“Dude I am the assistant.” He snorted. “Frank ran everything. I just had to learn my parts and show up, or I’d rearrange their bass lines or percussion, depends if I liked them. I’d schedule sessions, but pulling in the talent, that was all him. It’s like trial by fire for me. I just want to drum. I hadn’t planned on running the damned place.”
Sirens cut through their conversation, and in a few seconds, it seemed like the world exploded into a snowstorm of sound and uniforms. It took Brigid only a moment to disconnect Forest from the fray, dragging him away from the center of activity with a gentle pull on his hands. He was lost, more lost than he’d ever been, and other cops came by, some to take his fingerprints and DNA so he’d be excluded from the scene’s results and another with hot sweet and sour soup, bought from one of the many restaurants in the area. He was bundled up into Connor’s jacket and put into the Hummer, sharing the back seat with Con’s mother so they could watch from their fishbowl existence as what seemed like the entire SFPD descended upon the building.
The soup warmed him, as did the comforting touch of the woman sitting next to him. Forest finally spotted Connor among the other Morgans, popping up a few inches taller than Riley and Kane. The man’s attention was definitely on the case, but he’d caught Forest’s eye once and smiled.
It was a damned sight better and warmer than the soup, and Forest huddled back into the seat, drawing the jacket even tighter around him.
“He loves you,” Brigid said softly. “Ah God, does my boy love you.”
“He doesn’t even know me,” Forest countered, but his eyes continued to search through the crowd, his attention firmly on the man who seemed intent on being his white knight. “How can he love me? Shit, I don’t even love me.”
A large vehicle pulled up, a black-and-white SUV emblazoned with yet another SFPD shield. A man got out, older than the Morgans, but the stamp of their bloodline shone in his features. Nearly as wide shouldered as Connor, the man approached with authority, a solemn cast to his face. The sun peeked out of the clouds, picking at the silver strands in his hair, and the wind caught up the edge of his long coat, flapping it away from his pants leg. He stopped in front of the siblings, listening as they went round-robin on the goings-on. Forest could see them talking, and even from a distance, he could see their deference to the man as they worked through whatever it was they needed to tell him.
When the man glanced at the Hummer, drawn there by a point of Kiki’s finger, his eyes narrowed slightly and sought out the faces of the car’s occupants. He caught Forest’s gaze and then shifted, moving to the titian-haired woman next to him.
The man’s face softened, and Forest saw Connor in the man’s expression. He knew that face. He’d just been given that face by Connor right before he turned away to talk to his siblings. Brigid smiled and brought up her hand so the man could see it and waved her fingers at him, a delightfully whimsical gesture that made the man smile. He returned the wave with a firm salute and a definite wink before turning back to the Morgan siblings to ask them something.
“That man there, Forest? That is my husband and Connor’s da.” She sighed, sounding as if she were still in the first blush of youth. “That’s the exact same expression Connor has when he looks at you, and I’ve cherished it since before you were born, son. That is how I know he’s in love with you—just as I know Donal is in love with me.”
IT’D BEEN a short skirmish, and to be fair, Forest was outclassed. The only person other than himself who could have possibly come close to winning it was Brigid, and his mother backed down once Donal put his hand on her shoulder. It was a quiet, silent reminder of their marriage. Not a remonstration but rather more of an urge to let Connor win. He’d seen that gesture used right at the point Mrs. Delany’d come up the walk to tear into the Morgan boys.
It was a reminder to, sometimes, pick your battles.
Kind of like letting Forest sleep off his exhaustion for two days but still not arguing when the man wanted to check his e-mail, get a new phone to replace his damaged one, and coordinate studio sessions. Jules—thankfully—took over the coffee shop repairs, and it was one more burden off Forest’s shoulders.
He’d winced over the damaged drum kit, but then he’d wept over Darcy’s body, silently weeping silvery tears when they’d brought the dead man down the stairs and pushed him up into the coroner’s van. He’d come out to pay respects to Darcy, because as much of an asshole the man’d been to everyone around him, Forest wanted to see him off. Connor’d been there then, pulling Forest into a loose embrace, then patting his back, asking him if he wanted to go home.
“Home’s upstairs,” Forest snorted through his sniffles. “Fucking hell, when is it all going to stop?”