Torn Read online

  "I keep her here now." She pats her chest. "I never told her I loved her, you know. I should have."

  "I'm sure she knew," I offer. "People know. They can feel it."

  "I love you, Falon. I couldn’t be more proud of you and every minute of every day I cherish you." She reaches for me and I don't hesitate as I hug her tighter than I ever have before.

  CHAPTER 46

  Asher

  I walk down Ninth Avenue, crossing against the light. A taxi is turning but he stops to pick up a fare. I smile and wave at him. I swear he shoots me the finger. It's a royal fuck you, Asher Foster, for crossing against the light. I don't give a shit.

  I look down at my phone. It's almost midnight. I have three minutes to spare and I don't see her standing where she said she'd be. She wanted me to meet her at the corner. She found a new place for pizza she said on the phone, after she told me that she'd taken the subway back to Brooklyn, with her mom.

  I stop when I reach the spot where we're supposed to meet. I turn around and that's when I see her. She's behind me, her long legs moving quickly as she jumps over a puddle that’s a small reminder of the thunderstorm that enveloped the city an hour ago.

  The first clash of thunder punctuated what Caleb was telling Gabriel and me. One summer when we were vacationing in the Hamptons, the man who lived next door approached him. He spoke to Caleb as if he knew that our mom had slept with him years before.

  Derek Handler, the neighbor who would share beers with my dad, and would borrow our boat, told my brother, when he was a teenager, that he was his son. Caleb didn't believe it. He confronted my mom with my dad by her side.

  What followed was a DNA test, then another for Gabriel and me, woven into a lie that it was part of the medical testing required before we took a trip with our mom to Africa for a safari. The trip never materialized because my parents split. Their marriage ended one day after we came back from the Hamptons.

  Derek called Caleb his son in front of my dad. That was the end. It was the last straw.

  "You beat me here." Falon laughs as she tries to run her hands through her hair. "The humidity does this to me."

  "I should thank the humidity." I lean forward to kiss her. It's soft, gentle, a whisper of what's to come later when I take her back to my place, to my bed.

  "You're so romantic."

  "That's because of you."

  She covers her cheeks as she blushes. "I'm hungry, are you?"

  "Why are we wasting our time in Manhattan?" I grab her hand and wait for her to lead the way. "You know the best pizza is in Brooklyn."

  "My mom told me earlier that her and her best friend from high school used to go to this place around the corner." She tugs on my hand. "She said to get the pepperoni. No other toppings at all. Just the pepperoni."

  "Pepperoni is my favorite. Your mom is a smart woman."

  "My mom is the best." She stops and turns to look at me. "It's okay now? You're good?"

  I explained things briefly on the phone when I called her. I told her that Caleb was the person Caterina was talking about on the voicemail. She drew me into her lie, by sending her mother to my concert in California months ago. It planted the first seeds of doubt. Caterina let the press nurture them with their stories about my paternity and questions about whether I was really a Foster at all.

  I would have been even if my DNA test didn't prove conclusively that I am Roman and Gianna's son, as must as Gabriel is.

  Regardless of his DNA test results, Caleb's a Foster too. He's proud of his name. He's also smart enough to realize that what he inherited from Derek Handler is a heart condition. When the man dropped dead playing tennis one day last year, Caleb went to his doctor.

  He's in good shape, better shape now that he's taken control of his diet and he's developed a love for running. He's doing it to take care of himself, because we need him, we all do, especially his wife and his son.

  He told Bell before they married. He told us he joked with her about how Ian Handler, the guy who hit on her before they got together is his brother and a complete dick. She laughed he said. She also held him and told him he already has two brothers, two brothers who love him. He's never told Ian the truth. He said he won't. A relationship with him doesn't fit in his life.

  "What about your dad?" She traces her finger over my brow. "How are things with you two?"

  "It's going to take time to repair that," I answer honestly. "He checked out a long time ago. He wants to check back in and be a part of the family. I want that too."

  "You can work on it together. All of you."

  I fall in step beside her as she walks towards the corner. "I had a good visit with my mom. She loves me a lot. She likes you too."

  "My mom will love you." I glance down the street towards a group of people approaching. "She worked things out with Caleb years ago. I can't hold what happened against her, if he doesn't."

  "Forgiveness can change your life." She rests her head on my shoulder as we wait for the light.

  She has no idea. Caleb was looking for forgiveness tonight. He wanted Gabriel and me to understand why he begged my parents to keep his secret. He didn't want anything between us to change. It can't. My brother went to meetings to understand how to help me. He wanted my recovery as much as I did. He loves me. I love him. That's all that matters.

  "Sorry to bother you, man." A hand touches my shoulder. "You wouldn't be Asher Foster by chance, would you?"

  I wait for it and right when I think she's going to leave me on my own, she steps around me. She looks into the faces of the man and woman standing next to us. "You're mistaken I'm afraid. This is my David. He's the love of my life."

