by S. E. Rose
“Hello?” a very groggy Grady answers.
“Oops, did I wake you?”
Grady clears his throat. “No, well, sort of. How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What’s wrong?” I question as I take a sip of my coffee.
“Someone threw a brick through my window last night,” he says with a sigh. I place my coffee mug back on the counter.
“A brick?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, sorry, that sucks. Are you OK?” I question.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Calvin has us meeting with our new security firm tomorrow. So, that’ll be good. And hopefully, they catch the asshole who keeps doing shit like this.”
“I hope they can too.”
“You want to grab some coffee today?”
I look at the stack of books on my coffee table. It’s like they are mocking me. But my heart wins out over my head.
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll come to get you in about an hour.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I reply. “See you in a bit.”
“Bye, Emma.”
I hang up and stare at my coffee. Guess I’ll leave it for later. I’m gonna need it tonight, I think as I glance once more at my homework before heading to shower.
Promptly forty-five minutes after my shower, there’s a knock at my door. I open it to find a grinning Grady.
“You ready?” he asks, giving me a panty-melting smile. I can see why girls flock to him. He’s ridiculously handsome in that boy-next-door, not-even-trying way.
“Yeah,” I mutter as I grab my purse and shut my door. We walk to the café a few blocks from my apartment. He tells me more about the incident at his home.
“I don’t know how celebrities do it,” I say once he finishes.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, deal with all of that. Stalkers, the press, everything.”
He shrugs. “You just do. It’s part of it. There’s good and bad.”
“I suppose,” I agree as he holds the door to the café open. We order lattes and find a quiet table in the corner. No one bats an eye at him or me. It’s nice, normal even.
“Can I ask your advice about something?”
His question catches me off guard. “Uh, s-sure,” I say, stumbling over the words.
“I…God, I don’t even know where to start.”
I haven’t seen him flustered like this since he apologized for breaking things off with me. I reach across the table and place my hand over his. “Take your time. Maybe, start at the beginning.”
He looks up at me, his head slightly bowed. His beautiful eyes look so, sad.
“What I’m about to tell you is…” He looks around but the café is nearly empty, and no one is sitting close to us. “Promise you won’t say a word to anyone. I can trust you, right?”
His face is earnest, so hopeful. It makes me wonder what others have done to him to have him question my trust. I realize we haven’t known each other for long, but the thought that he is so protected is a reminder of his fame and the unfortunate downside of the life he’s lived.
“Of course, you can,” I say, squeezing his hand before grabbing my coffee.
“I have a brother,” he whispers, looking around again.
“A brother?” I repeat, frowning because nowhere in anything I read did it mention a brother.
He nods. “When my dad died, he left some stuff to me. I didn’t go through it all. Honestly, it was too painful at first and then I got busy. Anyhow, I found this box inside an old trunk about two years ago. It had notes, photos. There was a woman. He had an affair not long after I was born. I suspected from the notebooks and photos that the woman had a baby. I questioned my mom about my dad’s fidelity, but she just said she was ninety-nine percent sure he hadn’t cheated on her. She did admit they went through a rough patch when I was a few years old. They almost separated, but in the end, they worked it out and stayed together.” He pauses and I can tell he’s struggling to tell me this. I can’t blame him; this is heavy stuff to tell an old friend, let alone a new one. He takes a sip of coffee. I’m quiet, letting him pause before continuing. “Last year, I decided to hire a PI to track him down. And the PI found him. I got his information a few weeks ago.”
“Are you going to contact him?” I ask, truly curious.
He shrugs. “That’s why I’m confiding in you. You have this air about you, Emma. This, wise-beyond-your-age persona. I know this is crazy and we just met, but I feel like I can tell you anything. I feel like I can be vulnerable with you, which is a strange fucking feeling, and even stranger that I can admit that to you,” he confesses.
I squeeze his hand again and he turns his over, gripping mine like I’m the strength he needs right now. It’s raw and powerful, and I shiver at the contact.
“You should reach out,” I urge without thought.
“Really?”
I nod. “If you don’t, you’ll always wonder. Does he know about you? Would he want to? But…have you thought about what will happen if the press gets wind of it? Does your mom know?” I question, the thought of Blythe suddenly has me concerned for the woman who’s become like a mother figure to me in the past weeks.
He sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them, I can already see the pain and I know the answer before he speaks. “No…I haven’t said a word to her.”
“You know you have to, right?”
“I know,” he replies with a grimace. “I just…it’s gonna break her heart. How do I break her heart?” He looks into my eyes and I can imagine him as a child, innocent and wanting to please his parents. The most powerful urge to protect him comes over me as we lock gazes.
“Look at it this way. What if this guy finds out and goes to the press on his own? Then what? At least by doing it this way, you have control. You can prepare for it,” I point out as I run my thumb over his palm.
“I suppose. I mean, that’s a good point, it’s just…” He trails off and stares across the shop at nothing.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was another way, but I can’t think of one.”
