A shock that I’m related to them? That’s putting it mildly, Dad.

  My parents—well, my Dad—is basically the present-day version of a Kennedy. No, more than that, he’s more like Warren Buffet. Richer than God, his face on the cover of magazines proclaiming his financial prediction brilliance, his name on buildings and invitations to dinners at the White House. He’s more recognizable than most politicians or celebrities. Hell, he’s probably more notable than the Queen of England because while she rules a country, Dad directs and controls the global economy in ways I can’t begin to explain.

  But to me, he’s just Dad.

  The man who kissed my boo-boos, taught me to ride a bike, and would listen to me whine about math homework. Later, he was the man who encouraged me to chase my own dreams, step into my own spotlight, and be the captain of my own destiny. All things I was only able to do because he had the foresight, long before James was even born, to decide with Mom that they would keep their children out of the spotlight.

  Because though Dad is a hugely known and recognized powerhouse and Mom has been on his arm in countless photos and at hundreds of events, the five of us kids are virtually unknown. Dad wanted it that way, and I’ve always been grateful for the opportunity at a somewhat normal life that choice gave me.

  It’s a secret I carry and trust few with. Mostly only Taya, and now . . . Carson.

  “Mr. Brooks, Mrs. Brooks . . .” Carson repeats, finally shaking Dad’s hand.

  He turns his eyes to me, and I don’t need my experience at reading people to understand what’s lurking in Carson’s eyes.

  Betrayal.

  We’ve shared so much. But I didn’t share this with him. Even after I knew I could trust him, I didn’t tell him.

  My family is a foundational part of who I am, and I intentionally hid it from him.

  I’ve seen this happen before with my brothers. Both John and Jordan had people react badly when they found out. One of John’s exes even went so far as threatening to out our whole family. Seeing how that was handled was my first taste at image management and how things are handled behind the scenes. It’s what started my interest in PR.

  But I never thought I’d be on this end of an issue. I’m careful, so fucking careful. It’s not that Carson isn’t trustworthy, it’s that I should’ve already told him, but I didn’t. That’s my mistake. There’s no one to blame but me. No way to spin that or deflect from it. Especially when the proof is staring Carson right in the face.

  “Welcome to our charity event this evening, benefitting the children’s hospital,” Ben says into the microphone at the front of the garden, starting off the formal part of tonight’s event. “Maybe if you give him a little encouragement, I can get my son up here to say a few words too. Carson?”

  The audience, oblivious to the tornado wrecking through my life and leaving nothing but debris in its wake, claps politely.

  “Excuse me,” Carson grits out. With a straight back and cold eyes, he simply walks away before anyone can say anything, heading up to the mic. He plasters a fake smile on his lips as he steps onto the small stage next to his dad. “Happy to speak in support of the children, Dad.”

  “Honey?” Mom whispers.

  I turn around and see her and Dad huddled together. They’re always a united front, solid and rock steady. A perfect example of a happily married couple, even after forty-plus years. But both of them look worried and confused.

  “He didn’t know,” I intone. “I hadn’t told him yet.”

  “Oh!” Mom exclaims, covering her mouth with both hands. “I didn’t realize, Jayme. The way you talked about him . . . I thought . . .”

  “I did too, Mom. I did too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dad adds gently. “But if he can’t handle where you come from, who you are, then he’s not the right one for you.” His words have a bit more backbone to them, not liking anyone who dares to hurt his little girl.

  “Thanks. I just thought . . . he was. But that’s my mistake.” I glance over my shoulder, seeing Carson with the microphone. He’s smiling, but it’s tight, forced, and he’s purposefully not looking in my direction. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go home.”

  “Do you want us to do anything?” Mom offers, trying to make amends for overstepping with their uninvited appearance.

  Guess I know where I got that trait, too. I’m a chip off the old blocks—both Mom and Dad.