  EPILOGUE

  One Year Later

  Asher

  "If I agreed to go on tour with you, what would be in it for me?"

  I take a deep breath. "You would get to spend every hour or every day with your fiancé who loves everything about you."

  She purses her lips. "That sounds promising. What else?"

  "You can take pictures of London and," I pause to kiss her. "We can look for an apartment there."

  "In London?" Her brows pop." For the two of us?"

  "For you and me. We can go there sometimes to escape." I stare into her beautiful blue eyes. "We can take your mom and dad there next year if you want, once they hand over the keys of the bakery to your siblings."

  "We need to find a place here first." She closes her laptop. "I'm going to miss this apartment, Asher. I've kind of fallen in love with it."

  I fell in love with it all over again the day she moved in six months ago. It was the day after I proposed, which just happened to be the same day she got back to New York after spending a full week in Las Vegas photographing the new Bishop Hotel and Casino there.

  The year hasn’t been easy. She's traveled one direction, while I've gone off in another. We kept in close contact though, through calls, text messages and the occasional quick trip on the Foster jet.

  "Maya thinks she has a buyer." I remind her. "That's going to mean that we have to find another place."

  "A place with more bedrooms? Bedrooms for our babies?"

  We talk about it all the time. I thought I was ready until I fell in love with Falon. I want her to myself for now. In a year or two after we're married, we'll start trying. It needs to be the right time for us both.

  "Lots of bedrooms for our babies."

  "Wait." Her hand darts into the air between us. "We're not talking Shaw numbers are we? I don't want thirteen children."

  I know she doesn't. It's too much for her to even consider three or four children. We've talked about two, we've settled on two but we'll see where our journey takes us.

  "Speaking of Shaw numbers, Elijah is going to get his first royalty check next month."

  "No shit?" She turns completely now to look at me. Her hair falls into her eyes before she pushes it back. She's let it grow even longer, it's beautiful, luxurious. It's one of the things that makes her uniquely her
.

  "That song that he co-wrote with me was a hit, Falon. I told you he'll have enough to set aside for college. He's going to be okay."

  Her folks will be too. I invested in the bakery as a silent partner. I didn’t do it to bail them out. I did it to help them flourish. With the weight of two mortgages off their backs, they thrived. Sales are up since Clara took over as the manager. Shirley still splits her time between Falon's studio and the bakery. She's faltered a couple of times this past year, but I'm there for her. Falon is too.

  "Do you remember that first day you came into my studio?" She moves from where she's sitting to wrap her arms around my neck. "You were so perfect."

  "You didn't think that." I joke as I look down into her face, tracing an imaginary path over those three freckles on her face. "You thought I was showing too much cock."

  "I didn't really think it was too much." She looks down. Her eyes rake over my nude body.

  "If I remember correctly, you told me to button my jeans back up."

  "Oh, I said that." She nods vigorously, as her hand inches its way down my chest. "I wanted this all for myself even then."

  "It was yours as soon as I walked through your studio door and saw you."

  "This is mine too." She rests her hand on my chest, over my heart. "I want this forever."

  "It's yours. You can have it forever. Nothing will ever change that."

  THANK YOU

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  Thank you, for everything.

  Preview of HEAT

  The New Four-Part Series

  Featuring Tyler Monroe

  "I once had one in my mouth twice that size," I boast as I adjust the collar of my chef's jacket. "I had it all the way in before it exploded. I swallowed most of it."

  "You what?" Drea, the newly hired sous chef stares across the counter at me, a knife at the ready in her hand. "There's no way you did that, Cadence. I don't believe you."

  "Whether you believe me or not isn't relevant." I turn back towards my prep station. "I know what I'm capable of and I know that if I was given the chance, I'd happily prove that I could take Tyler Monroe's in one swallow. I'd do it right now if I have the chance."

  "You'd think I'd have a say in that, no?"

  I stop with my hand in mid-air. No one else is supposed to be in the kitchen right now. The only people in the entire restaurant are the two front-of-the house staff who are busy confirming reservations. They're both also women. That means that there's no way in hell either of them just asked that question considering the voice attached to it is all kinds of deep and sexy. I know that voice. I've never heard it in person but I've heard it whenever he's been on television, which seems to be all the time recently.

  "Who are you?" Drea asks because she's not only new, she's naïve. She must also be one of the few people working in the restaurant industry in New York who has never seen a picture of him.

  "I'm Tyler." I hear footsteps behind me. "I'm Tyler Monroe and you are?"

  "Drea Hernandez," she offers. "You're not actually Tyler Monroe, are you?"

  "I'm actually him." He chuckles.

  I hear shuffling behind me and then in a way too excited tone, Drea screeches out the words no one working in this kitchen should ask. "Can I get your autograph? I have all of your cookbooks at home, but can you sign my jacket?"

