Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Reese’s hand tightened over mine. “Of course.”
Stan paused, then coughed. “The timing was good—shit.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. That was a bad choice of words…”
“Roman went to rehab twelve times.”
I looked over. Stan stopped talking.
Reese was gazing out the window, his hand still holding mine.
“And he wasn’t alone in that hotel room. Two girls were with him. One already reached out, asking for money to keep quiet.”
Stan’s eyes closed for a beat. “I didn’t know that.”
Reese’s voice was devoid of emotion. He kept looking out the window. “She reached out via my Instagram. My social media team sent it to my publicist. Monica’s waiting for my decision.”
“I can—” Stan’s voice was strangled and thick at the same time. “I can handle it all, if you want?”
“No.”
So sad.
So empty.
But so firm at the same time.
Reese sounded sure as he said, “No. I don’t care what they come out and say. It’s no secret what Roman was like. I’ve never paid to have anyone keep quiet about him. I’m not going to start now.”
Stan winced, looking down at his lap for a second. He looked up at me first, then Reese. “The medical examiner’s report says overdose, but some media outlets are reporting it was suicide. How do you want me to handle that?”
Reese turned to look at him now, his eyes hollow, his face gaunt. “How do you usually handle it? I’ve never spoken out about Roman. Won’t start now, not about this. Why would I change now that he’s dead?” He raised our clasped hands and pressed a kiss to the back of mine before turning once more to the window. “He’s at peace now, Stan.”
Agony ripped through me, and tears came to my eyes. I held them back, but my chest felt a crushing weight, as it had over and over since that phone call.
“I gave up on a relationship with my brother long ago, but I didn’t stop caring,” Reese added. “That’s the part that was hard—still loving him when I couldn’t do anything to help him. He tried a couple other times.”
Stan’s eyes widened.
Reese kept on, not seeing his manager’s reaction, “It was earlier in my career, when I was in college, so it never hit the news. No one cared about Roman Forster back then, but it was only two times. He wasn’t bad all the time, or struggling all the time. He went in waves. He had some good times when he was doing well, when rehab stuck for a bit. But then he’d fall back down. He’s better now, though. He’s not hurting anymore.”
A car honked outside.
A sprinkle of rain sounded on the top of our vehicle.
We drove a few more blocks.
“What should I tell your mother?” Stan asked.
“Tell her I’ll pay.” Reese’s hand squeezed mine so tight as he looked over at his manager. “But only if Dad goes to a six-month rehab and she’s checked into a mental health facility. I won’t pay for shit if they both don’t agree, and they go today.”
Stan’s face went white. “What about Roman’s funeral?”
Reese went back to that window, his hand easing on mine, but not letting go. “They get committed, but they’ll need permission to leave for his funeral, and only his funeral. They go to the church, to his burial site, and then back into wherever they go. No time afterward for ‘coffee hour.’ I won’t do anything if those steps aren’t taken today. And if she thinks about going to a tabloid and selling some story that I won’t pay for anything, let her know I will respond, and I will be giving my terms to the public.” He laughed, bitter and empty. “She always hated what people thought of her. If anything, that’s the only threat that’ll work on them both.”
“Okay.”
We pulled into a back parking lot for the stadium.
Stan had his phone out as the doors opened and we got out. “One of our lawyers is with her. I’ll relay your terms, and I’ll give the word to start the process. We’ll get them both into facilities today. Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you,” Reese said.
Stadium employees greeted us just inside the door. A photographer and camera crew were there, but no one paid them any attention. When Reese turned down the hallway, Stan caught me and held me back.
The phone to his ear, he said under his breath, “He’s gotta be with the team now. There’ll be some press interviews, just one, but he needs to focus on the game as much as possible.”
“What do I do?”
“There’s a family lobby here. I’ll show you where, and I’ll get a pass for you. You can come and go as you want. Reese needs to know you’re close by, but I know him. He won’t reach out for you until after the game. He’ll try to put everything out of his mind as much as possible right now.”