Chapter 3
DESMOND
When Stan, my driver, dropped me off outside The Regal—the boutique residential building where I lived—Tim, the doorman, hurried over, looking apologetic.
“Is it Brody?” I asked, grinning at him, even before he had a chance to speak.
He nodded. “He said the sink needed fixing.”
Brody was my twenty-two-year-old cousin.
Growing up, he’d lived a few streets across from me and I considered him my true brother.
His parents—my uncle and aunt—had taken me in after my mom’s death in high school, but we had been close well before that, meeting each other every other week for a game of football.
Like most siblings I knew, we were opposites in many ways.
Tim looked concerned. “Concierge could fix the sink for you, you know. We have an in-house plumber and electrician. In case anything breaks down next time.”
I grinned. “I didn’t even know that my sink was leaking, Tim,” I said. “I’m surprised Brody does.”
Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He nodded understandingly as I shut the car door, and we walked over to the front doors. “In that case, let me know if there’s anything else we can do for you. Have a good day, sir.”
I nodded as he opened the door for me.
“I will. Thank you, Tim,” I said as the door fell shut behind me.
It had been three days since I’d seen Ava, but I hadn’t heard a word from her after our last text the night of her date. I wanted to text her. If only I could come up with a reasonable excuse to do so.
In a minute, I took the elevator up to the penthouse suite, and when I walked in, Betsy, my house manager, walked up to me with a smile.
“Brody—”
“Is here,” I said, dropping my briefcase on the side table and taking my coat off.
I hung my coat up on the rack next to Betsy’s blue peacoat and a now-faded ginger-colored gingham jacket. My gaze lingered on that a little bit and on the pink snow cap that rested on the hook.
As she picked up her coat, ready to leave, I smelled the sweet notes of butternut squash in the air.
“Did you make soup?” I asked her.
She nodded at me. “And there’s risotto too. If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”
“That’s wonderful, Betsy. I need nothing else, thank you. What’s Brody fixing now?”
She grinned as she got into the elevator. “The sink faucet, and he insists there’s a leak underneath the sink as well.” She lowered her voice. “I haven’t seen a single drop of water leak though.”
I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Are you seeing your granddaughter this weekend?”
She beamed. “She’s coming over for the entire weekend.”
“Have fun.” I smiled as the doors closed.
I walked down the hallway and past the huge hall with a fifteen-foot-high ceiling and a sweeping view of the Manhattan skyline. I strolled past the windows and into the kitchen, where I found Brody trying to fix the sink, getting his hands dirty.
Today was the day his band would be beginning their tour of the East Coast. Starting with New York.
This was the first time Brody wouldn’t join them on tour. He was doing a great job of pretending not to care.
As Brody worked the screwdriver, his head bent as he checked the faucet and inspected the tap, he spoke. “Spending your Friday evening at home?” he asked, eyes screwed tight in concentration, his tongue jutting out between his lips.
Perhaps seeing Ava had thrown me off my habitual routines. I considered admitting to Brody that I had run into her when I realized something about his look was different.
He had gotten a new haircut—his hair was in a half-up man bun with the bottom half of his hair sleek and cut short to his shoulders. I had to give it to him—he never did predictable.
I imagined what would happen if I walked into work like that.
“Yes, I’m spending my evening at home. Keeping it free and uncomplicated,” I said as he fastened the screw tight.
Brody and I had an easy relationship. While I had done everything by the book, growing up, he challenged everything he could. His parents had accepted him as the wild child and had hardly batted an eyelid when he decided to drop out of college to focus on his music.
Brody pointed to the picture of Mom and me that I had recently framed and put up on the wall. “When was this taken?” he asked.
I looked at the image for a long bit. It had been a couple of years after Dad left Mom, and she had finally saved enough to take me on a vacation.
Just the two of us. We went skiing that day in Stevens Pass, near Seattle.
I was seven and cheeky, and I stuck my tongue out for the picture.
She had soft, shoulder-length hair, a cherry-pink cap that covered her ears, but her thick hair stuck out from it to frame her rosy cheeks, and she wore a smile on her face that I’d always remember. Mom had had the best smile.
“Christmas during second grade,” I told him.
“So, the pink snow cap and the gingham coat, which still hang on the coat rack, are—” Brody began.
