“You know he’s going to want to know everything. He’s going to want to know what kind of a person she was, how she died, and I’m going to have to be the one to tell him what a miserable existence she led and who killed her. And then what’s he going to think of me after that? I’m the son of his mother’s murderer. He doesn’t know everything in my ‘Ceilings’ song is true. What if he learns it is and wants nothing to do with me? I can’t...” He shook his head, looking miserable. “I’m just not ready to risk that. My entire life is in this building, and he could take all that away with a single word.”
I cleared my throat and scratched my ear. “So...you haven’t told him anything about your mom or dad yet?”
He shook his head, his green eyes filled with dread.
“And he hasn’t asked?”
“No. Not yet. But you know he will.”
I blew out a breath and shrugged. “Honestly, I think you should just say something to him because...I have a feeling he already knows what happened to your mom...and who killed her.”
His expression morphed from concern to confusion. “Huh?”
The door opened, and Pick stepped inside.
When I glanced at his brother and then back to him, Asher must’ve seen something in my expression. He narrowed his eyes, and his face cleared with some kind of understanding.
He spun toward Pick. “What the hell is going on?” Then he whirled to me, glaring. “What did you tell him?”
I lifted my hands, glad I was free from guilt in this regard. “Nothing. I didn’t say shit to anyone. I would never betray a confidence like that.” Especially now that I knew what he’d told me really was confidential.
Pick cleared his throat, letting me know he’d take over.
When I shut up, Asher darted leery glances between the two of us before demanding, “What?”
“Miller Hart was just in the club,” Pick announced.
Color leeched from Asher’s face. Then he shook his head. “Excuse me?”
“Knox recognized him from when they were in Statesburg together.”
“Wait.” Asher lifted both hands, only to burrow them into his hair and clutch his head. His frantic gaze shot to Pick. “How do you even know anything about...him?”
With a small exhalation, Pick sat on the corner of his desk and folded his hands down at his knees. “Come on, Asher, how do you think? I went online and found out everything I could about you the night you left that message on my phone, before I even sent for the DNA test results. It led me to articles about Polly Ruddick...and her death, and her killer, Miller Hart.”
Oh, Jesus. This was more than I could take. Pick knew. He knew everything.
“So...all this time...you already knew?”
He nodded.
I gasped a second for air, scared shitless, and then it dawned on me. He knew...had known a while, and he hadn’t fired me or kicked me out of his life yet.
“And you’re still okay with...” I waved a finger between us. “Us?”
Pick arched surprised eyebrows. “Were you really worried I wouldn’t want to be your...?” He paused and glanced uneasily toward Sticks.
My drummer hunched deeper into himself, totally caught eavesdropping on our very personal conversation.
But I snorted and waved a hand his way. “He already knows.”
That seemed to take Pick by surprise. “Really?”
I nodded, not concerned about Sticks. “Why is my dad here? Is he still in the building? Did he—”
“No, he’s gone. Knox and I—mostly Knox—escorted him to the door and let him know he was never welcome under this roof again.”
Relief swamped me. “You kicked him out?” Good. But then renewed worry rose. What the hell had Miller Hart being doing inside Forbidden? Wiping a hand over my face, I eased myself down to sit on Pick’s couch. “I wonder when he got out. I thought he still had a couple years left.”
“I can answer that one,” Remy spoke up. When I glanced his way, he explained the closing of Statesburg. And I could only shake my head.
“Well...fuck.”
Sticks huffed out a sound of surprise. “Is that all you have to say?”
With a confused shrug, I asked, “What else am I supposed to say?”
“Oh, no sé. How about...where’s the nearest place we can get you a restraining order?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Excuse me? Why the hell would I need one of those?”
“Think about it, Asher. He just got out of prison after spending how many years there?”
“Uh...” I did a quick calculation in my head. “About sixteen.”
“Sixteen years behind bars, and where is the first place he goes when he’s released? Here! The very place where the son—who testified against him and ultimately put him in jail—works.”
My brain whirled at his words. I hadn’t ever thought of it that way. But I had been the only person to testify in that trial with an eyewitness account, hadn’t I? The old man probably was a bit pissed at me over that.
Huh.
“We need to get you some protection,” Sticks stated adamantly, surprising me with how seriously he was taking this whole thing.
I snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s really necessary.”
“?Dios mío!” He threw up his hands in outrage. “How can you just blow this off as no big deal? He came here...because of you. Maybe I’m the only one, but I find that pretty damn alarming.”
“No, you’re not the only one,” Pick murmured.
I glanced at my brother who had his arms crossed over his chest and was brushing his thumb knuckle over his bottom lip ring in thoughtful consternation.