The Girl's Got Secrets

  Cool.

  “Where’d he disappear to, anyway?” a voice to my left asked, making me whirl around to find Pick next to me, leaning his arm against the counter as if he’d just arrived.

  “Helping someone at the karaoke machine...again,” Mason answered as he cleared away a couple empty mugs left on the bar top.

  “Of course,” Pick murmured, glancing that way, while Jodi practically pushed me aside so she could get in his face.

  “Oh my fucking God,” she murmured, practically drooling. “I want about five of you. Who the hell are you?”

  Pick’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as he took Jodi in, the ring in his eyebrow glittering against the overhead light. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” He held out a hand to her. “The name’s Pick.”

  She took his hand, but didn’t shake with him and totally didn’t let go of him. “Can I have your babies?”

  With a grin, he shook his head and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Sorry, sweetness. I already have a lady for that. But I do appreciate the offer. Does a man good to hear how much a beautiful woman appreciates his looks.”

  “Oh my God,” she whimpered and turned to gape at me. “He just called me beautiful.”

  “And he also told you he was taken.” Grasping her shoulders, I manually tugged her backward away from Pick, forcing her to let go of his hand. She whimpered again when she was forced to separate contact with him.

  “But...he’s so hot. Just one more touch? A lick? Sniff? Please.”

  “Hey, is that Carter Lang?” I asked, noticing someone through the crowd that I’d seen sneak from her bedroom multiple times over the years. Knowing how easily distracted she was, I blew out a relieved breath when she glanced over.

  “Holy shit, it is! I’ll be right back.” And she was gone.

  Breathing out a breath, I turned to Pick. “I’m so sorry. She...” I had no idea how to describe Jodi. She was sweet and fun as hell, and not at all shy about going after anything she wanted, men included. But...yeah. She could be a handful.

  Pick merely chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. I was flattered.”

  So I began to turn to the two bartenders behind the counter to apologize in case either of them had been insulted, when Knox surged toward me...or rather, toward Pick.

  “Pick, I swear Miller Hart just walked through the front door.”

  “What?” Pick turned, scanning the club. “Where?”

  Alerted by Asher’s surname in the conversation, I openly eavesdropped, glancing in the direction that Knox told Pick to look.

  “Fuck. What the hell is he doing here? I thought he was still in prison.”

  It took me, like, half a second after that to figure out who they were talking about.

  Snapping my fingers, I pointed at each man, remembering the news report Jodi had been watching when I’d gotten home from practice.

  “Was he being held at Statesburg?” I couldn’t refrain from asking because I suddenly remembered Asher mentioning that, and oh, shit.

  Fuck was right. This could not be good.

  When both Knox and Pick sent me scowls for butting into their conversation, I cleared my throat. “It’s just...they showed something on the news earlier, saying about fifty inmates from Statesburg prison had been set free on early parole because the place is being shut down, and the other surrounding prisons were too crowded to take them all in.”

  “Holy shit,” Knox murmured, sharing a concerned glance with Pick, who also looked worried.

  Since I’d already bulldozed my way into this much, I just kept going, because seriously, I had to know. “Who’s Miller Hart? He’s Asher’s dad, isn’t he?”

  Unease crossed Pick’s face before he reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Ah...fuck.” I turned back to study the man who’d killed Asher’s mother. “This can’t be good.”

  “Do you think he’s here because of Asher?” Knox asked Pick.

  But I was the one who answered. “Of course he’s here because of Asher. Why else would he come here? Asher’s his son...not to mention the only eyewitness to seeing the guy kill his wife. It was probably Asher’s testimony that put him away. If he’s at all vengeful, hell yes, this would be the first place he’d come.”

  “Wait. How did you know Asher was the only eyewitness?” Pick eyed me with a funny kind of suspicion. “Did he tell you that?”

  I shrugged. “It...came up.”

  “Shit,” Knox spoke up suddenly. “He’s headed this way. What do we do?”

