“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 f**kin’ 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 last 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.”
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 f**kin’ 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 last 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.”
