Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

"It's work stuff," I say convincingly. "I've got a lot of ideas for new material. I need to focus on that."

He frowns. "I can tell when you're holding things in. If you've got a problem, share it. I'll help you deal with it."

"How old am I now?"

"What?" His voice lowers. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Answer it."

"You're twenty-six, Asher. You're twenty-six years old."

Smiling I nudge his elbow. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've got my shit together. You need to back off and let me live my life. I've got this. Trust me on this one."

He chews on his bottom lip as he glares at me. "I trust you but if you need me, you call. You know I'm always here for you. Night or day."

Gabriel is the only one I can count on, but there are some things even he can't fix. "You worry about the business. I'll worry about me."

***

When I took the call from Daniel Roy, the head of my security team, earlier there was no small talk. He didn't ask how I was. He got to the point. I pay him to do that and today his job was uncomplicated. He left my attorney's office earlier with a six figure check and a contract. An hour later he had a large manila envelope in his hands and a signature. He dropped everything off at my apartment right after he called me.

I'd stopped by the Foster Enterprises building, not only to see my brother, but to bide time. I know that once I look at the information in that envelope, I'll never look at myself or anyone in my family the same way again.

I avoided it by calling my cousin Noah to ask him about Falon's favorite flower. I'd stopped at the nearest flower shop after ending the call to place an order for every white rose they had. I wanted the card attached to be in my handwriting, even if Falon has no way of knowing that I actually wrote the card. I kept it simple. Thanking her for the shoot and for having a coffee with me.

I headed over to see my brother then. I went there to return his missed phone call in person. He couldn't have guessed the ulterior motive. I wanted to study his face, compare it to mine.

I've always resembled Gabriel more than I do Caleb. My brothers are both a few inches taller than me. I'm no lightweight though. I come in at a little under six feet tall and I've bulked up since I started touring. The after show workouts have sculpted my body into a lean and enviable form.

I don't wish I was more like either of them anymore. I'm finally comfortable being me for the first time in my life.

The only problem is that I don't know who I am anymore. I've lived my entire life as Asher Foster, son of Roman and Gianna, and brother of Caleb and Gabriel. I've never fit in with the family business. I was the only one who struggled with drugs and alcohol. I've always been the outsider.

I overlooked it until six months ago. One night after a show I played in California, a woman begged my security for time with me. She was skimming the fine line between coherence and intoxication. She told the security guards that she was too old for her interest to be a place in my bed. She knew my mom she claimed.

I listened to the exchange from the hidden shadows backstage. I laughed it off until I heard her pronounce Gianna's name with the same lilt that only those closest to her do. She brought up the pink diamond necklace my dad gave my mom on their wedding day.

After hearing that, I gave her five minutes of my time. Her story was convoluted and too detailed for it to just be the ramblings of a stranger. She sneered as she told me that things aren't what they seem, the glee in her eyes evident.

I stood in shock, not having the rational sense to ask her name. I couldn't confront my mom without it. Maybe I didn't want to confront her because the woman's story meant my entire life has been one fucking lie after another.

r /> The temptation to tell Gabriel was strong but I fought it. I admit a big part of that was that I didn't want to know the truth. Telling Caleb was an option but he reacts without thinking. He yells first, ask questions never. His anger would have messed everything up for me.

So, I did what any rational person would do. I ignored it by telling myself that she was just like all the others who tried to contact me with their bullshit stories about having information that will impact my career.

Take your pick of what's been thrown at me. There were supposed pictures of me using cocaine eight months ago. Another was the woman who I fucked after a concert one night who threatened to release a recording of the two of us in my hotel room. The worst was one of my former assistants who said she was going to go public with a goddamn lie about me slapping her face after she was fired by my manager. It was all bullshit. Every single threat had nothing to back it up. They were all looking for a quiet payout to keep their mouths shut. I didn't give in. I wouldn’t.

This time was different though. I ignored the woman's claims about my parents until two weeks ago when a cryptic comment was left on an Instagram post of me and my mom. The media manager my publicist hired posted the shot to my account to commemorate my mom's birthday.

There, tucked between all the 'Happy Birthday Asher's mom' comments from my fans was a message directed to my mom about a confession my dad had made two years ago. The person posting the comment included the first six digits of my dad's private cell number and claimed to have a birthday gift for my mother that would be more of a surprise to me than her. There was mention in the comment about a voicemail recording.

Social media isn't my thing. The negativity fucks up my song writing so I avoid it. I pretend it doesn't exist but when another comment was made five days ago, by the same person, saying that the birthday gift for my mom was going to be sold to the highest bidder, my media manager called Daniel.

Daniel showed screenshots of the comments to me, and told me they were removed by my team seconds after they were posted. He was concerned enough to want to check it out though.

He asked me how far I wanted to take it. I wanted proof that it wasn't another baseless circus show designed to drain my wallet.

Daniel stopped by my place two days ago and showed me a picture on his phone. It was of my dad and the woman he almost married a year and a half ago. Caterina Omari used to be a second rate model. She latched onto my dad because his name is synonymous with one of the biggest fashion brands in the world.