  Pick took control, pointing. “Knox, get Asher to my office. Now. I’ll get rid of this fucker.”

  But Knox shook his head. “Screw that. You’re not dealing with Miller Hart by yourself. He’s old and pathetic, but untrustworthy as hell.”

  “I’ll get Asher out of sight,” I offered.

  Pick shot me a surprised yet grateful glance. “Thanks.”

  As Knox leapt over the counter to follow Pick toward Miller Hart, I scanned the stage area for Asher. The karaoke machine started playing a One Direction song, so whatever he’d been helping a customer do, he must’ve finished. That meant he was probably headed back to the bar. So I started toward the stage to intercept him, weaving and sometimes pushing through people to get to where he had to be.

  I ended up almost plowing into him as I dodged around a gossiping horde of women, and suddenly there he was.

  We both pulled up short, not expecting to see each other.

  His eyes went wide with surprise and what looked like leery apprehension. “Sticks. What—”

  “Oh, thank God,” I blurted over him, urgently waving him to follow me as I darted toward a huge opening that led down a wide, but low-ceilinged hallway. “Come on, come on, come on. This way.”

  I was shocked when he actually did come. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “We need to get out of sight.” I clutched his upper arm as soon as we hit the less-crowded hall. “Which door leads to Pick’s office?”

  Eyebrows crinkling with confusion, he pointed. “That one. Why? Wha...?”

  I yanked him into the room with me and slammed the door. Then, panting hard, I leaned against it for good measure.

  After stumbling off balance from my tug, he regained his balance to gape at me. “What the hell, man?”

  “Sorry. I just...” I waved my hands to let him know I needed to catch my breath. Then I blew out a long, steady exhale and explained, “This is where Pick told me to take you.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, frowning hard. “And...why did he do that?”

  “Uh...you know.” I waved his question away. “He’ll probably fill you in when he gets here, so...I’ll just let him explain everything.”

  His lips parted as if he wanted to ask more, but with the adorable way his eyebrows kept quirking, he didn’t seem to know what he wanted to ask first.

  “So, I stopped by tonight to apologize to you about earlier,” I rushed out, totally winging it, saying the first thing that came to mind.

  Again, he looked thrown off balance by what I had to say. But a second later, he shook his head. “Why? I’m the one who made things weird.”

  “No, you didn’t. You—wait, what? You didn’t make anything weird. Why would you think that?”

  His shoulders tensed and he turned sideways away from me as if to shield some of himself. Looking totally uneasy in his entire body, he flailed out a hand. “You know,” he mumbled, not glancing my way. “By telling you so much shit about myself.”

  I blinked. “Um...isn’t that what you do when you get to know someone; share little things about yourself?”

  “Yeah, but...” He finally looked at me. “Those weren’t little things. And they’re not things I share with people...ever.”

  “Oh.” Realizing he’d opened up to me more than he usually did, the significance of the moment took my breath straight from my lungs. A heaviness filled my chest, and I just wanted to...I don’t even know. But I certainly wasn’t taking Asher’s gift
of confidence for granted.

  So I shook my head, my voice softening, “You didn’t make anything weird...not at all.”

  I didn’t realize I’d reached up to smooth my hair back behind my ear until my fingers grazed the short strands, startling me and reminding me I was still in guy mode. So I cleared my throat and stiffened my shoulders, trying for a more manly stance.

  Asher cocked his head to the side as he frowned at me. “Then what were you apologizing for, and why did you race away as if I’d freaked you out?”

  “Well, I...I was apologizing for having to rush off in the middle of our conversation. And I had to rush off because....because...” Shit, why was my brain so dead right now? I couldn’t think up one little lie to tell him.

  No way was I going to spill the truth and let him know I had just figured out I was his Incubus shirt girl. I wasn’t sure I could let him know that...ever.