  “No, just go. Please. Leave Carson alone.” To Dad, I ask, “Please tell the boys to leave him alone too.” Dad’s the only one my brothers are going to listen to about this. As soon as they find out that Carson flipped shit over finding out about our family, they’ll be on him like stink on shit. And neither Carson, nor I, need that.

  Especially Carson.

  Even now, I want to protect him.

  CHAPTER 26

  CARSON

  I go through my speech to the assembled crowd, thanking them for coming and supporting the children. I know I do because I can see them clapping, but I don’t remember a thing I say.

  Afterward, I work around the garden, shaking hands and making small talk. I can feel where my cheeks are sore from forcing the fake smile. But I don’t register any of that, either.

  I’m a zombie, but instead of brainzzzzz, my mind keeps repeating Brooks.

  I feel like I’ve been blindsided—by Jayme, by information, and even by her parents’ unexpected appearance. I don’t know what to think.

  Why did Jayme hide who she is from me?

  We shared so much . . . hell, I shared everything, even my ugly family history and my feelings about it all. I thought she was sharing her soul with me in the same way. But she wasn’t. I knew she had secrets, or at least she’d said she didn’t discuss her parents. How was I to know, or even guess, that this was why?

  Jameson Brooks. Jayme’s father.

  Are you shitting me?

  “Everything’s going well, it seems,” Dad says, floating up on a cloud of philanthropy with a smile of success.

  I blink, forcing my eyes to focus, making myself play the role of the even-keeled, steady, unflappable event host, even with Dad, despite the fire running through my veins. “Yeah, yeah. Going well.”

  Izzy tilts her head toward Dad’s shoulder, looking at me questioningly. Of all people, she’s the one not fooled by my act. “Carson, what’s wrong?”

  That gets Dad’s attention, and he peers at me a bit more closely, even dropping his glasses down his nose to get a better look. “You okay? Don’t tell me you’re still ruminating on Archer? He’s my son, and I’ll always love him, but . . .” He sighs heavily. “Sometimes, I don’t like him very much.”

  Izzy pats Dad’s arm comfortingly. “He’s troubled, that’s for sure. But at some point, he has to take responsibility for his own shortcomings.”

  It’s virtually the same thing I told Dad earlier, and on some level, I hope Dad can hear that and really let it resonate with whatever he feels about Archer’s and my upbringing.

  But Archer isn’t my issue right now. Hell, I’d forgotten about the earlier incident. My brain’s only thinking one thing . . . Jayme Rice is a Brooks.

  “Not Archer. Jayme,” I mutter. I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “I . . . she . . . I didn’t know . . .”

  Dad and Izzy look at me in confusion, not understanding what I’m trying to say. A reasonable reaction, considering I don’t know what I’m trying to say either.

  Izzy guesses, though. “Did you two get into an argument?”

  Dad’s brows shoot up his forehead when I grunt in answer. “What happened? I saw the look in your eyes when you left me to find her. I know that look. Did she . . . uhm, not feel the same?” he asks gently, stumbling over the question as though he doesn’t want to cause me additional pain.

  “I didn’t tell her. Or at least not in words. But I thought she understood. And then, her brother . . . her parents. It was a secret.” I’m rambling, my eyes unseeing as I replay everything. Somehow, one thing does strike me through the noise of it all.

  I can’t tell Dad and Izzy who Jayme’s parents are. I might not understand it, but she hid that purposefully, and I won’t tell her secret. It’s not mine to tell, anyway.

  Because she didn’t fucking trust me with it.

  My initial confusion became something akin to disappointment, which is all too familiar, with years of being the second-rate child, mixed with so long spent being let down by my parents. But now, it’s disappointment in Jayme, or maybe it’s once again that feeling as though I’m still not enough?

  I’ve dealt with disappointment before, and it quickly turns into anger, the betrayal stinging deep and hot. I want to lash out. I want to demand an explanation from Jayme. Honestly, I want to climb on my motorcycle and speed down a straightaway. Maybe if I go fast enough, I can go back and this will have never happened.

