I dive into the pool head first. The moment my body slices through the sparkling liquid, I catch my breath. The water is cool enough to shock my system and warm enough to help me adjust quickly to the temperature.

Holding my breath, I count the seconds. My body inches closer to the point where the urge to inhale is strongest, the point where there’s too much carbon dioxide in my lungs and not enough oxygen, the point right before drowning is meant to start. Only then do I come back up, breaking through the surface of the water, gasping for the chlorine-scented air.

“One of these days you’ll do something that’s going to kill you.” Bryant stands at the French doors leading to the private pool area of Lance’s condo, observing me, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, emerald eyes narrowed.

Ignoring him, I pull in several more breaths to replace the oxygen my lungs lost. I rise from the pool, my body vibrating with life. Water slides down my body, running from my hair down my back, as I approach one of the four cushioned chaise lounge chairs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I grab one of the folded engraved LaClaire towels from the lounger and hold it to my face, inhaling the fresh smell of fabric softener. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know if you didn’t get out of the water just now, you could have drowned.” He shoves a lock of hair from his forehead. “For a moment there I was tempted to dive in after you, but I figured you might be playing one of your crazy games again. You’ve been playing them since mom and dad died.”

Teeth gritted, I ruffle my hair with the towel and sink into one of the chairs, adrenaline surging through my veins.

Mom and dad died in a plane crash seven years ago. No one survived. One day they were there, the next they were gone.

I glare at Bryant. “Is Liam keeping you and Grace up that much at night?”

Liam Lance LaClaire is my six-month-old nephew, Bryant’s son, named after our disabled brother, Lance, who also happens to be Bryant’s twin brother. Bryant and Lance are the eldest of all five of us.

Adopted at the age of three, my genes may be different from theirs but my adoptive family never once made me feel less of a LaClaire.

At the age of two, I made national news when I was found—by a nun—sitting near a church dumpster, in Newburyport, with a note attached to my T-shirt that read “unwanted kid”. I made headlines a second time the following year, when one of the wealthiest families in the world adopted me.

Turns out the joke is on the person who left me by the dumpster. I was wanted after all. Unlike some adoptive kids, I never felt the urge to look for my biological parents. As far as I’m concerned, if anyone is unwanted, it’s them.

“What does Liam have to do with anything?”

“You can’t be getting enough sleep if you’re coming up with such crazy accusations.”

“You know I’m right.” Bryant sits down on the lounger next to mine. “I’ve been watching you for a while. You’ve been in town for three weeks and your whole body tells me you’re dying to go off on another one off your adventures.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I rake a hand through my damp hair. “Lance needs all of us right now.”

Lance had a major operation four weeks ago. After several failed treatments over the years, the experimental treatment he recently underwent was one we had buried the most hope in. The one we’d wished would allow him to walk again. To give him his life back. To be by his side, all four of us have put our travels on hold. But fate, the bitch, had dangled the carrot in front of him before snatching it away.

The treatment was a failure which left Lance even more depressed, to the point he refuses to talk to any of us, preferring to lock himself in his room. All he does in there is sit in his high-tech wheelchair, gazing out the window. When he does lie down, the ceiling is his point of interest. Getting him to eat, sleep, or exercise is a constant struggle.

“Look,” Bryant says. “I know staying in one place for close to a month is torture to you. Maybe you should leave town. Go somewhere to get your adrenaline kick. It’s not as if Lance wants us to be here anyway. Maybe we should listen and give him his space.”

“You know he doesn’t mean to push us away. He’s just too fucking proud to admit he needs us.”

“Maybe he is.” Bryant reaches for a bottle of water on the glass table next to him. He takes a swig and puts it back down. “But this was a major disappointment for him and I think he needs time to come to terms with all of it. Anyway, I had a talk with him last night.” He rubs his green eyes, tired. “He’s staying in Boston.”

“How the hell did you convince him to do that?” I rake the fingers of both hands through my hair and link them at the back of my head. “Last I heard he was thinking of returning to Cabo as soon as Dr. Drew gives him permission to fly.”

“I had a small talk with the doctor. Since Lance won’t listen to us, he might listen to him.”

“You mean you manipulated the situation?” I grab a water bottle and twist off the cap. “Being in paradise could help him start painting again.”

Before the treatment, Lance used to spend a lot of time at our family villa in Mexico. He claims being there inspires him to paint, even though he hasn’t painted in months. He’s the creative one of all of us, with paintings hanging in major galleries around the world, earning him a fortune—in addition to the billions our parents left behind. Money he can’t fully enjoy.

“He can paint right here. There’s no way we can let him stay by himself in Mexico. He should be here, where Grace and I can stop by to check up on him.” Bryant stretches out his legs on the lounge chair before crossing them at the ankles. “But I don’t see why you guys can’t go and live your lives. We all have to make the best of the situation.”

I let out a breath. “You’re right, it’s best he remains where he is.” I stand, careful not to slip on the wet tiles. “You know something? I still find it hard to believe that you’ve settled down. How do you not crave to travel all the time like you used to?”

The tension melts from Bryant’s face. “Little brother, when you find what you’re looking for, you don’t feel the need to go searching anymore.” Bryant gets to his feet as well. “I want to be where Grace and Liam are. They’re my home. Maybe one day you’ll find that in someone.”

“Yeah, dream on. There’s no way I’d give my life up for some woman.”

“If there’s one thing I learned, it’s to never say never.” His eyes are gazing into mine but his thoughts seem far away as he thinks of his family. “When you find the right one, everything changes, man. Everything.” He walks over to the door. “I’m talking from experience. But you’re twenty-four only once. Live your life as you like, but please be careful not to kill yourself doing something too crazy.”

The way Bryant talks sometimes makes him sound like someone much older than his thirty-one years. I want to tease him about it but I let it go.

“Where are you off to?” I ask instead. “Let’s enjoy a drink and watch the sunset.”

“I promised Grace I’d be home early to spend some time with them before Liam goes to bed.” He turns to face me. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

“If you decide to leave, let me know where you’re going. Don’t just disappear and call us from some random country.”

“Spain.” I stride toward him, bare feet padding against the tile.

“What about Spain?”

“That’s where I’m headed next. I’ll be flying out early tomorrow morning.”

“What’s luring you to Spain?” Bryant’s brows meet in the middle.

“Bulls and red flags, baby.”

“Of course.” Bryant doesn’t crack a smile. “The bull running festival in Pamplona. Doesn’t it take place around this time of year?” He shakes his head. “I don’t get how you can think it’s fun to be chased around by angry bulls.”

“You don’t need to understand, big brother. Different things float different people’s boats.”

“Fine. Go and get the boredom out of your system but come back in one piece.”

I grin. “Of course. That’s not an option.”

As Bryant leaves, I don’t tell him there’s something I have to do first, a stop I need to make before I head to the airport in the morning. Another activity that makes me feel alive. The thought of my dick buried inside the hot pussy of some chick already sends my pulse racing. It’s the best kind of foreplay before I head off to play with danger.