  So, I sputtered a moment longer before saying, “My roommate! Yeah, Jodi. You know, you met her last night. She had just gotten off work, and I said I’d pick her up this evening, give her a ride.” Lie. “I remembered she was waiting on me, so I had to hurry, or she would’ve been pissed.”

  Lie.

  Lie.

  Lie.

  All the fibs churned like acid in my stomach, so I turned away, focusing my attention on a bookshelf against the wall, mostly full of small framed photographs.

  “So, you live with her? With Jodi? Huh. Guess I didn’t know that.”

  “Mmm hmm,” I murmured, grateful I didn’t have to lie about that at least. Then I reached for my hair again, and nearly growled at myself when I remembered I didn’t have long tresses at the moment to tuck behind my ear. Dammit, why did I have to have such a girly nervous habit?

  “What’s that like?” Asher asked. “Living with a woman?”

  “It’s fine. Why would it—” Remembering I was supposed to be a gay guy, rooming with a straight woman, I paused. “I mean, other than the fact we fight over all the gorgeous men, it’s just...like having any other roommate.”

  “Oh.” From Asher’s voice, he sounded more confused by my answer than clarified.

  Glancing back at him and desperate to change the subject before I revealed anything I shouldn’t, I waved a finger between him and the pictures. “So...you and Pick. What’s up with that?”

  Leery suspicion instantly filled his eyes. “Why? What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “No sé, I don’t know. It just seems like there’s more between you two than just...you know, boss and employee.” Then I turned back to the multitude of pictures. A majority of them featured a blonde woman and two adorable little toddlers...except one. “Then there’s the fact he has a framed picture of you in his office, while he has none of his other bartenders up here.”

  “He does?” Asher appeared at my side, and his mouth fell open when he took in the shot I pointed to.

  In the frame, Asher stood on stage, singing into a microphone as he strummed from a guitar. The other members of Non-Castrato blurred out to the sides; he was obviously the main focus of the picture.

  “Shit,” he murmured, staring hard. “I had no idea he had this.”

  “Looks like this shelf is reserved for family pictures,” I mused aloud.

  Asher blew out a long breath and ran his hand over his hair. “I guess...” He started slowly. “Yeah. We’re family. He’s... my brother.”

  Even though I’d pretty much been leading my guesses toward an assumption along those lines, hearing him actually confirm it had me shaking my head in confusion.

  I glanced sideways at him. “Come again?”

  He shook his head as if the whole thing baffled him too. “No one really knows yet...not officially, anyway. But, uh, he...turns out, after I started playing the song ‘Ceilings,’ I learned he’d been abandoned by his mother at birth at the hospital, and...”

  “Holy shit,” I murmured. “Your boss ended up being your long-lost half-brother? How the hell does that even happen?”

  Asher glanced at me, his expression dazed. “I ask myself the same question every day.”

  “So, wait. How long have you known about this? You’ve only been playing ‘Ceilings’ a couple—”

  “Weeks,” he finished for me. “We got test results back around three weeks ago. And it’s still...really new.”

  I blew out a breath. “Dude. That’s just...”

  When I shook my head, he nodded. “I know.”

  “Why haven’t you guys officially announced it?” I wondered, fearing the worst for poor Asher. “Doesn’t he want to be your brother?”

  He nodded, turning back to the picture of himself. “Yeah. Strangely, he does. I’m actually the one holding back.”

  I squinted. “So...you don’t like him?”

  “No, I do.” He turned to me, his gaze desperate and seeking. “That’s the problem. He’s this really awesome, stand-up guy, right? And...he’s my brother. That’s just...better than I ever expected it could be. But...he’s going to ask about her.”

  I shook my head. “About who?”

  “About our mom,” he ground out. “It’s only logical, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you want to know about your mother if you just met a brother who knew her and you never did?”

  When I opened my mouth to answer that yeah, I guess I would, he kept talking.

