by Lauren Dane
Adrian might get a little jealous of just how together his older brother was and always had been, but he never ceased to respect him and his heart. When Brody Brown loved you, he loved you to the bone and that was that.
“She knows you do. She does. And she’s excited and happy and full of love for you and her sister and this family. That is who Rennie is all the way to her toes. But she’s ten and she’s growing up and with the good has to be some being scared and a little jealousy and even a sliver of anger.
“But she knows with all her heart that you love her just the same as if she’d come to you another way. It’s not the how she came to you, but that she did. She knows she’s your daughter.”
“Elise says it’s a good thing she’s so close to you. Mind you, I agree.”
Adrian laughed. “As big a cliché as it sounds, it’s really the other way around. I’m lucky to have her. I love your kid. Both of them. I love that she can come to me and trust the parts of herself she doesn’t think are as pretty.” He was proud of it. “I guess you raised me right.”
“Enough mush. Come on inside.”
3
With great care, Gillian chose her clothes for the day. Miles was at school and she was heading over to Seattle to go to Brody Brown’s tattoo parlor.
She bound her hair at the nape of her neck after braiding and coiling it. Not too much makeup. Subtle colors. Messages were important and she didn’t want to give an impression that she was tatty or in need of money. Or looking for any interaction but the one she detailed. Men sometimes assumed things about a woman. Though it was really stupid and their own issue, Gillian had lived with enough judgment and assumption that she was a slapper looking for a few extra quid simply because of who she was related to; she didn’t care for it to happen ever again.
She hadn’t always had control over most things in her life growing up, but her outward appearance was something she could control. Yes, yes, she knew it was silly, but you did what you could to get through the day without maiming anyone.
Her accent had smoothed out over the years living in America. But the flavor of England was in her forever. To her bones. She’d never lose it entirely and she figured she may as well use it to her advantage. Most often she fell to the posh one, the one her piano teacher had used back when she and her mother and sister had lived in a council flat in Newham. The Queen’s English. It came in quite handy with teachers, policemen, authority figures. The other, the heavier cockney she was born with, well, that one only came out when she really got angry or frustrated, and her close friends and Miles knew to be careful when she started dropping consonants.
On the drive over, she went through her short, simple speech several times. It was best if she told Adrian face-to-face. It wasn’t something she wanted lawyers and third parties to handle. This was about a real person who deserved some respect.
So she ignored the nausea and nervousness and found the place easily enough using her borrowed GPS. Her hand froze, clutching her keys in her palm so hard her knuckles were white. She made herself relax, took in the surroundings. Mixed commercial neighborhood. A café next door, a hipster hardware store a few doors down. Brody Brown’s tattoo shop was called Written on the Body. Hm. Nice name. Not a cliché.
It took four tries to get out. She even restarted the car once. But in the end, she found herself walking through the front door and asking to see Brody Brown.
It wasn’t that she didn’t expect a very large, tattooed man—the place was positively full of them. But it was his eyes she hadn’t expected. Warm, friendly. His smile was genuine and open.
Gillian found herself responding, relaxing a little.
“I’m Brody. I hear you were looking for me?”
She held a hand out, which he shook. “My name is Gillian Forrester. I know this is most unusual, but I need to get in contact with your brother.”
The warmth shuttered. Not entirely, but he clearly put some distance between them.
“What’s this about? He has management if you want an interview or a personal appearance.”
Gillian shook her head. “No. No, it’s not like that. I have some information for him. I need to tell him in person. I’m not trying to be coy, though it might appear that way, I’m sure.” She put an envelope on the counter. “What I have to say, I need to say in person. My contact information is in there.”
Brody looked at the envelope and then at her, long and hard. She had nothing to hide, and damned if she’d do anything but look him right back. No one would ever make her feel guilty or ashamed when she was doing the right thing.
“I’m his brother; I can pass it along. You can tell me whatever it is.”
“I’m sure you’re a trustworthy person. It’s in the eyes, you know.” She brushed down the front of her sweater, brisk now that her message had been delivered. “But it’s not something he should hear from anyone but me.”
She stepped back. “You don’t know me from Adam. I’m sure you get people in here trying to get at your brother and I respect that you’re protecting him. All I can do is repeat that I need to speak with him about something very important and that my contact information is in that envelope.”
He took the envelope, sliding it into the cash register, under the cash drawer. “I can’t make any promises. Your best hope is to contact his management. It’s at his website.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Brody watched her go with long, precise, ground-eating strides. Which was all the more impressive given that she couldn’t have topped five foot one or two. Big brown eyes that, if he wasn’t mistaken, deftly sized him and the shop up enough that he’d lay odds she wasn’t an easy mark.
Not the usual sort of woman in the shop trying to find Adrian. He watched her turn the corner and went back to the register where the envelope was. He took it and headed back to his office to call his brother.
Adrian picked up on the first ring. “Yo.”
Brody snorted a laugh. It was such a common greeting from his brother that even Alexander had picked it up.
