“Your mother identified the body this morning, and she reached out about funeral planning. She’d like you to pay for everything.”

Reese’s hand tightened over mine. “Of course.”

Stan paused, then coughed. “The timing was good—shit.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. That was a bad choice of words…”

“Roman went to rehab twelve times.”

I looked over. Stan stopped talking.

Reese was gazing out the window, his hand still holding mine.

“And he wasn’t alone in that hotel room. Two girls were with him. One already reached out, asking for money to keep quiet.”

Stan’s eyes closed for a beat. “I didn’t know that.”

Reese’s voice was devoid of emotion. He kept looking out the window. “She reached out via my Instagram. My social media team sent it to my publicist. Monica’s waiting for my decision.”

“I can—” Stan’s voice was strangled and thick at the same time. “I can handle it all, if you want?”

“No.”

So sad.

So empty.

But so firm at the same time.

Reese sounded sure as he said, “No. I don’t care what they come out and say. It’s no secret what Roman was like. I’ve never paid to have anyone keep quiet about him. I’m not going to start now.”

Stan winced, looking down at his lap for a second. He looked up at me first, then Reese. “The medical examiner’s report says overdose, but some media outlets are reporting it was suicide. How do you want me to handle that?”

Reese turned to look at him now, his eyes hollow, his face gaunt. “How do you usually handle it? I’ve never spoken out about Roman. Won’t start now, not about this. Why would I change now that he’s dead?” He raised our clasped hands and pressed a kiss to the back of mine before turning once more to the window. “He’s at peace now, Stan.”

Agony ripped through me, and tears came to my eyes. I held them back, but my chest felt a crushing weight, as it had over and over since that phone call.

“I gave up on a relationship with my brother long ago, but I didn’t stop caring,” Reese added. “That’s the part that was hard—still loving him when I couldn’t do anything to help him. He tried a couple other times.”

Stan’s eyes widened.

Reese kept on, not seeing his manager’s reaction, “It was earlier in my career, when I was in college, so it never hit the news. No one cared about Roman Forster back then, but it was only two times. He wasn’t bad all the time, or struggling all the time. He went in waves. He had some good times when he was doing well, when rehab stuck for a bit. But then he’d fall back down. He’s better now, though. He’s not hurting anymore.”