“No, you’re right. I guess I just needed to hear it out loud. It’s not as though I haven’t thought of everything you’ve just said. It just sounds different when someone else says it to you.”
“I can be there with you, if that would help,” I offer.
“No, it’s something I need to do on my own.”
I nod. “I understand. And I agree.”
“Thank you, Emma,” he says, his thumb brushing over mine.
“You’re welcome,” I say, smiling shyly back at him. We finish our coffee with much less heavy conversation before he walks me back to my apartment. His kiss goodbye is short, sweet even. It’s his hug that catches me off guard. He envelops me in his arms, squeezing me as though I was his only lifeline, a life raft in the open water.
“Thank you again,” he whispers in my ear.
I squeeze him back. “You’re welcome,” I whisper back before he releases me. His hand caresses my cheek as he steps back.
“I’ll call you later,” he says with a smile.
“Later, alligator,” I reply with a wink. He laughs and waits until I’m safely inside my apartment before he leaves. I touch my lips.
“Dear God, what is he doing to me?” I ask my empty apartment once I’m inside.
Chapter Twenty-One
Grady
I look up at my mother’s apartment building. It looks like an impenetrable fortress. I shake out my muscles and roll my neck, the tension making it stiff. I’ve been putting this conversation off for far too long. I want to turn and walk away and pretend I don’t know something that will change her world, but I can’t. Emma was right. She needs to know, and I need to go talk to my half brother.
Mustering all the courage I have; I walk inside and go up to the penthouse. The doors open and I’m
greeted by soft cello music. Mom learned for a role she played about ten years ago and loved it so much she kept up lessons. She’s actually pretty good at it.
I follow the music to the study where I find her, eyes closed as her body sways with the rhythm of the song. She looks so peaceful and the thought of what I have to do eats away at me.
I clear my throat and she opens her eyes as she brings the bow away from the cello. Her smile is warm, another stab at my heart.
“Hey,” I say softly as I shuffle my feet.
She pats the seat next to her. “What’s wrong? Come sit down. I know that face when I see it.”
I walk over and sit.
“Grady, out with it.” She sets the cello in a stand and turns to me, giving me her full attention.
“I need to tell you something, Mom. And it’s really hard to tell you this,” I admit.
She reaches forward and brushes my hair out of my face in a way only a mother can do, in a way she’s done a million other times since I was little.
“You can tell me anything, pumpkin. You know that.”
I nod. “I know…it’s just…this is different.”
She frowns. “You’re not in more trouble, are you? Something with the stalker?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I say, shaking my head.
Her shoulders relax. “Then, let’s hear it.”
“I…remember Dad left me that box of stuff,” I start. She nods. “I was going through it about two years ago, and I found some notes in a journal. You guys weren’t getting along very well when I was little.”
“No, we weren’t. Like I said the other day, I honestly didn’t think our marriage would last, but somehow, we found our way through that period,” she agrees as she looks away as though remembering something.
“Did you ever think Dad was cheating on you? You said no the other day, but did you ever really think it?” I blurt out, wincing as the words leave my mouth.
Her gaze flies back to me. “I…” She pauses as though unsure how to answer. She looks down and laces her fingers together. “Yes,” she admits quietly before looking back up at me. She sighs. “I caught him cheating, that’s what caused the issue. You were little and I was stressed out. I wasn’t exactly being a great partner. Back then, postpartum depression wasn’t discussed like it is now. He started talking to some woman, someone he had met at a bar while he was training for a race. I saw him one day. I was going to surprise him, and he was kissing another woman. He came home. I threatened to leave with you. He said I was crazy. We had a giant fight and I left that night with you. I went to Grandma’s house. She’s the one that got me into counseling, and a few weeks later, she made Dad come over so we could talk. By then, I was on some meds and more myself. Anyhow, we decided to try and work it out. He cut ties with the woman, which was easier to do back then. She didn’t live near us. There was no social media and we just changed our numbers. We moved shortly after that and she never contacted us, at least not that I know.”
I swallow, the words are shocking to me.
“I’m sorry, I never told you that. I didn’t want to ruin the way you remembered Dad. It just seemed cruel.”
I reach over and grasp her arm. “I understand.”
She nods, patting my hand. “I’m glad you found out. It’s been a heavy burden to bear alone all these years.”
“I’m sure. Shit, Mom, I don’t even know how to say this now…” I pause again, searching for the right words, and when none come, I blurt out the truth. “I have a half brother.”
Her eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth. “What?”
“That woman, Heidi Winters, had a son, Jason.”
Mom springs to her feet and paces to the other side of the room. “Who else knows about this?” she asks me.
“Me, you, the band, Emma, and the PI who found him.”
She stops and looks over at me. “Do you want to meet him?”
I bite my lip before speaking. “I wasn’t sure, but Emma made a good point when we spoke. What if he knows or finds out and goes to the press? If I go to him, if we are prepared, then we can control the potential media shitshow. We’d be in the driver’s seat.”
“Yes, yes. I understand that, but do you want to meet him?”
