Page 69 of Rowdy Hearts

“You’re Mabel Ann. On ‘Broad Street.’ I recognize your voice.”

Shit. Shit. And double shit.

I kept a smile on my face, but it was tough. Damn it, I didn’t want to lie to this baby. I didn’t want to tell him he was wrong. Make him doubt himself. Because he was right.

But damn, I really didn’t have to like it.

“Broad Street” had made me one of the most recognizable child actors in America for a brief period of time. Until the show runners’ egos had gotten too big and killed the show with their outrageous demands.

That’d been more than fifteen years ago and, until recently, it’d held cult classic status because there’d been copyright issues with some of the music, which had kept it from being syndicated or licensed.

Until recently, when the producers had gotten those problems worked out, and “Broad Street” had become something of a sensation again. Mainly because of Denee.

The excitement on this little boy’s face made my chest tight and my pulse beat faster. It’d been years since I’d been recognized as Mabel Ann. My hair had been red back then, and I’d been this little pudgeball of energy, the perfect sidekick to the perfect girl-next-door Denee Henning, who’d become so famous and then died so tragically.

It still hurt my heart to think about everything she’d lost. Everything she’d never get to do.

Noting the small bench along the wall, I lowered myself onto it and gestured for him to sit next to me. He scrambled up onto the cushion, still staring at me with that adoring smile.

My lips curved, though my heart beat like a trapped bird. “What’s your name?”

“Brandon, but everyone calls me Bud.”

“Bud, if I tell you a secret, do you think you can keep it?”

He nodded so hard, I thought he might hurt himself. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even my mom and dad.”

Damn it, that hurt. I didn’t want this baby keeping secretsfrom his parents. I wouldn’t want someone telling Krista to keep secrets from me.Shit.

But self-preservation had become second nature.

“That was me, but it was a really long time ago. I was about your age when I started on ‘Broad Street.’”

“I knew it! I knew it was you.”

He didn’t exactly shout the words, but I winced because it sounded really loud in the hallway.

For the next few minutes, Bud talked my ear off. In a good way. About everything he loved about the show and how he had watched the whole thing in, like, two weeks, and it’s the only show he wanted to watch now and, then he went into detail about episodes I’d long forgotten filming.

But I smiled and nodded and let him talk. And let his enthusiasm infect me. That show held so many good and bad memories for me. It was impossible to separate them now, they were all so tangled together in a mess that sometimes it still hurt to think about it.

Finally, he had to take a breath, and I could get a word in.

“I’m so glad you enjoy the show, Bud. That makes me really happy. But I do need to ask you a favor.”

He nodded again. “Sure!”

You’re a horrible person.

“I would really appreciate it if you could please not tell anyone who I am.”

I held my breath as I waited for him to react. I was expecting more questions, maybe a few tears. Instead, Bud grinned from ear to ear.

“It’s a secret.”

I winced inwardly. “Yes, it’s a secret.”

Damn it, I felt like a pervert, though I wasn’t asking him to do anything weird or illegal. I was simply asking him not to reveal my past.

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