Prologue
DECLAN SHAW STUCK his clammy hand in his black suit pocket. He couldn’t sweat in a ten thousand grand suit, not for his father’s funeral. Ding-dong the bastard’s gone. He thought he would feel relief. Nope, just numb. That pissed him off. He should be dancing a good Irish jig. God knows it took him long enough to learn how to do one. The beating that dear old dad had given him until he’d gotten it right and scored a role had been memorable.
Stop thinking and put on a sad face for the crowd. Get this over. Then he could go back to New Orleans and get the album recorded, go on tour, and get on with his life.
A knock at the bedroom door caught his attention. “Come in.”
The door opened and Malcolm stepped inside. “You ready?”
He turned at his best friend’s concerned voice. “Almost.”
Malcolm walked over to him. “How are you?”
“Fine.” He lied, he didn’t want to deal with this crap.
The sympathy was plain in Malcolm’s green eyes. “Pretend with everyone else, don’t lie to me.”
Declan let out a long breath and prayed he didn’t cry. Malcolm wouldn’t judge him. “I don’t want to be here.”
“I know.”
Declan noticed that some of the people in the hotel suite’s living room staring into the bedroom. “Get me out of here.”
“You’re the best actor I know, you can fake your way through this. You need to be here for your brother.”
Brody had broken down several times already. Declan could be strong for him. “How’s Brody doing?”
“He’s out there trying to hump Charlotte.”
He was a Shaw after all which meant Brody didn’t care that Travis had put on ring on her. “How’s Travis taking that?”
“He’s trying not to kill him.”
“I can work with that.” He eyed his friend who was in a tailored black suit. He hadn’t worn one since Andy, the band’s bass player, died over a year ago. His normal spiky black hair was gelled down. He’d even left off the guy liner. “You look good, not your usual punked out self.”
“Cherry’s coming.”
Cherry was Malcolm’s mom, his one-time legal guardian, and the band’s agent. “She’s going to spit on my father’s grave?” She hated dear old dad almost as much as he did. A bonus.
Malcolm gave him an evil grin. “After the paps leave.”
Declan laughed. Cherry could be a dragon, but she’d been more of a parent to him than his father. She saved his life and his sanity. She even birthed his best friend. “I need a drink.”
“I’ll let you drink the bar dry at the wake.”
Malcolm had drawn the short straw and he was on Declan watch. He’d behave himself. “I have a better idea. Let’s skip the shit fest, find some girls, and drink on the plane back to New Orleans?”
“You did that on the way up and banged a flight attendant in the bathroom.”
The last few days had been an alcohol fueled haze he didn’t remember. “I have a good time?”
Malcolm smoothed down Declan’s suit lapels. “Everyone in first class did.”
Before he could comment, the door opened and his brother walked in.
“You got a minute?”
“Yeah, what do you need.” Brody was his replica. Declan had an inch in height and thanks to a hairdresser, lighter golden hair. Declan was eleven months older, but he always felt years older. Brody was more like their mother, not so jaded and much more sensitive.
Brody gave Malcolm a pointed look. Apparently he wanted to talk alone.
Malcolm took the hint and walked toward the bedroom door. “I'm going to take care of the limos.”
“What’s up Brody?”
Brody's gaze couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Are we going to read the will today?”
Declan felt his lip curl up, but he pushed his rage down. Their father didn’t have a dime that didn’t come from Declan. “Patrick didn’t have anything to leave in a will.”
Brody’s face flushed. “The house? The SUV…”
“Mine.”
“He told me they were his.”
Of course he did. He was a greedy liar who didn’t want people to know just how pathetic he was. “As long as he stayed out of my life and didn’t talk about me to the press.”
“Oh.”
Bastard couldn’t even tell his son the truth. “The house and the car are yours.”
“No man I’m okay.” Anger flashed on Brody's face.
Declan knew Brody had it tough, he had a hard time keeping a job. He’d been in jail for making fake ids, and had a couple of DUIs and several other run-ins with the law. What his brother survived at their father’s hands ensured Patrick’s spot in hell. Declan didn’t think Brody would ever be able to talk about it. God knows he couldn’t. “If you need anything...”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you stay at my house in Malibu after the funeral? Chill out at the beach, meet yourself a nice honey.”
Brody smiled. “That sounds good.”
“Cut your hair and people will think you’re me. You’ll be able to get into all the best places.”
“That would be cool.”
Now it was time to give his brother a gentle push. “Maybe go see Mom.”
Brody frowned. “I don’t like to see her there.”
Nobody liked seeing their mom in the loony bin, no matter how nice they made it. But when he was in L.A. he went every week and since he’d been in New Orleans he made the trip once a month. He tried to be a good son. She had the best care money could buy and when he was with her, he just made sure they had fun. In a strange way he got to be a kid again coloring and playing hide and go seek. As kid he’d been too busy working.
It was his fault she was there. If he would have kept quiet and did what he was supposed to do his dad wouldn’t have hurt her. “I’m not going to pressure you to visit, but go to L.A. and kick back.”
Brody’s smile didn’t quite reach his blue eyes, but Declan knew he would go. Declan touched his arm. “You’re going to get through this.”
Brody swiped his fist under his nose. “I should hate him, but…”
“Don’t let it eat you up inside. He can’t hurt us anymore.” For the last few days he felt like he was three seconds from falling apart and here he was trying to give advice to his brother.
“I’m--”
Before Brody could answer the door opened and Malcolm stuck in his head. “Everyone’s ready.”
Declan examined his reflection and turned to his brother, hoping Brody wasn’t going to puke on his shoes. “C’mon we’ll get through the funeral. Then I’ll put you on a plane to L.A. and it’s fun in the sun.”
“Are you going to speak?”
Declan didn’t want to be a hypocrite. “Why don’t you say something?” The only thing coming out of his mouth was “rot in hell bastard.”
“I don’t have anything ready.”
Declan smiled. “Just talk from your heart.”