestly, I don’t like the dude. But objectively? I think Ren’s a scapegoat. Because you’re scared of the devil you secretly want.”

He pulls an innocent face. Kiara points at him triumphantly.

“What I secretly want,” I mutter, “is new, supportive best friends.”

“With green eyes?” Kiara sings.

“Are you talking about my buddy?” Logan’s voice cuts in as he enters, followed by my brothers.

“NO!” I shout — too fast, too loud. “Why would we be talking about him?”

Logan shrugs. Ugh, sometimes I hate my brothers.

“I had a vision you’re falling madly in love with someone with green eyes,” I tease, making up a quick lie.

“I don’t fall in love,” my youngest brother smirks, leaning against the wall. Tall. Broad. Quarterback energy everywhere. It’s his 21st birthday, and judging by the smell of alcohol on their breath and the stupid grins, the celebration’s already underway.

Thankfully, Uncle John’s house is basically Fort Knox. Guards everywhere.

Mainly to keep the Blackburn Inc. offices, labs, and production sites — all on the same property — safe and private. But it means the place is also paparazzi-proof.

Hopefully, no scandals tonight. No controversy and tabloids. And if the universe is feeling generous, no ER visits.

Ilkay catches my eye. Worried, as always. Born responsible. A certified genius … who at twenty-four is wrapping up his internship, heading into his neurosurgery residency.

My eyes move over to the twins.

Same face. Same mold. Completely different storms.

Enrique — the charming international model and actor, nightclub co-owner, smooth talker, and professional heartbreaker.

Jackson, on the other hand, plays hockey for the Sharks. A definite troublemaker. Short fuse. Quick fists. Eyes that see too much.

“We’re fetching Axel,” Jackson says. “Chef grilled Espetadas.”

Axel springs up. “I’m in. Haven’t eaten all day.”

“We’ll eat and drink while you girls get pretty,” Enrique grins.

“I heard you invited Ren,” Logan grimaces. “And he’s bringing friends.”

“Yep. Be nice.” I’m sure one of those friends is Jason Steward. I still don’t like him much.

Jackson’s stare turns glacial. “I don’t like him.”

I stick out my tongue. He smirks. Winks.

And damn it — it’s so cocky, cute, and unexpected — it works.

It always works.

Kiara and I are convinced there’s a secret ‘Hot Guy Sex Training Club’. A place where they teach men how to seduce the opposite sex. Or the same sex if they’re into that.

Possibly named Boys Educational and Analytical Sex Training — BEAST for short.

My brothers are clearly VIP members.

“Let’s eat,” Enrique calls as they disappear.

“I’m starving too!” I yell after them.

They laugh.

“It’s good to be a man,” someone mutters.

I sink back into the couch, warm, exasperated, oddly grateful.

Yeah.

I think I’m starting to hate men.

Or at least the ones I love most.