  None of it—tonight, Jayme, hell, not even the whole Abby Burks incident that started this mess. Just wipe it all away.

  “Her parents are here?” Izzy asks, scanning the dispersing guests. It’s creeping up on ten o’clock, and for this crowd, that’s a solid hour past their bedtimes, but Izzy would switch the charm on full-throttle for Jayme’s parents. I know she would because she can tell how important it is to me. But it’s too late.

  I shake my head. “Were. They’re gone.”

  I know that much because I looked all over for Jayme, her brother, and her parents during my zombie march. But to no avail. Still, I glance around again anyway, hoping that they’ll have magically appeared so I can figure out what the hell’s going on.

  Shit, I’d even take Joel scooping me up from behind the way he did Jayme, and that’s just wrong. But I’m that desperate to talk to her or someone who can explain this to me.

  Because I need some answers. Now.

  “Carson.” Dad’s voice is harsh and sharp, making me jump in reaction. I look back at him, and he places his hands on my shoulders, getting right in my face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it seems like you need to talk to Jayme. Why don’t you go find her and discuss whatever happened tonight? I’ll finish up everything here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Of course, he’s sure. It’s not as though I’m doing any good here now. I’m distracted and barely going through the motions, which is something we can’t afford after I just got done pulling my rep out of a nosedive. Truth be told, I think my righteous anger might be the only thing keeping me vertical at this point.

  I nod and turn to go, but Izzy stops me. “Carson, you said, ‘It was a secret.’ I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about, but I do know a little bit about secrets and the damage they can do. Open honesty is the only way to be truly happy. You and Jayme both deserve that.”

  In that moment, I understand more than I ever have about Izzy. I never begrudged her falling in love with my dad or having Toni. And over the years, I’ve grown to appreciate that she makes Dad happy. I don’t need to understand, I only have to respect that. But the beginnings of their relationship, when Dad was trapped in an unhappy marriage and likely making promises to Izzy, was a leap of faith on her part. Being Dad’s secret was hard for her, making her feel less than, even when she was the one he loved.

  Dad wraps his arm around Izzy’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I love you.”

  Izzy smiles at me, telling me with her eyes, ‘you deserve this, so go get it.’ I nod, mouthing ‘thank you’, and take off for the parking lot.

  I don’t change. Riding my motorcycle in a tuxedo is a first, but it’s happening tonight because I need to find Jayme as fast as possible and fix whatever’s gotten messed up between us.

  I fly toward her place faster than I should, pulling up to the curb and shutting the engine off in record time. Striding up to the door, I greet the doorman, “Hey, Myron. I’m here to see Jayme.”

  With a hard thunk that would be comical under other circumstances, I walk smack into the door.

  “Fuck . . . ow!” I groan, rubbing at my nose. “What the hell?”

  Myron grunts. “You’re not on the list, sir.”

  I glare at him. “Yes, I am. You’ve let me in before.”

  He shrugs casually, but his eyes are flinty steel, daring me to make a go for the door again. Something tells me he’d really enjoy stopping me. “List’s been updated.”

  “What? By whom?”

  He lifts a wry brow, not needing to answer, and I basically want to smash his nose the way the door did mine. Though maybe with some actual bloodletting.

  “Can you call her and tell her I’m down here?”

  He seems to take delight in telling me, “It’s after hours. You’re not on the after-hours call list either.”

  I growl, and though his lips don’t move, I swear to God, he’s smiling at my frustration.

  Calm down, man. You’re not going to get in like this.

  Right. There’s got to be another way. I look up at the building, searching for a fire escape. I’m in good shape. I could probably shimmy up a pipe or something like they do in movies. No . . . no, I couldn’t. Not that many floors. I’m not a goddamn ninja.

  But I am desperate, and though I’m running on adrenalin that makes me think I could scale a building, I’ve got to use my brain.

  “You ever wonder how I got this job?” Myron says conversationally, as though we weren’t threatening death and dismemberment with our eyes a moment ago.

