Torn

by Deborah Bladon

  "What did he say?"

  "I feel like a kid in sixth grade that gets stuck between the girl and boy who like each other. He hands me a note, I pass it on to you. You hand me one, I pass it on to him. If that's what this is, I'm out."

  "Tell me what he said, Noah," I insist, teasingly enough that he can't hear the excitement in my tone. Why does it matter to me what Asher said to him? I'm twenty-three years old. I don't need Noah to be the middle man in this.

  There's the sound of movement on the other end. "I've got a family portrait to shoot in ten so I need to make this quick."

  "All right."

  "Asher's a good kid, Falon." He draws in a heavy breath. "He was fucked up when he was younger but he pulled himself out of that shit. You can't do much better than him and I heard he's a pretty decent singer if you're into that sort of thing."

  "So he called to ask you to put in a good word for him?" I rush the words out, knowing that Noah is going to end the call at any moment.

  He sighs so audibly that I have to arch my head away from the phone. "He called to ask if I knew what your favorite flower is. I told him it was roses, white roses, so expect a fuck load of those to be delivered any time now."

  I swallow hard. "You're the best, Noah."

  "You know it. If this turns into something be good to him. He means almost as much to me as you do."

  CHAPTER 6

  Asher

  "Do you think Caleb would have fired me again by now if I was still working here?" I stare out at the view of lower Manhattan. Dusk is starting to settle over the city. It's my favorite time of day.

  I hear the faint sound of papers rustling behind me. He's working. Gabriel's focus is on the business, as it always is. "Caleb tried to fire me this morning, Asher. He forgets that I'm the one in charge. If you want back in, you can have your old position back."

  "Not a chance." I laugh aloud, remembering the relief I felt the last, and final time, my brother Caleb fired me. "I'm doing okay on my own."

  "That's an understatement." He's on his feet now. I catch his reflection in the window as he walks towards me, buttoning his suit jacket. "How long are you in town this time?"

  I glance at his face. He's eight years older than me but it feels like he was born a generation or two before I was. He's the wisest person I know. He's also the one who pushed me into rehab when my addictions were drowning me. He's stood by me through everything, never once faltering.

  "Awhile," I offer, unsure of when I'll head back out of the city. "I'm going to hang out here for a few weeks."

  "Your schedule allows that?" He questions without looking at me, his focus on the city's skyline. "I thought you were going to Europe to rehearse for your tour."

  "Who told you that?" I ask without thinking. Gabriel keeps a close watch over me even though he tells me he doesn't keep tabs. I've long suspected that at least one of my assistants is padding her bank account with payments from my brother to report back to him on what I'm doing.

  I don't blame him. I nearly died from an overdose more than once and Gabriel was always the one left to clean up my mess and sit by my bedside. His brotherly guidance is intended to keep me on the straight and narrow path. It helps but I take most of the credit for cleaning myself up.

  "It's on your website. I check it out at least once a week."

  It's a convenient explanation. It's plausible even. "The rehearsal space we had there fell through so we're going to find a place to do it here."

  "You're lying."

  He's right. Gabriel is always fucking right.

  "I need to take care of some personal stuff. I have to be here to do that." I try to sound calm. I haven't been calm since I got that call this afternoon when I was in Falon's studio.

  "What stuff?"

  "Personal shit, Gabriel." I turn to look at him. "I can handle it."

  "You're sure." His arms cross over his chest. "You look like hell, Asher. Tell me what's going on."

  He's the last person I'm going to talk to about this. Gabriel will take control the way he always does when something threatens me or the family. He'll bury it in a grave so deep that I'll never find out the truth. Besides, I'm tired of him taking care of my life. I'm too old for that bullshit. This is my issue. I'm handling it my way.

  "It's work stuff," I say convincingly. "I've got a lot of ideas for new material. I need to focus on that."

  He frowns. "I can tell when you're holding things in. If you've got a problem, share it. I'll help you deal with it."

  "How old am I now?"

  "What?" His voice lowers. "What kind of a question is that?"

  "Answer it."

  "You're twenty-six, Asher. You're twenty-six years old."

  Smiling I nudge his elbow. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've got my shit together. You need to back off and let me live my life. I've got this. Trust me on this one."

  He chews on his bottom lip as he glares at me. "I trust you but if you need me, you call. You know I'm always here for you. Night or day."

  Gabriel is the only one I can count on, but there are some things even he can't fix. "You worry about the business. I'll worry about me."

  ***

  When I took the call from Daniel Roy, the head of my security team, earlier there was no small talk. He didn't ask how I was. He got to the point. I pay him to do that and today his job was uncomplicated. He left my attorney's office earlier with a six figure check and a contract. An hour later he had a large manila envelope in his hands and a signature. He dropped everything off at my apartment right after he called me.

  I'd stopped by the Foster Enterprises building, not only to see my brother, but to bide time. I know that once I look at the information in that envelope, I'll never look at myself or anyone in my family the same way again.

