Page 3 of The Fragile One

“Of course, she’s fine. Stop asking stupid questions. If she wasn’t, I’m sure she would have said something,” Jackson replies for me. Abigail shoots him a disgusted look, visibly appalled by the sound of his voice.

“First, I wasn’t talking to you, Prince of Darkness. Second, I love this girl like a sister, and as such, I’ll ask her anything I damn well please. I’ve been around a lot longer than you, Jackson Hayes. I earned the right.” She darts her narrowed eyes in his direction.

Jesus Christ, these two need a referee, or to screw it out. I quirk my lips at the thought. As if either of them could shut up around the other long enough for that to happen.

“See, she’s smiling. She’s fine.” Oh, Jackson, if only you knew.

“Are you an idiot? You think anytime a girl smiles they’re ‘fine’? That explains a lot actually,” Abigail says, while tapping her chin, pretending to ponder the question she answered for herself.

“Both of you, for the love of all that is holy, I am fine. Stop bickering, or I’m going to lock you in a room together so you two can fight it out or fuck it out, your call.” Now it’s my turn for an eye roll from them.

“You know I only ask because I love you,” Abigail tells me, nudging me with her elbow.

I rest my head on her shoulder. “I know, Abs. I love you too. I’ll have Aiden here to keep me company and you better still come over and bring me wine,” I tell her. She gives me a little pinch on the arm.

“Just try to stop me,” she says.

“Yes. Please. Stop her. I don’t need this harpy here when I come over to visit,” Jackson interjects. He just can’t help himself.

“You know what, Jackson? I’ve had about enough of your digs—” Abigail starts.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Jackson scoffs. I’m tuning them out at this point as they continue to throw barbs at each other. Lord only knows how long they’ll be going at each other this time.

I’m watching my sister’s things being carried out of the apartment and admit to myself I’m feeling a little melancholy. I’ve been relying on her for most of my life, at least since my dad died, so this is new for both of us, but I need her to stop treating me like a fragile bird and she needs to put herself first for once. Of course, there are going to be a few growing pains along the way. This is just one of them.

I move over to the counter to open another bottle of champagne to make a mimosa. Jackson and Abigail are still squabbling while I pour, but I ignore them, lost in my own thoughts.

“Hi there, roomie.” A deep English-accented voice shakes me out of my musings.

I look over and there’s Aiden standing in the middle of the living room with his duffle bag as the movers weave around him.

Damn, I have seen this man in a suit one hundred percent of the time, but jeans and a white tee that hugs his chest and arms? This is a first.Lindsey likey. What? No. No.Roommates, girl, that’s it. I’ll just chalk this reaction up to my non-existent sex life, but I have to say, I don’t hate this look on him. It’s nice to see the stiff British guy dressed down. It’s not like I’veneverhad those thoughts about Aiden, but we’ve hardly spoken in the last couple of months. The only time we’ve had a one-on-one conversation was when he called to make sure I was comfortable with him moving in after Donovan asked him about it.

By the look on his face, though, he doesn’t look at all impressed with the Jackson and Abigail show unfolding in front of him. In fact, he looks about ready to bolt back out the door he walked through.Join the club, roomie.

Chapter two

Aiden

WhathaveIgottenmyself into?Walking up to the apartment, I could hear Abigail and Jackson arguing about God knows what. That man is such a twat. I’ve had my fair share of Jackson babysitting duties in the last several years. Party boy extraordinaire, that one. Thankfully, he’s been lying low for the last few months, but we’ll see how long that lasts. The way Abigail doesn’t take his shit makes me like her even more. Good on her for being one of the few women to reject his tired come-ons—not many do. Fortunately, I’m not around those two much. Being on the road with Donovan or home in my own (former) apartment has kept me away from their drama. Looks like that’s all changing today.

I’ve considered, on more than one occasion, backing out of this agreement. Not because I don’t want to help Donovan, who has become more a friend and less of a boss over the years, but because I like my space, my solitude. I get enough of dealing with people when following Donovan around at his campaign events. Home has always been where I can be alone, left to my own thoughts. The one place I can mostly find solace from my past, and the mistakes I made there.

Donovan needed my help, though. He knew Kasey would never leave Lindsey without someone they all trusted moving in. When Lindsey suggested the move, Donovan called right away, wanting to start a life with his woman, just the two of them. I get it. I wouldn’t be fond of a three’s company situation either. Unfortunately, that left a hole that needed to be filled for Lindsey. She still isn’t comfortable being by herself, and from what Donovan says, doesn’t leave the apartment. Pity, that.

From what I was told, Lindsey was a real firecracker. Not that I would know first-hand. The first time I laid eyes on her in person was when I was unbinding her bloody wrists from around an old pipe in a dingy basement where she was being held captive. Jackson’s stalker had her for a week chained to that pipe. Helen not only took a week of her life, but her spirit it seems.

I was the first on scene with Kasey and Donovan when they found out Lindsey had gone missing. The pictures we found in Lindsey’s apartment of her with the eyes crossed out and throat slashed were enough to raise my arm hairs at the violence in the sentiment.

There were a couple photos the stalker, Helen, missed, though. In those ones she had a wide smile on her face and life in her eyes that spoke of mischief and tenacity, two qualities every young woman should have. I could tell she was the type to take life by the balls and make her mark, whatever that would be. Now the poor girl can’t step foot out of her apartment. Life can be pretty shitty like that; I would know. I don’t have a problem living in the outside world, but with all the shit I’ve seen, I would rather not sometimes.

“Hi there, roomie,” I say with what hopefully isn’t an awkward smile on my face.

Lindsey spots me standing here as she opens a bottle of champagne. A little early for alcohol, in my opinion, but I’m not much of a drinker. A beer here and there. That’s it. I always consider myself on duty for Donovan, having received calls at all hours needing something from him, so being hammered would hinder my ability to do the job he expects from me or that I expect from myself. Some people may consider my commitment to the job extreme or boring, but there’s nothing wrong with holding yourself to high expectations.

There’s a tightness around Lindsey’s eyes and stiffness in her posture that tells me she’s nervous or stressed out right now. I hate seeing it on her. She’s had enough to deal with. Surely having Jackson and Abigail bickering around her isn’t doing anything helpful for her anxiety levels. I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I don’t know how it’s coming across. Her eyes go from tight to downright worried. Maybe my smile needs work.

“Aiden, hey.” Lindsey’s voice is cheery, but it’s forced. The idjit and the redhead stop and turn toward me. Abigail takes a long look at me from my short, cropped hair all the way down to my perfectly white shoes and back up to my chest. Appreciation flares in her eyes, making me feel slightly uncomfortable with her intense attention. Jackson looks like he couldn’t care at all that I’ve entered the apartment. I never made it a point to hide my distaste for the man, and he’s apparently caught on. No bother on my end.

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