  I don’t even give him a look, pointedly ignoring him as I continue to think.

  “I was Secret Service. Security detail, mostly. Investigations weren’t my thing,” he tells me with a shrug as if that’s not impressive as hell. “After I got out, I wanted something easier, but I take my job seriously. This building is secure, no access points unguarded. The doors and windows are bulletproof. Phone lines are impervious to unapproved numbers. Cameras back up to the cloud instantly.”

  “So you’re saying you figured out how to block spam calls?” I retort dryly, focusing on the least impressive thing he said because the rest of it is . . . crazy talk.

  “I’m telling you that you’re not getting in unless she says so.”

  I realize the bigger picture of what he’s telling me. “You’re not a doorman, are you?”

  He smiles, his teeth bright against his dark skin. “I am a doorman. One of the three best doormen in the city. Me, Javier, and Brad. We’re a solid team.”

  I’m not getting in.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and call Jayme myself. The line rings and then goes to an automated recording. “Leave a message at the tone.”

  Beep.

  “Jayme, I’m sorry. We need to talk. Can you call me, please? I’m downstairs with Myron. He won’t let me in.” I toss him a glare, though I know it sounds like I’m a toddler tattling on a classmate who didn’t share his toys with me. Putting my phone back in my pocket, I tell Myron, “I’m going to be right over there.”

  I point to my motorcycle, and though he doesn’t respond, I know he heard me. Confused, I sit on my motorcycle and stare up at Jayme’s window. I can’t even tell if the light is on inside. Maybe she’s not here? Maybe she went to her parents’ house? Would Myron have told me if that were the case?

  I consider throwing rocks at her window. Myron said they’re bulletproof, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t hear a rock hitting one. I don’t know if I could hit one that high, though. Probably not. I don’t think Myron would take too kindly to that idea, either. Probably consider it an attack or something. I wonder if she could hear me if I yelled her name? Though that might get the police called on me for disturbing the peace.

  My anger is starting to burn out, leaving only desperation in its wake.

  After a few minutes, I get off my bike. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, so I sit on the curb instead, staring at Myron. Though he’s looking straight ahead, I know he’s watching me.

  I sit there for hours, I think, but finally, I climb back onto my motorcycle. Myron tilts his head in goodbye, and I wave at him forlornly.

  I ride home as the sun’s coming up and head straight for the bar when I get inside. I pour myself a bourbon and flop into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Well, fuck.”

  “Ahh!”

  The loud scream comes from the pile of blankets on my couch.

  “Jayme?” I scramble to set my drink down and pull the blankets off, but instead of Jayme, I find my sister. “Toni? What are you doing here?”

  My hope that it’d been some wild misunderstanding and Jayme was here all along while I was at her place is dashed as Toni wipes at her bleary eyes. I sit back down in my favorite chair, pouting.

  “Where’ve you been?” she mumbles, still half asleep.

  “Jayme’s.” Though not technically true, I’m not going to tell her that I’ve been hanging out on the street all night like some love-struck stalker.

  “You made up?” she asks, looking hopeful and considerably more awake.

  My eyes narrow. “What do you mean? What do you know?” I don’t mean to sound so accusatory, but . . . actually, yes, I do. How does Toni know what’s going on with Jayme and me when I don’t even know?

  Toni rolls her eyes. “Duh, you two are attached at the hip and then suddenly, you’re on stage giving a speech and she’s nowhere to be found. What’d you do?”

  “You assume I did something?” I snap.

  Toni drops her chin, frowning at me as if I said one plus one equals pizza or something else equally stupid.

  “Fine. I might’ve overreacted to something she showed me. I mean, told me.” I’m not going to out Jayme’s secret to anyone, least of all my sister whose version of keeping something on the down low means not posting it to Instagram.

  “Showed you? Told you?” Toni echoes, much more interested now. “Are we talking like a third nipple or that she likes her toes sucked? Because really, Carson, you shouldn’t kink shame people or give them a hard time for something they can’t help.”