  “You know he’s going to want to know everything. He’s going to want to know what kind of a person she was, how she died, and I’m going to have to be the one to tell him what a miserable existence she led and who killed her. And then what’s he going to think of me after that? I’m the son of his mother’s murderer. He doesn’t know everything in my ‘Ceilings’ song is true. What if he learns it is and wants nothing to do with me? I can’t...” He shook his head, looking miserable. “I’m just not ready to risk that. My entire life is in this building, and he could take all that away with a single word.”

  I cleared my throat and scratched my ear. “So...you haven’t told him anything about your mom or dad yet?”

  He shook his head, his green eyes filled with dread.

  “And he hasn’t asked?”

  “No. Not yet. But you know he will.”

  I blew out a breath and shrugged. “Honestly, I think you should just say something to him because...I have a feeling he already knows what happened to your mom...and who killed her.”

  His expression morphed from concern to confusion. “Huh?”

  The door opened, and Pick stepped inside.

  When I glanced at his brother and then back to him, Asher must’ve seen something in my expression. He narrowed his eyes, and his face cleared with some kind of understanding.

  He spun toward Pick. “What the hell is going on?” Then he whirled to me, glaring. “What did you tell him?”

  I lifted my hands, glad I was free from guilt in this regard. “Nothing. I didn’t say shit to anyone. I would never betray a confidence like that.” Especially now that I knew what he’d told me really was confidential.

  Pick cleared his throat, letting me know he’d take over.

  When I shut up, Asher darted leery glances between the two of us before demanding, “What?”

  “Miller Hart was just in the club,” Pick announced.

  Color leeched from Asher’s face. Then he shook his head. “Excuse me?”

  “Knox recognized him from when they were in Statesburg together.”

  “Wait.” Asher lifted both hands, only to burrow them into his hair and clutch his head. His frantic gaze shot to Pick. “How do you even know anything about...him?”

  With a small exhalation, Pick sat on the corner of his desk and folded his hands down at his knees. “Come on, Asher, how do you think? I went online and found out everything I could about you the night you left that message on my phone, before I even sent for the DNA test results. It led me to articles about Polly Ruddick...and her death, and her killer, Miller Hart.”

  Oh, Jesus. This was more than I could take. Pick k
new. He knew everything.

  “So...all this time...you already knew?”

  He nodded.

  I gasped a second for air, scared shitless, and then it dawned on me. He knew...had known a while, and he hadn’t fired me or kicked me out of his life yet.

  “And you’re still okay with...” I waved a finger between us. “Us?”

  Pick arched surprised eyebrows. “Were you really worried I wouldn’t want to be your...?” He paused and glanced uneasily toward Sticks.

  My drummer hunched deeper into himself, totally caught eavesdropping on our very personal conversation.

  But I snorted and waved a hand his way. “He already knows.”

  That seemed to take Pick by surprise. “Really?”

  I nodded, not concerned about Sticks. “Why is my dad here? Is he still in the building? Did he—”

  “No, he’s gone. Knox and I—mostly Knox—escorted him to the door and let him know he was never welcome under this roof again.”

  Relief swamped me. “You kicked him out?” Good. But then renewed worry rose. What the hell had Miller Hart being doing inside Forbidden? Wiping a hand over my face, I eased myself down to sit on Pick’s couch. “I wonder when he got out. I thought he still had a couple years left.”

  “I can answer that one,” Remy spoke up. When I glanced his way, he explained the closing of Statesburg. And I could only shake my head.

  “Well...fuck.”

  Sticks huffed out a sound of surprise. “Is that all you have to say?”

  With a confused shrug, I asked, “What else am I supposed to say?”

  “Oh, no sé. How about...where’s the nearest place we can get you a restraining order?”

  I huffed out a laugh. “Excuse me? Why the hell would I need one of those?”

  “Think about it, Asher. He just got out of prison after spending how many years there?”

  “Uh...” I did a quick calculation in my head. “About sixteen.”

  “Sixteen years behind bars, and where is the first place he goes when he’s released? Here! The very place where the son—who testified against him and ultimately put him in jail—works.”