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“He does?” Asher appeared at my side, and his mouth fell open when he took in the shot I pointed to.
In the frame, Asher stood on stage, singing into a microphone as he strummed from a guitar. The other members of Non-Castrato blurred out to the sides; he was obviously the main focus of the picture.
“Shit,” he murmured, staring hard. “I had no idea he had this.”
“Looks like this shelf is reserved for family pictures,” I mused aloud.
Asher blew out a long breath and ran his hand over his hair. “I guess...” He started slowly. “Yeah. We’re family. He’s... my brother.”
Even though I’d pretty much been leading my guesses toward an assumption along those lines, hearing him actually confirm it had me shaking my head in confusion.
I glanced sideways at him. “Come again?”
He shook his head as if the whole thing baffled him too. “No one really knows yet...not officially, anyway. But, uh, he...turns out, after I started playing the song ‘Ceilings,’ I learned he’d been abandoned by his mother at birth at the hospital, and...”
“Holy shit,” I murmured. “Your boss ended up being your long-lost half-brother? How the hell does that even happen?”
Asher glanced at me, his expression dazed. “I ask myself the same question every day.”
“So, wait. How long have you known about this? You’ve only been playing ‘Ceilings’ a couple—”
“Weeks,” he finished for me. “We got test results back around three weeks ago. And it’s still...really new.”
I blew out a breath. “Dude. That’s just...”
When I shook my head, he nodded. “I know.”
“Why haven’t you guys officially announced it?” I wondered, fearing the worst for poor Asher. “Doesn’t he want to be your brother?”
He nodded, turning back to the picture of himself. “Yeah. Strangely, he does. I’m actually the one holding back.”
I squinted. “So...you don’t like him?”
“No, I do.” He turned to me, his gaze desperate and seeking. “That’s the problem. He’s this really awesome, stand-up guy, right? And...he’s my brother. That’s just...better than I ever expected it could be. But...he’s going to ask about her.”
I shook my head. “About who?”
“About our mom,” he ground out. “It’s only logical, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you want to know about your mother if you just met a brother who knew her and you never did?”
When I opened my mouth to answer that yeah, I guess I would, he kept talking.
“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.