Her question is a valid one. It’s one I’ve been grappling with for weeks now. “I…think I do.”
She sits back down and pulls me into a giant hug. “Pumpkin, if you want to meet him, then you know I’ll support your decision.”
I relax into her hug, squeezing her back. “Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears at her undying support of me no matter what.
She kisses my cheek and pulls back. “Now, let’s call our publicists and figure out what to say, I mean if he wants to go public with it. I want us to have a plan in place for either outcome.”
I nod and follow her into the kitchen where she pours us each a much-needed glass of wine as we make the phone calls.
Emma
I smile as I review footage from my first documentary interview. It’s so good, I want to pinch myself. My phone buzzes and I look down to see a text from Grady. My smile turns into a giant grin.
Grady: I’m cooking for you tonight. Clear your schedule.
It’s been three weeks since our first date. After our brief breakup, if you can call it that, everything has been smooth sailing. I can’t help falling a little more in love with him each time we speak. He’s so much more than that bad-boy rocker I met at the gala.
Me: OK. What are you making me?
Grady: You’ll have to wait and see.
Me: So, I should start guessing now?
Grady: LOL
Me: Mexican?
Grady: Just wait.
Me: Italian?
Grady: You are a pain in the ass.
Me: It’s definitely American.
Grady: (shrugging emoji)
Me: No fair! What if it’s a food I hate?
Grady: Then I guess we’ll get takeout.
Me: Fine. It better be good though.
Grady: Wow, no pressure.
Me: (kissing emoji)
I put my phone down and go back to reviewing my interview.
I’m so engrossed in my work that the next time I look up it’s because there’s knocking at my door. I jump up and run to see that it’s Grady with a bag full of something.
Opening the door, I offer to take the bag.
“I got it,” he says as he follows me into my small kitchen.
“Maybe we should have done this at your house,” I ponder as I watch him unload the bag. There’s fresh bread, deli meats and cheeses, and guacamole.
“This is a meal that we can make anywhere,” he assures me with a grin. “Plus, I know you are busy and didn’t want to burden you.”
“Burden me? You’re the one trying to finish an album.”
He shrugs. “And we will.” He rifles through my cabinets and finds a pan. “Do you like grilled cheese?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re about to have something even better,” he declares as he butters slices of bread and places them in the pan. He loads the paninis with various sliced cheeses and smoked turkey slices.
I pour us glasses of wine and take a seat at the small nook in my kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope, this will be ready in a minute. Just spread some guacamole on top and voilà, my world-famous sandwiches.”
I laugh. “World famous, huh?”
He winks. “Well, LA famous anyhow.”
“I didn’t know your family made so many world-famous foods.”
He chuckles as he slides my sandwich onto a plate and cuts it diagonally. I take the plate from him and follow his instructions with the spread before taking a bite. He stands waiting for my verdict.
I hum my appreciation. “You weren’t fucking kidding, this is amazing,” I declare.
He leans down and kisses me. “Don’t make sounds like that, or I won’t let you finish
eating it,” he growls as he nips at my lower lip.
“Maybe I want that,” I whisper as I look into his eyes. I’m not one to rush going to bed with a guy, but I’ve been struggling to find reasons not to for the last week. Every time we mess around, it takes all my willpower to not force him to do all the dirty things he whispers in my ear. And for some weird reason, he’s restrained himself. It’s the opposite of the rock star persona.
He pecks my cheek and pulls back. “Let’s eat first. I’m famished and I want to talk to you.”
“Uh-oh. That’s never a good sign,” I say hesitantly as I take another bite.
“It’s not bad, I promise.” He finishes making his sandwich and takes a seat on the other stool. After taking a bite, he looks at me. “I talked to my mom about my half brother.”
My eyes widen as I set my sandwich down. “When? What did she say? Was she alright?” I question.
He holds up a hand. “It’s OK. It turns out she knew about my dad’s affair but not his son. We spoke to our publicists and have a game plan. Now, I just need to contact him. I’m going to say I have some information about his father and want to meet with him at this resort nearby.”
“That’s great, Grady.”
“I hope it will be. I’m nervous,” he admits. I reach under the table and squeeze his knee.
“It’ll be alright. You’ll see. And at the very least, you’ll have answers.”
He nods, taking our plates and placing them in the sink.
“Now, about dessert…” He trails off as he places some chocolate syrup on the counter. I eye him suspiciously. He saunters over to me. “Hold out your hand.”
I comply and he pours a little syrup on my finger and then sucks it off slowly. I’ve never felt so completely on fire with need in my life. Every nerve ending lights up as his tongue circles my finger.
“I need to taste more,” he says in a low gravelly voice. He doesn’t have to ask twice. I pop up from my seat, grab his hand, and pull him into my tiny bedroom. A frenzy of removing clothing begins once we are inside, until we’re in our underwear, panting as we gaze at each other’s bodies.
“Fuck, you are perfect,” he hums as he steps forward and runs a hand down my side. I shiver from his touch and his absolutely penetrating stare.