  I pick that moment to turn around because I know inevitably I'm going to have to face him. He's one of the reasons I applied for this position after I graduated from culinary school. His career is astounding and his accomplishments are nothing short of impressive. He's only twenty-nine-years-old and he's already the owner and chef at one of the most prestigious restaurants in Manhattan.

  "I sign your paycheck." He ignores the offer of the pen that Drea is dangling in front of him. "I assume that whatever you're working on needs your attention."

  She purses her lips together in a grimace before she tucks the pen back into her pocket. "I thought you were on a book tour."

  "I thought you had work to do," he counters. "I'm here for dinner service tonight. I want everything in order."

  I stare at his profile. He's striking. His dark hair is long enough to touch the collar of his jacket. His face is covered in stubble. It's no wonder that women come to the restaurant in the hope that he'll be here. I've lost count of how many of my classmates from culinary school have asked if they can stop by to meet him.

  "You and I should talk." He suddenly turns to the side so he's facing me directly. "Come with me."

  My breath catches at his words. "I have a lot of work to do."

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he runs it over the top. It's a thoughtless gesture that shouldn't impact me the way that it does. "That can wait."

  I lower the knife in my hand onto the cutting board. I smooth my hands over the front of my chef's jacket before I take a deep breath and silently follow him down a corridor toward a makeshift office that I've seen the restaurant manager use to fire those who don't pull their weight.

  "If this is about what you overheard, I can explain that," I say the moment we're through the doorway.

  He slides the leather jacket he's wearing from his shoulders revealing his muscular, tattooed arms. I look to the open doorway hoping someone, anyone, will save me from this moment.

  "I don't need an explanation." He tilts his head to the side as his eyes rake me from head to toe. His gaze stalls on my name, which is sewn on the front of my jacket in red thread. "I'm going to assume you were talking about one of my signature dishes when you said you could fit the entire thing in your mouth."

  I bite my bottom lip when he takes a step closer his eyes riveted to my face.

  "That's what you were talking about isn't it, Cadence?"

  My lips part slightly as I pull in a deep breath. "No. I was talking about… I was actually talking about your…"

  Coming Soon

  Preview of TENSE

  A Two-Part Novel Duet

  “Do you like it? Some people have said it’s too long. It’s actually quite thick when you’re holding it in your hands, isn’t it?” The tone is low and throaty, emanating somewhere from my right.

  Such is the conversation on subway trains in New York City. You’d think I’d be oblivious to it all by now. Most of those who have lived here for decades have an innate ability to silence the staccato sounds of voices, traffic, and the underlying hum that is constantly hanging in the air in Manhattan.

  For those of us who are considered fresh transplants, the timbres of the city are still part of its irrefutable charm. I never thought I’d get accustomed to the constant buzz of the traffic when I closed my eyes to sleep each night but now it’s the lull that helps me drift off. I’ve only been here two years but I know that I’d long for the frenzied energy of this place if I ever decided to move back home to Florida.

  “I’d like your honest opinion.” I feel the slight pressure of a strong shoulder rub against mine. “Chapter seven is my personal favorite. Have you gotten that far yet?”

  I glance down at the thick book resting on my lap. I know, without a doubt now, that he’s talking to me. I’ve already had two, one-sided, conversations today about the book. One was with a woman waiting in line at the dry cleaners. The other was just fifteen minutes ago with the man who runs the bodega by my office. In both cases, I just smiled, nodded and listened to them rattle on about the awe inspiring detective novel I’m lugging around Manhattan wi
th me.

  “I haven’t,” I say quietly without looking at him.

  No eye contact will make it easier for me to ignore him if he persists. I’m not a rude person but I do know how to protect myself with a perimeter of ignorance. Men give up easily if you pretend they don’t exist. Most men do, that is. This one doesn’t seem to be taking the hint.

  “Have far are you?” A large hand brushes against my skirt. “You at least got past the first chapter, right?”

  Physical touching is a no-no. I scoot more to my left, trying to gain even a few more inches in distance from him. This train is bursting at capacity with commuters. Part of that is the time of day and the other is the route.

  It’s early evening and I’m headed for Times Square, one of the few places in the city I’d be happy never seeing again. It’s too much for me. There are too many people, too much noise, the smells overwhelming and the energy frenetic.

  “I’m not trying to accost you.” He laughs. It’s a sexy growl and a few women actually turn to see the source. Judging by the way they linger when they look at him, he’s not hard on the eyes.

  “I’m just trying to get to a book signing,” I confess, hoping he’ll leave me alone if I tell him, politely, that I’m not looking to hook up. “I need to get this signed for my boss. It’s a gift from his wife.”

  “You’re hoping to meet the author? Nicholas Wolf? I heard the line for the signing is around the block already. People have been waiting all afternoon to meet him.”

  “Dammit.” I finally turn to look at his face. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  He’s as good looking as I imagined him to be based on his voice. Seriously hot. Like seriously, I will give this man my number if he asks me for it, hot.