“I just had a visitor. A woman looking for you.”
“Novel.”
“Har har. No, this one was different than the usual breed of star-fucker who comes sniffing around for you. Graceful. The way she moved reminds me of Elise. Though she’s more . . . bold, maybe? Something. Anyway. She left an envelope here with her contact information.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. But she did say it was important.”
“They all say that, Brody. If it’s important, she’ll contact Jeremy and he’ll tell me.” Brody heard the plunk of strings, knew his brother’s focus was on the music.
Brody paused. “Adrian, I think you should call her.”
“Why? Dude, she’s going to want something from me. A donation for a charity, a night at a bachelor auction, whatever. I have management for this. I’m sorry they come in to bug you, man. I know it’s a pain.”
“It’s not a pain. She’s . . . well, she’s different. Call her. I think you need to do it yourself.”
“What does the info say?”
“I haven’t opened it yet. It’s to you.”
Adrian barked a laugh. “Christ, dude, do you always have to be so fuckin’ honorable? Open it up and tell me.”
“Asshole.” Brody muttered it as he opened the envelope and then scanned the sheet within. “It’s a sheet of paper with her name. Gillian Forrester. Two contact numbers and an e-mail. Says she has to give you some important information and she needs to deliver it in person. Apologizes for sounding mysterious.”
“Fuck this noise. I have better things to do than get hooked in to some scheme with a chick looking to get laid. Seattle’s got plenty of musicians; I’m sure she can get her itch scratched elsewhere.”
Brody heard the world-weariness in his brother’s voice. It had alleviated some in the months since he’d been home from this last tour. He’d grown concerned over the l
ast few years that Adrian was getting too jaded. All that industry stuff was destructive. Fake. Obsessed with things that simply didn’t matter. Worse, the walls between his private life and his public one as a celebrity had begun to crumble. People camped out at Adrian’s front gates on a regular basis. He’d had multiple stories fed to tabloids about his sex life, most of it totally untrue. Hell, even a paternity accusation three years prior. Brody and Erin had encouraged Adrian to take a step back and put some paid staff between him and the public and thank goodness he’d listened.
What did matter was Adrian’s music. Of course Brody had been proud and wanted his brother to continue to be successful. Just not at the expense of the rest of Adrian’s life.
Brody’s gut was rarely wrong, and it told him his brother needed to contact this woman. “She’s different. I said it and I’ll say it again. Adrian, what harm can it do to call her? If she’s full of shit, hang up and block her number forever.”
Adrian sighed and Brody knew he was putting his guitar down, moving aside the notepad and bringing his full attention to his brother. “Fine. Fine. If she asks me for money, beer and pizza is on you next time.”
Brody grinned. “I can call her for you, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was about when she was here and I don’t think she’d do it on the phone either.”
“Give me her info. I’ll let you know what she says or you’ll just pester me until I tell you anyway.”
“Damn straight.”
She sat in her driveway for a little while, just getting herself back together now that she was home. Her hands shook until she squeezed them into fists.
She’d gone and done it. She’d opened herself up to other people who could end up wanting access to her child. She knew it had been the right thing, but it sent her pulse through the roof to imagine the sort of trouble this man could cause if he wanted to. She had to hope he wouldn’t. Had to hold on to the knowledge that she was Miles’s mother and no one could take that from her.
Which was good because the DNA test would obviously be a match.
She could no longer give herself the illusion of that small sliver of doubt that Adrian Brown was truly Miles’s father. When Brody had smiled, her son’s smile was reflected so strongly it had shaken her to the core.
She’d seen that smile every single day for the last thirteen years. Most recently that morning before he left for the school bus.
She exhaled long and hard, letting it all go. There was nothing else to be done. She wouldn’t tell Miles until she knew for sure Adrian Brown was interested in moving forward.
Funny how one piece of missing information could cast a different light on everything.
Miles had started this little garage band with his friends at the end of the last school year. They played out there, as loud as they wanted to be, and it bothered no one. He’d stuck with it and they practiced several days a week.
Until Tina had revealed who Miles’s dad was, Gillian had always assumed Miles’s talent for music came from her side of the family.
He’d like that, Miles would. He’d like knowing he came from a family of artists, because other than Gillian’s piano and design work, the only kind of artists in her family were grift artists.
This Adrian Brown had better love her baby with all his heart or she’d have to maim him. Unexpectedly annoyed, she stomped off to finish some work for a design client and not think about any Browns at all.
Which would have been easier had her cell phone not rang with private caller on the screen. She normally didn’t take such calls, but she answered this time, wondering if it was him.
“Gillian Forrester,” she said, and Adrian was taken aback for a moment at the sound of her accent. British. Brody hadn’t mentioned that.
“Yeah. This is Adrian Brown. You came by my brother’s shop earlier today looking for me. I have a management company; it’s easiest to go through them. My brother isn’t my business manager.”
She gusted a sigh and he found himself amused for a moment.