  I avoided it by calling my cousin Noah to ask him about Falon's favorite flower. I'd stopped at the nearest flower shop after ending the call to place an order for every white rose they had. I wanted the card attached to be in my handwriting, even if Falon has no way of knowing that I actually wrote the card. I kept it simple. Thanking her for the shoot and for having a coffee with me.

  I headed over to see my brother then. I went there to return his missed phone call in person. He couldn't have guessed the ulterior motive. I wanted to study his face, compare it to mine.

  I've always resembled Gabriel more than I do Caleb. My brothers are both a few inches taller than me. I'm no lightweight though. I come in at a little under six feet tall and I've bulked up since I started touring. The after show workouts have sculpted my body into a lean and enviable form.

  I don't wish I was more like either of them anymore. I'm finally comfortable being me for the first time in my life.

  The only problem is that I don't know who I am anymore. I've lived my entire life as Asher Foster, son of Roman and Gianna, and brother of Caleb and Gabriel. I've never fit in with the family business. I was the only one who struggled with drugs and alcohol. I've always been the outsider.

  I overlooked it until six months ago. One night after a show I played in California, a woman begged my security for time with me. She was skimming the fine line between coherence and intoxication. She told the security guards that she was too old for her interest to be a place in my bed. She knew my mom she claimed.

  I listened to the exchange from the hidden shadows backstage. I laughed it off until I heard her pronounce Gianna's name with the same lilt that only those closest to her do. She brought up the pink diamond necklace my dad gave my mom on their wedding day.

  After hearing that, I gave her five minutes of my time. Her story was convoluted and too detailed for it to just be the ramblings of a stranger. She sneered as she told me that things aren't what they seem, the glee in her eyes evident.

  I stood in shock, not having the rational sense to ask her name. I couldn't confront my mom without it. Maybe I didn't want to confront her because the woman's story meant my entire life has been one fucking lie after another.
r />   The temptation to tell Gabriel was strong but I fought it. I admit a big part of that was that I didn't want to know the truth. Telling Caleb was an option but he reacts without thinking. He yells first, ask questions never. His anger would have messed everything up for me.

  So, I did what any rational person would do. I ignored it by telling myself that she was just like all the others who tried to contact me with their bullshit stories about having information that will impact my career.

  Take your pick of what's been thrown at me. There were supposed pictures of me using cocaine eight months ago. Another was the woman who I fucked after a concert one night who threatened to release a recording of the two of us in my hotel room. The worst was one of my former assistants who said she was going to go public with a goddamn lie about me slapping her face after she was fired by my manager. It was all bullshit. Every single threat had nothing to back it up. They were all looking for a quiet payout to keep their mouths shut. I didn't give in. I wouldn’t.

  This time was different though. I ignored the woman's claims about my parents until two weeks ago when a cryptic comment was left on an Instagram post of me and my mom. The media manager my publicist hired posted the shot to my account to commemorate my mom's birthday.

  There, tucked between all the 'Happy Birthday Asher's mom' comments from my fans was a message directed to my mom about a confession my dad had made two years ago. The person posting the comment included the first six digits of my dad's private cell number and claimed to have a birthday gift for my mother that would be more of a surprise to me than her. There was mention in the comment about a voicemail recording.

  Social media isn't my thing. The negativity fucks up my song writing so I avoid it. I pretend it doesn't exist but when another comment was made five days ago, by the same person, saying that the birthday gift for my mom was going to be sold to the highest bidder, my media manager called Daniel.

  Daniel showed screenshots of the comments to me, and told me they were removed by my team seconds after they were posted. He was concerned enough to want to check it out though.

  He asked me how far I wanted to take it. I wanted proof that it wasn't another baseless circus show designed to drain my wallet.

  Daniel stopped by my place two days ago and showed me a picture on his phone. It was of my dad and the woman he almost married a year and a half ago. Caterina Omari used to be a second rate model. She latched onto my dad because his name is synonymous with one of the biggest fashion brands in the world.

  She's only a few years older than me. Her career never took off so she sought out a new way to fund her desperate need to fit in where she never has. As soon as they started dating, my dad took her to Venice and Paris. He lavished her with gifts, and eventually a six carat diamond engagement ring that pushed him back into the spotlight. Their pictures were everywhere. They attended fashion week shows and she did interviews, branding herself as the 'Foster Fashionista.'

  He loved the attention, she loved the money and when he told my older brothers that he was marrying her without a prenup, Gabriel cut her a check. She disappeared. I hadn't given her another thought until Daniel showed me that picture.

  It was a picture of the two of them on their backs in bed, their cheeks touching, and thank fucking Christ, they both were covered with a sheet. She's the only person who would have that picture. She's also the only one he's ever called 'Pumpkin.'

  I called my father to ask what the fuck she could have that would destroy our family. He told me she was blowing smoke up everyone's ass because the man she met after my dad dumped her is already her next ex-husband. She wants back in the spotlight so pulling my chain is the way to do it.

  He laughed it off. I would have too except earlier today Daniel went to her apartment to verify that what she was selling was worth her asking price. It was. Every single fucking word on that voicemail is worth the price I paid. There were some emails too, but they don't hold a candle to the recording.

