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“Pongo, quiet.” I forced my lips into a semblance of a smile. Being the gracious Hollywood star was especially grating today, but I was alwaysonin public. Everyone was always watching. “Yes, sir. Me and the mutt are here to see my brother.”
“Right. Right. Can I say I’m a huge fan? Don’t tell the guys this, but I loved that one movie you did with Sara Hayes. What was it called?”
“SWAK.” My smile was starting to fray at the edges.
“Right! Where you were a member of SWAT and Sara was a mafia princess.” The officer’s eyes shined. “Not many get the police details right, but you guys were pretty spot on. Is it true that you did all your own stunts?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Even that one at the end where you had to jump onto the box van from the bridge?”
“Yep.”
“Awesome.”
“Thanks.” I waited a beat for the guy to either ask for an autograph, selfie, or to let me through, but he didn’t. He just stood there with that awestruck look on his face that was starting to make me uncomfortable. Like I was a thing and not a person.
“Yo, rook. We got a problem?” A forty-something craggy-faced officer approached us.
Officer Super Fan stood at attention. “No, sir. Just talking to Roman Grier.”
“Right. Well, if you’re done playing fan club president, either wave the guy on through or tell him to turn around. You’re holding up the damn line.”
My eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, and sure enough, four cars were idling behind me. Pongo whined in his seat.
“Right, right. Sorry, sir.” Officer Super Fan turned and gave me an apologetic shrug. “I assume you’re here to see your brother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go on through. Please give him our condolences.”
I jerked my chin in a tight nod and slid my sunglasses back onto my face. After waiting for an officer to move the barricade, I rolled through and pulled up to my brother’s gate.
This part was going to suck. I had to get out to key in a code, since I couldn’t reach it from my car. I should’ve brought the Escalade. I could probably call my brother, but there was no guarantee he’d answer since he was most likely letting everything go to voicemail today.
“Pongo, stay,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. I opened my door, jumped out, and quickly closed it behind me. As I walked over to the keypad, I heard a dull roar behind me interspaced with clicks and the occasional coherent question.
“Roman! Any comment?”
“Roman, do you know who the mystery man is?”
“I love you, Roman Grier!”
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
I keyed in my code and then dashed back to my car as the gate slowly rolled open.
If anything, the roar increased.
I swallowed down the bile tickling the back of my throat and pulled into King’s place. Some days I hated fame. We couldn’t even mourn the death of Zoe’s mother and King’s estranged wife without dealing with all this bullshit.
I was so relieved when the gate clicked shut behind me. I pulled up to the garage and shifted into park.
Pongo whined and licked my face.
“Thanks, boy. I’m okay. You ready to go see King and Zoe? I bet she’ll be happy you came with me.”
Pongo wiggled and breathed hot, dog breath on my face.
