Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

"What did he say?"

"I feel like a kid in sixth grade that gets stuck between the girl and boy who like each other. He hands me a note, I pass it on to you. You hand me one, I pass it on to him. If that's what this is, I'm out."

"Tell me what he said, Noah," I insist, teasingly enough that he can't hear the excitement in my tone. Why does it matter to me what Asher said to him? I'm twenty-three years old. I don't need Noah to be the middle man in this.

There's the sound of movement on the other end. "I've got a family portrait to shoot in ten so I need to make this quick."

"All right."

"Asher's a good kid, Falon." He draws in a heavy breath. "He was fucked up when he was younger but he pulled himself out of that shit. You can't do much better than him and I heard he's a pretty decent singer if you're into that sort of thing."

"So he called to ask you to put in a good word for him?" I rush the words out, knowing that Noah is going to end the call at any moment.

He sighs so audibly that I have to arch my head away from the phone. "He called to ask if I knew what your favorite flower is. I told him it was roses, white roses, so expect a fuck load of those to be delivered any time now."

I swallow hard. "You're the best, Noah."

"You know it. If this turns into something be good to him. He means almost as much to me as you do."

CHAPTER 6

Asher

"Do you think Caleb would have fired me again by now if I was still working here?" I stare out at the view of lower Manhattan. Dusk is starting to settle over the city. It's my favorite time of day.

I hear the faint sound of papers rustling behind me. He's working. Gabriel's focus is on the business, as it always is. "Caleb tried to fire me this morning, Asher. He forgets that I'm the one in charge. If you want back in, you can have your old position back."

"Not a chance." I laugh aloud, remembering the relief I felt the last, and final time, my brother Caleb fired me. "I'm doing okay on my own."

"That's an understatement." He's on his feet now. I catch his reflection in the window as he walks towards me, buttoning his suit jacket. "How long are you in town this time?"

I glance at his face. He's eight years older than me but it feels like he was born a generation or two before I was. He's the wisest person I know. He's also the one who pushed me into rehab when my addictions were drowning me. He's stood by me through everything, never once faltering.

"Awhile," I offer, unsure of when I'll head back out of the city. "I'm going to hang out here for a few weeks."

"Your schedule allows that?" He questions without looking at me, his focus on the city's skyline. "I thought you were going to Europe to rehearse for your tour."

"Who told you that?" I ask without thinking. Gabriel keeps a close watch over me even though he tells me he doesn't keep tabs. I've long suspected that at least one of my assistants is padding her bank account with payments from my brother to report back to him on what I'm doing.

I don't blame him. I nearly died from an overdose more than once and Gabriel was always the one left to clean up my mess and sit by my bedside. His brotherly guidance is intended to keep me on the straight and narrow path. It helps but I take most of the credit for cleaning myself up.

"It's on your website. I check it out at least once a week."

It's a convenient explanation. It's plausible even. "The rehearsal space we had there fell through so we're going to find a place to do it here."

"You're lying."

He's right. Gabriel is always fucking right.

"I need to take care of some personal stuff. I have to be here to do that." I try to sound calm. I haven't been calm since I got that call this afternoon when I was in Falon's studio.

"What stuff?"

"Personal shit, Gabriel." I turn to look at him. "I can handle it."

"You're sure." His arms cross over his chest. "You look like hell, Asher. Tell me what's going on."

He's the last person I'm going to talk to about this. Gabriel will take control the way he always does when something threatens me or the family. He'll bury it in a grave so deep that I'll never find out the truth. Besides, I'm tired of him taking care of my life. I'm too old for that bullshit. This is my issue. I'm handling it my way.