  I may have shut up his precious pumpkin by paying her off. It was worth every red cent to finally hear one of my parents admit the truth about who I am.

  CHAPTER 7

  Falon

  "I'm at my studio," I whisper into my phone. "It's late. Why are you calling me now?"

  There's a brief hesitation on the other end before he speaks. "Did you get the flowers? I ordered some roses for you this afternoon."

  It was actually yesterday afternoon. It's near one in the morning now. I've been working on editing the shots I took of him since I arrived back at my studio after we had coffee.

  Noah told me the flowers would come so I waited and once they arrived, I just wanted to bathe in their beauty for an hour or two. There are thirty-two white roses in total, all fragrant and flawless. I'd taken dozens of pictures of them as the natural light in my studio gave way to the darkness of the evening.

  After that, I ordered food in and started working on Asher's promotional shots. I lost track of the time and my intention to call him to thank him for the flowers disappeared.

  I'm surprised he called to check on the delivery. I'm even more taken back that it's the middle of the night. Maybe it's a rock star thing. He probably sleeps most of the day and stays up all night.

  "Did you get the flowers, Falon?" His voice is more insistent now.

  "They're here." I look at both vases. "They're beautiful, breathtaking actually. It wasn't necessary but thank you."

  "Noah said white roses are your favorite."

  I clear my throat. "I love roses. I've never seen this many together at once."

  He sighs. "They sent all they had. I wanted more. I wanted enough to fill your studio."

  He's either romantic or a lunatic. I can't tell yet. "I was just about to head home. Thank you again, Asher."

  "Do you want to have dinner with me?"

  I do. I can overlook the possible lunacy of him for a free meal where I get to stare at his handsome face for a few hours. No harm is going to come to me in a crowded restaurant in Manhattan with one of the most recognizable men in the world. "I'd like that. I'm free next…"

  "I'll come by the studio to pick you up now. What do you want to eat?"

  "Now?" My hand darts to my hair. "You want to have dinner now?"

  "I'm starving. Are you hungry?"

  "Yes," I say without thinking. Why would I say that? I should be telling him that I'm going home to bed. I shouldn't be agreeing to a date this late at night or is it this early in the morning?

  "Don't move," he says quickly. "I'm on my way."

  The call ends abruptly. I stand up and walk over to the full-length mirror that's near the door. My skirt is wrinkled. The white blouse I'm wearing has a stain on it from the mustard on the sandwich I ate hours ago and my hair is a nightmare.

  Unless the restaurant Asher is taking me to is lit completely by candlelight, my dating experience with the world's most famous rock star may be one and done.

  ***

  "You look beautiful, Falon."

  I laugh. I actually laugh because it's so untrue. "I look horrible. I have a mirror in my studio. I know exactly what I look like."

  "Then you know I'm right. You know you're beautiful."

  I was right. He is a lunatic. Maybe it's true what they say about people who are as talented as he is. There's always some madness beneath the brilliance. In his case, it's a lot of madness and a lot of brilliance all wrapped into a ridiculously good looking man.

  He's hotter than when he was in my studio earlier. It's the shadow of whiskers that have crept over his jaw. I wish I had my camera with me. Under this streetlight he's striking. His hair is messed up just enough to make him look perfect. He is perfect. He's the perfect lunatic.

  "Do you always go out to eat in the middle of the night?" I ask, wanting to shift the focus from me to him.

  "Not always."

  That's a satisfactory non-answer but it's not enough for me. "Just sometimes?"

  "I don't sleep after shows. I u
sually work out, and then I work on new music." He glances down the street at a row of cars stopped at a light. "Some nights I skip the workout and eat instead. It depends on my mood."

  I push my hair back from my face. I'd pulled it out of the bun after he called, hoping that if I ran my fingers through it, that it would resemble less of a mop and more of a tousled, sexy something. It didn't work. I didn't have time to try and bundle it all back up on the top of my head, so now, it's blowing in the wind, some wayward strands bat me on the side of the face.

  "What kind of food are you in the mood for?" His head is turned towards the approaching traffic.

  I'm not one of those girls who pretend to not care when it comes to food. I take it seriously. If I want a pizza, I'll order one with every topping available. If I'm craving chocolate cake, I'll take the subway to my parents' bakery because that's where the best cake in the world is. Tonight I want something else. "Cheeseburgers."

  "You want a cheeseburger?" The corner of his mouth curls into a smile. "Fries too?"

  "What's a cheeseburger without fries?"

  He raises his hand in the air to hail a passing taxi. "I know just the place. You can even get extra mustard for your burger."

  "Extra mustard?" My hand flies to my blouse and the not-so-inconspicuous yellow stain. "I had a sandwich earlier. I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

  Just as the cab slows to a stop next to him, he leans closer. "I notice everything about you, right down to those three tiny freckles under your left eye."

  CHAPTER 8

  Asher

  I've told women before that I've never met anyone like them. I want to say it now, to Falon, but it won't mean as much as it should. I don't want to use the same tired lines that I've used on other women. Hell, I don't want to say anything I don't mean to her. I can't explain where that's coming from but it's real enough to make me think twice before I say a word.