Bad Boy Brody(66)

She hesitated. “I don’t know, but I saw the look in his eyes. I think he’s been hoping something like this would happen since the beginning.”

My mouth dried. “He wanted her kept secret.”

“Some of the photos leaked couldn’t have come from the movie crew. He played all of us.”

“What are you talking about?”

She leaned forward. “Ask yourself this one question. If he wanted her secret kept, why did he have the damn script written in the first place?”





Brody



I wanted to feel the wind whipping past me. I blamed Morgan’s influence and was driving through the hills on my Harley two hours later. I called my brother’s widow and asked to talk. Cheryl agreed.

I picked a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. The walls were littered with signatures, graffiti, and old images of customers who wanted to feel as if they left some memory there hung on the walls. The booths were covered in old black leather, and when I walked in, the hostess didn’t blink an eye.

“Mr. Asher.” A professional smile greeted me as she grabbed a few menus. “How many?”

“Just two. Somewhere private.”

“Of course.”

The interior was cast in low lights. Only a few candles on the tables and some lights lining the walkways gave us any indication where to go and sit in the place. She showed me to a back booth, and there only two others in our section. Both were empty.

She extended a hand toward one side of the booth. “Will this suit you?”

“It’s perfect.” I slid in one side, and she placed the drink menu in front of me. “I have one other joining me. Cheryl Asher.”

She straightened. “Of course. I’ll show Ms. Conway to your booth when she arrives.”

“She’s using her maiden name?”

She nodded. “She is, Mr. Asher.”

Fuck.

I sat back as she left. What did that mean? I’d only been gone five weeks, maybe longer.

The server came once, took my order, and then Cheryl slipped into the side across from me.

My sister-in-law kept to the background whenever I was around their family. I spent time with Kyle first and foremost, then my nieces when they came along. The number of times Cheryl and I had a conversation could be counted on one hand, and most of those times had been because of his funeral.

I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” I looked her over, noting the bags under her eyes through her sunglasses. “You look tired.”

She wore a white scarf around her neck and a black dress. As she got comfortable, she took the glasses off and pulled the scarf off her head so it fell down her front, resting behind her neck. A sad smile graced her face. She folded the glasses, positioning them in perfect alignment with her napkin. “That isn’t usually thought of as a compliment, but I’ll take it. It’s better than being told I look like death.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Someone said that to you?”

She met my gaze briefly, that sad smile still in place. “You’d be surprised how many people have told me that and pretend as if they just realized how insensitive the comment was.” Her grin went flat. “Assholes, the lot of them.”

I laughed shortly. This was more personality from my sister-in-law than I’d ever seen before.

She showed more, saying, “Thank you for calling.”

Right to business.

Okay.

I went with it.

“We had a break in shooting the movie.”

The server came back, my soda and water in hand. She skimmed a look over us both before turning to my sister-in-law. “Ms. Conway? Something to drink?”

“Beer. Please. Tall.”

This was new. Cheryl never drank before. She left that for Kyle and me.

The server nodded again.

Cheryl kept fiddling with her sunglasses. She didn’t look like she was going to stay long.

“Cheryl.” I gestured in the direction the server disappeared. “They’re calling you by your maiden name?”

She didn’t answer right away, taking a moment and looking at her lap. “This wasn’t just your spot before. It was yours and Kyle’s.”

He and I had spent many nights in this bar, getting falling over wasted while we played pool. We were so sloppy, I could only imagine what names the staff must’ve called us, but we were regulars.

She added, “I started coming here after the accident. I wanted to . . .” She reached up, flicking a finger over her cheek. “He’s everywhere, but I just remember the fights at home. I don’t feel that when I come here. He loved coming here. He loved spending time with you here.”

I sank back against my seat. My own head went low.

We’d drink.

We’d laugh.

We’d be stupid together.

No one cared who we were back then.

My throat was thick when I rasped out, “I asked you to come today because I needed to talk to you about something. I haven’t been able to shake it—”

“It was ruled an accident.” She was looking at me with a knowing look, like she was privy to the mess in my head. “He didn’t kill himself.”

I just looked at her. She said the words I wanted to hear, the words I’d been too chickenshit to ask, but all I could do in that moment was stare at my sister-in-law.