“Are Mom’s,” I said.
Brody grunted. “And how much longer are you going to hold on to that for?”
I frowned, feeling irritation rise up my throat. “I have no plans for getting rid of her stuff, Brody.”
He nodded and put his tools away. “I see,” he said.
Right now, when Brody had pushed aside his band, was when they were most concerned about him.
“Mmhmm. Well, I need to ask you—”
“How I’m doing? I’m tired of everyone asking me that all the time.”
I shoved my hand into the pocket of my trousers. “Right. I’ll give you that. So, what do you want to do?” I asked as he handed me the screwdriver.
“The sink is leaking,” he advised me and went over to the bathroom to wash his hands.
I walked over to the sink and sat down in front of the cabinet doors. Looking in, I removed the stack of cleaning supplies and dishcloths and began to tighten the bolt.
“So, how is Ellie?” Brody asked over the sound of running water.
“She’s good, I guess.”
“You guess?” Brody prodded, striding back into the kitchen and drying his hands on a towel.
I knew where he was going with this. “Ellie is my employee. Not a woman I look at in any other way.”
“Why?” Brody asked, setting the towel on the counter and standing next to me.
“As the owner of the business, Brody, I can’t date my employees.”
“That’s a pity,” he said.
“Ellie is seeing your bandmate, remember?” I asked.
He angled his head as he looked at me. “I don’t think she’s serious about that.”
I snorted and stood up. “I fixed the sink.”
“So, is there a nonemployee woman you’re seeing?” Brody asked.
“Why are you asking?”
“One of my friends asked me if I could set the two of you up,” Brody said. “But I warned her that your previous relationship was two weeks long, so she might have better luck elsewhere.”
I grinned. “And that relationship had been a week and a half too long.”
“Well, with that attitude, all the women must be lining up to date you—”
“Not this again,” I groaned.
“Did Betsy get after you too?” He grinned.
“Yes, when she came over to make lasagna on Wednesday,” I said.
“Give me lasagna over soup any day,” he said, wiping his hands dry.
I laughed. “Green casserole dish on the top shelf in the fridge. Help yourself.”
He opened the fridge and brought the casserole dish out. I took out two sets of plates from the upper cabinets and hunted for silverware in the drawer.
When I set them on the table, Brody gave me a look that said, You too?
“I’m not going to watch you eat lasagna, if that’s what you mean.” I grinned as he heated the casserole dish in the microwave.
A minute later, Brody doled out the lasagna onto the plates, and we took a few bites in companionable silence.
After chewing for a bit, Brody spoke. “I still think it’s time you realize that you pushing relationships away isn’t working for you.”
I groaned. “I thought we were over this already. Besides, I’m not pushing relationships away. I just don’t need anyone else in my life.”
Brody gave me a look that said he wasn’t buying it, but thankfully, he let it go.
Previously, Brody would talk my ear off about the latest tune he’d composed or ask me what I thought about the lyrics he’d scribbled on paper, but now, all he wanted to do was fix things.
Silently. It was useless, asking him about music or his health.
Brody had shut down after his health diagnosis, refusing to talk about it or even consider rejoining his band when they were not on tour. It was very unlike him.
A year ago, Brody, during one of his shows, had been overcome with an epileptic fit and collapsed onstage.
I hated myself for not being able to help him right away, but grateful that his band and his staff took care of him.
I’d been at work when I got the call from a hospital in Denver.
I’d abandoned my meeting midway and flown over to Denver immediately, where I met Brody and spoke with the doctors.
It wasn’t good news, but unlike me, Brody was calm and accepting of his new diagnosis.
He couldn’t do blinding, flashing lights. He couldn’t do shows anymore. His band was essentially not his anymore.
I couldn’t shake that nervous feeling of helplessness and fear when I saw Brody in the hospital.
It brought back memories of when I’d lost my mom long ago and reminded me that someone else could be snatched away from me just as easily.
I locked myself in the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes, trying to calm myself down and get a grip.
When I emerged, Brody was being fawned over by the nurse who had recognized him and the band he played in. I laughed, and some of that fear slipped away. And I’d decided that I didn’t need any more family. I didn’t need more people who could reduce me to such a mess over their lives.
I had Brody and my uncle, and that was plenty.