FOREST SAT in Brigid’s SUV and stared at the warehouse’s front door. He’d remembered Damien and Miki from their time at the Sound, but he’d been younger then—stupider too. Instead of taking advantage of listening in on a band that would make it big, he’d skipped out a few times when his mother’d tugged on his leash. Their quiet Southern-born drummer spent a lot of his spare time with Forest, working through some of the harder rolls and laughing softly when Forest finally got something right.
And now he sat outside of the surviving members’ home to come beg to play on their equipment.
“It’ll be fine,” Brigid said again. “The boys are nice. Sweet even.”
“I’ve met them. Miki St. John is about the furthest thing from sweet as it gets.” He made no move to get out of the car, and Brigid seemed to be fine with his waiting. “I have no idea why I’m scared to go in. Fuck, it’s not like I haven’t heard them play. Or sat in on one of their sessions. I’ve even learned their damned songs so I can do covers when someone wants to. I should just go in.”
But Forest just sat there, still staring.
“What’s the real reason, love?” Brigid pried gently. “I know them well enough to say they’d not mock someone’s musical skill. And Miki’s probably mellowed a bit since you’d met him.” When Forest side-eyed her, she amended, “A bit. The words I used were ‘a bit.’”
“Dunno,” Forest said, then made a face. “No, I kinda know. I think it’s ’cause they knew me, back then. When I’d just gotten to Frank’s. Things were so—fucked up. I was so fucked up. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with that.”
“What do you think they know?” she asked. “If you’d want to be sharing. And why would you think either one of them would say something about it?”
Forest took a deep breath. There was so much riding on him blending in with Connor’s life. Hell, he was still fucking scared down to his spine that the cop would catch shit for hooking up with a former whore, and when he’d mentioned it to Con, the man lifted one eyebrow and said, I’d fucking welcome the chance to put my fist into any asshole who says jack shit about you.
It’d been pretty much the end of that conversation. Connor ended a lot of conversations that way. A declaration in his rumbling, deep voice, and then the matter was done. He seemed to reserve it for certain instances—defending his passed-around lover or deciding Forest needed new clothes, even if Connor said he loved seeing Forest in his shirts. Forest just didn’t know if he wanted to shatter his tentative relationship with Connor’s firebrand mother, even if she seemed to be where Con got his engraved-in-stone stubbornness.
No matter how quickly and terrifyingly things were moving, it was one thing to talk about his past with the man he shared a bed with—a life, even—he wasn’t so sure Brigid would be as sanguine as her granite-willed son.
Another deep breath, and Forest spilled his guts, staring out of the window as he did it. He kept it short, the barest of details, but the warehouse swam when his eyes watered up. He was sick of crying—sick of whining about his life and his past. If there was some way he could just make it all—
“Come here, love,” Brigid cut him off, wrapping her arms around his body, and pulled him close. “Don’t you ever apologize for what someone did to you as a child. You’re strong—stronger than anyone who’d speak against you for it. I’ll be telling you if ever someone spits on you in the earshot of any Morgan, they’ll be gumming their ass bits. And that would include those boys in there if I’d thought they would be that ignorant. They’re not, sweetie. They’ve had their share of horror and have come out the other side. So don’t you be worrying about them.”
“I’m tired of—crying.” Forest sniffed, and his face was lost in the riotous mass of Brigid’s hair. “God, I’m so fucking sick of crying about this shit.”
“I’m guessing you’ve not really done any of the real crying you’ve needed to do,” she consoled. “A body can’t work out their grief unless they’re someplace safe. We’re like every animal God has created. We need to feel protected before we can let ourselves be vulnerable. You can be that now—with us, with me. That woman who carried you? She did it for me. It just took me a bit to find you, but I’ve got you now. I’m sorry for not being here sooner.”
He laughed, amused at the woman’s fierce growl. “How the hell would you have known I was going to have a shit life when I was born? And wouldn’t that kind of be icky with me and Con?”