The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(90)

“Bone joints not quite as hard, ergo they grew longer and gave him more rib capacity to sing with stronger lung power. Yes, I actually did know that.”

My mouth fell open in shock. But damn, how did he know that? I blinked, not sure if I was impressed or irritated that he’d showed me up...again.

Before I could decide, my phone rang.

I tossed my controls aside to reach for it, because once again, Remy was cleaning house without my help. “It’s Pick,” I said, frowning and wondering what was wrong. Did he really need to talk about feelings and shit? I had no clue how to do that, but for Pick, I guessed I’d try.

“What’s up?” I asked in answer.

“Man.” Pick heaved out a long sigh. “Jesus, Asher. You’ll never believe this, but I just got a call from Reese. Mason’s mom died like...an hour ago.”

“What?’ I sat up straight on the couch. “That’s crazy. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t get the particulars. But she said Mason’s pretty upset. They just picked up his little sister Sarah and she’s not taking it well either. We’re headed over now.” He paused and then added, “See you there?”

“Uh...sure. Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” After I hung up, I continued to stare at the phone as I murmured, “Holy shit.”

Remy paused the game and sat up, concern on his face. “What’s going on?”

“My friend Mason...”

“From the bar? Yeah.” Nodding, he rolled out a hand, urging me to continue. “What about him? He okay?”

“No. I mean, yeah, he is. But his mom...f*ck, I guess she just died.”

“Whoa.” Sticks pulled back, blinking. “What happened? Car accident?”

“No idea. Pick didn’t know and Reese didn’t say when she called him.” I pushed to my feet, feeling disoriented as I glanced blindly around the room. “I need to go. Pay my condolences and, I don’t know, shit...just be on hand if they need anything, I guess.”

I should’ve moved, then, but a wave of dizziness assailed me. All I could see were the dead eyes of my own mother, staring sightlessly at nothing. What if Mason’s little sister had seen her mother die?

“Hey. You okay?” Remy clutched my arm, grounding me back to the present.

“Yeah. Fine,” I mumbled. “Just remembering shit from back when. Pick said Mason’s sister Sarah was pretty upset. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was there. What she saw.”

Remy’s intrepid gaze dug into me. “What did you see,” he murmured softly, “when your mom died?”

I sniffed out a sound and shook my head. “Everything,” I answered without really meaning to. But Sticks had a way of prying things out of me with a mere stare.

“That must’ve been pretty shitty. Did you ever talk to anyone about it?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah. Sure. I had to repeat my account of the events about twenty times to the cops and lawyers and judges.”

“No, I mean, like a psychiatrist? Emotional help.”

With a snort, I sent him a get-real glance. “You think my uncle was willing to shell out extra cash for something like that? Yeah, think again.” Stan had thought he’d done his duty plenty by letting me live in his trailer. He hadn’t expended any more effort than that, except to occasionally ask if I needed money to buy my own things.

“You should’ve gotten some help for that directly after it happened. It’s not good to—”

“Sticks.” I held up a hand to shut him up. “It happened years ago. I think I’m past it. And I know you’d love for me to open up and share all my feelings and shit with you, but I’m going to go see my friend now and be there for him.”

Except when I glanced around the room, feeling totally lost and not sure what to do next, Remy clutched my arm. “I’ll drive you,” he said quietly.

I blew out a breath, feeling pathetic because I needed him. Pick’s news had affected me strongly. That surprised me. So I nodded at my friend’s offer and murmured, “’K. Thanks.”

Without making a big deal of my admitting I did indeed need him, he snagged his keys, wallet, and phone off the coffee table and motioned toward the door. Since my head was still messed up, I followed his directive without question.

But as soon as I opened the door, he hissed, “Shit. Food. We need food.”

I glanced back, frowning. “Huh?”

“You know.” He snapped his fingers and waved out his hand. “When the close loved one of someone you know dies, you bring them food, like casseroles and shit.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You’re whack if you think I even remotely know how to bake a casserole.”

Remy laughed. “It doesn’t have to be a casserole per se. Just...anything. Something helpful.” Then he brightened. “When Big T’s madre died, all these people poured in with different foods, but this one single old guy, Jorge, he brought paper plates and napkins, and plasticware, crap like that. It was the most used thing anyone brought over. And I always told myself, since I can’t cook either, that’s what I’d do if I ever visited the family member of someone who died.”

I blew out a breath. “All right then. We’ll stop by the store and pick up some paper plates and such along the way.”