Not sure how much that cost them, but they wanted me to look like a good kid wanting to excel in life.
“What, no argument?” she questioned, eyebrow hiked up, doubt trickling across her features. Did she honestly think it was such a burden? Andy was a fucking dream. She brought me happiness. The way we were so in sync helped too. Being around her always turned out heated in a way it shouldn’t. She was my aunt, yet boundaries crossed in my mind, burning the wires with frissons of unease. Well, adopted aunt, but that was basically the same thing.
Andy and I were so close in age, and despite her age, she was the furthest thing from an adult. When I used to hang out with her when she’d first moved to Brightmore, it’d been life-changing. We were teenagers. She and I got into so much trouble, sneaking into rich resorts, going to the beach, and partying when we should've been home.
There were a lot of things we shouldn't have done, but much like me, her being the authority figure was laughable. My parents weren’t aware of our affinity for bad decisions, and Andy didn’t snitch. We were partners in crime.
Mom and Dad traveled a lot. He always went worldwide with every album release, doing long tours, and she followed him.
I spent most of my childhood with Andy, my godparents, and my grandparents. Until my grandparents died and Dad fucked my godmother, of course. After that, Andy became my safe haven.
It sucked being an only child to a famous musician. To the world, he was Dox Reaver, half of Windowless Skies; to me, he was barely Dad. Since he and Mom respected my desire for having an everyday life, they didn’t force me into the spotlight. The last time it happened, I was about twelve, singing with Dad on stage. After that, Madden Black became the only reality for me.
My entire existence thus far, the world knew me as Madden Black, not Toland Reaver, Dox Reaver’s kid. The public knew Dad had a kid. But since he hid me, they had no other pictures of me other than from when I was younger.
The worst part of living a non-famous life; parent-teacher conferences. They’d have Royce—my driver and bodyguard—take me as a pseudo-parent. He’d become so much more than his job title, taking care of the little things people didn’t consider important.
I’d lived a relatively mundane life, aside from when it came to nannies, quality time with my parents, and having a good authoritative structure.
But what the fuck did I know? I’m only eighteen.
“I’m surprised,” she mused, standing to grab my coffee. When she came back, setting the mug down, her eyes seemed to dissect me. “Andy wanted to hang out with you before you went to college; I figured since you wanted to go to Brookewood University, you could scout out the city beforehand.”
I nodded, acting as if I cared. Truly, going to college seemed boring and wasteful. When Andy told me she’d gone to Dupont, I’d laughed. She didn’t seem the nerdy type.
You don't know her anymore.
It'd been almost two years since I’d seen her last. She must’ve changed. Don’t we all after crossing lines? We used to have fun, and her friends were my kind of people. Laid-back, reckless, interesting.
Back then, I’d easily passed for eighteen. Now, at eighteen, with my height, and menacing scowl, I probably appeared twenty-one.
Plus, my fake ID never failed me.
“Do you know what you want to major in?” She sipped her coffee, interest in her gaze. Mom wanted me to have a career far from fame. The only thing mildly appealing had been tattooing. Dane from Crossed Over, a shop in town, let me practice whenever they were empty.
“Honestly...” I trailed off, shrugging, unsure of what to say but wanting to appease her. Music fueled my passion but it also drove my antipathy. Resentment filled my veins whenever I belted out my own lyrics, let alone those of Dad and his best friend’s. “I’m thinking I’ll go into producing.”
“Music?” she questioned. Instead of a proud expression, her face paled. As soon as it marred her face, she put on her show smile. “Wonderful news.”
I felt how much she didn’t want stardom for me. It teased my skin with an ick film, staining me with the disappointment she felt.
After all, Dad married his career, and she followed him for love. She never wanted that. Who would want to sacrifice everything—privacy and peace included—just for notoriety?
“It’s up in the air, don’t stress.”
With that, her shoulders settled, briefly falling before she went back to her newspaper. “Since you don’t have school today, I figured you could stop by your dad’s studio and congratulate him on another two million records sold.”
I nodded absently, wondering why hearing it from her seemed like a secondhand breakup and not an in-person one.
“Can I take the Viper?” She narrowed her eyes before shrugging. Mom hardly let me take her baby. She must’ve felt horrible for once again leaving me high and dry with another family member.
Chapter Two
Let Me Be Sad – I Prevail
Madden
“Do you love me, or do you just love fucking me!” Dad belted out. His rage through his vocals always brought fans to their knees, wanting to praise him, do anything for a taste.
Dox Reaver was a rock god, a man everyone wanted and no one could have, not even my mom.
My parents experienced many moments where others tested their loyalty to one another. The infidelity aside, they somehow always came back together, stitching the fucked-up-ness they called love.
“I hate that I fucked you,” he rasped, the grit to his tone settling in my bones. “I hate that I needed you, I hate that I had you, I hate that our love was unstable!” His voice carried as he screamed into the mic, banging his head with the background beat, in tune with the sound he created.
My dad was a legend, spending his entire life lusting for notoriety, sacrificing every goddamn moment meant for me. We only had one life, and he chose to spend it with the world instead of me.
Couldn’t blame him; attention seduced the best of us.
Suddenly, Roxanne—Dad’s producer—stopped his set. His eyes flew to mine, and a lazy smile took over.
Yeah, he was shitty in the parent department, but Dad loved me to the end of the earth. He waved, and I offered a salute, not knowing what to say.
He was leaving. Again.
He was turning his back. Again.
He was picking fame and fortune over me. Again.
It fucking hurt. The bitterness I’d felt for years always crept up when his touring came again. It didn’t help that even when he didn’t tour, he practiced and wrote songs, producing constantly. We were like friends, but all I ever wanted was for him to be my dad.
The light turned off in the studio, and he came through the door in a rush. “Toland, my boy!” he hollered far too loud. I cringed. As if only just realizing he took out his earplugs. “My bad.”
“Congrats on your sales,” I commended, not feeling it at all. His eyes, bloodshot and strained, didn’t falter, almost as if nothing went on in there.
“Thank you,” he mused, coming in for a hug. Smelling of sweat, booze, and cologne, I still felt connected to him, experienced the odd sense of love he offered. His arms wrapped tightly around me before he kissed the crown of my head. “I’m going to miss you, kiddo.”