“I need just a few minutes of your time, Mr. Brown. I have to speak with you on an urgent matter.”
She was very starched and prim. “Why don’t you tell me what it is and I’ll judge just how urgent it is myself?”
“I cannot relay this over a phone line. I can meet you at your convenience to explain everything.”
“Who are you and why should I?”
She paused and he got the feeling she was pissed. Good. He was too. He didn’t have time to play around with people. He’d been down this fucking road so many times just thinking about it made him tired.
“As I said, my name is Gillian Forrester.”
“Why don’t we cut to the chase, sweetheart? How much are you looking for?”
“Sweetheart? Just who is it you think you are and who do you think I am, for goodness’ sake? How much for what?”
Okay, so he did feel a little guilty for being rude. “Look, I get strangers coming around all the time looking for something from me. If you need money for your project or a school or something, I give pretty regularly. But you still have to go through my manager. I’ll give you his number and tell him to expect your call.”
“You ought to try using earplugs when you are onstage, Mister Brown.” The accent had gone very proper now. Like the hormone-riddled fool he was, he liked it. Liked the way she drew out the word mister. Maybe he should investigate it a little more.
“Why is that?”
Oh dear God, did he have to do that drawl thing? Despite his manners, he was sexy and her body responded in a major way.
She stifled yet another sigh and kept her uptight British in place. “Because I think you have a hearing problem. Now, I do not want money from you for anything. As I’ve said, I need to speak with you on an important matter. I simply want some of your time. It will take me roughly ten minutes to lay it all out.”
“I don’t have a hearing problem. Though I appreciate your concern. I have a problem with people wasting my time. You’ve received enough of it. Please don’t contact me again.”
Well then, that was easy enough. “As you wish.” And she hung up.
Miles came in from school. She heard his clatter and the stomp of feet that seemed to grow a size every two weeks.
He was safe with her. She’d done her best. Had tried to tell Adrian Brown about this treasure and the man had accused her of trying to extort him! The nerve.
“Mum?”
“On my way,” she called out.
All the annoyance and fear melted as she caught sight of him. Of all the messy he carried along with him with ease. Backpack. Kickedoff shoes. A wash of paper and discarded clothing in his wake. “Oy, don’t you dare get those trainers on my carpet. They’re muddy.”
“You mean my sneakers?” He grinned.
“Don’t give me any cheek, mister. You know what I mean. Trainers, sneakers, the message is the same. Track mud on my carpets and I shall have you for dinner.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe after you’ve had a snack. Go on, I got more peanut butter at the market.”
She wandered with him to the kitchen, leaned against the counter while he made himself a peanut butter sandwich.
“How was school? Did you turn in your book report?”
“It was okay. Yes.”
A year ago, he’d be telling her every last detail of his day. But these days, he had those little teen moments that made him less than chatty.
“Don’t overwhelm me with details, boy.” She moved around the kitchen, pulling things from cabinets.
“Got practice tonight.” He leaned his head against her shoulder for a moment and the memories came rushing back, warming her to her toes. When he was a toddler and in the early grades, he had problems connecting with people sometimes. He didn’t give a lot of hugs, but he would put his head on her shoulder, or when she asked for a kiss, he’d give her the top of his head. Over time, he’d let other people in and had gotten past it for the most part. But sometimes when h
e was very tired, or emotionally raw, he’d put his head on her shoulder like that and he’d instantly be four years old again.
She kissed the top of his head. “All right. I’ll order you guys a pizza then. I’ve got two lessons anyway. Do your homework first.”
“You’re pretty awesome for a mum who doesn’t know the difference between sneakers and trainers.” He grinned.
“Talk now, monkey boy! You need those braces tightened next week; I’ll have a word with your orthodontist beforehand, shall I?”
He put his hands up, which he could now that he’d shoved half his sandwich in his mouth at once. Gillian winced. “Your teeth are for chewing. Use them.”
He demolished another sandwich, an orange, two glasses of milk and a handful of raisins. He ate like a machine and yet remained long and lanky. Like her own father had been. She shuddered, forcing herself to remember Brody and Adrian Brown were also tall. It was better to imagine Miles getting anything from them instead of Ronnie Pete.
He paused in the doorway after he’d grabbed his backpack. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
She managed a genuine smile. He lifted her spirits, silly boy. She hadn’t told him about Adrian and at that point, she wasn’t sure she would. Maybe once he turned eighteen as Cal had suggested.
“I’m good. Just had to run around a little earlier.”
And then he was gone in a clatter of noise and the kitchen was peaceful and quiet again.
She had dinner at Mary’s later that night. She’d fill Jules and her friends in then. Until then, she had two piano lessons and some pizzas to order.
Brody opened his front door. “Why’d you knock? You have a key.”
Adrian moved past his brother and kicked off his shoes in the hall, hanging his jacket on the way.
“It was late. I didn’t want to just walk in. You and Elise could have been doing all manner of things and my fragile psyche can’t handle that.”
