“I hope you take my advice and talk to your father.” He gave me a firm look. “He needs you, and you need him.”
“I will. I’ll talk to him.”
Storm’s shoulders relaxed a bit as he sighed. “I believe you. You have a good heart. You’re a great daughter, a good sister to Cork. And very talented. I expect that you’ll do great things with your poetry someday. I’m sorry I’ll miss all that. I’ll miss you.”
His expression soft, Storm stepped closer. I held my breath as he framed my face and swept his thumbs over my cheeks. Warmth blazed in my skin where he touched me, but chill bumps bloomed everywhere else.
“Good-bye,” he whispered, then dropped his hands.
Colder than before, I stared at him. More tears fell as I watched him walk away, one long stride after another, each increment of separation between us prying away another piece of my soul.
I continued to stare until nothing remained but me and the empty space in my soul his absence left behind.
PART II: THE PRESENT
Lotus
Nine years later
“EXCUSE ME,” I said to the large guy standing in front of me.
“Excuse what?” Turning around, he gave me the once-over.
“I need to get to my bestie.” I gestured to her with my chin since I was carrying plastic cups filled with draft beer in both hands. “The girl up there by the stage wearing the Dirt Dogs T-shirt.”
“Oh, her.” He winced. “She’s pretty like you, but obnoxious. Guarding her territory up there like a hungry dog with a juicy steak.”
My lips twitched. His analogy was spot-on. Sophia was fierce once she located and claimed the best viewing spot for a concert.
“Enjoy the show.” Shifting sideways, he sucked in his gut, giving me about three inches to shimmy between him and the guy beside him.
“Rock on,” I said to smooth the feathers my bestie had apparently ruffled.
I was a people pleaser, wanting everyone to like me. I knew this about myself, knew the origin for it came from being abandoned, rejected by my mother when I was young. My loud, opinionated, and beautiful best friend, Sophia Benito, had difficult stuff in her past too, but she tended to overreact at a high decibel level to situations, whereas I usually chose to suffer in silence.
When I reached Sophia, I scooted into the spot she’d saved for me and handed her a beer.
“What took you so long?” Her hazel eyes scanned me with suspicion. “Anyone’s ass I need to kick for hitting on you?”
“No one hit on me.” I frowned. “I can handle myself.”
“Yes, you can when you’re bartending at the Deck Bar. Behind your counter slinging drinks, you rule, but without that barrier between you and assholes, especially one asshole in particular who forgot your birthday today, you’re far too nice.”
“I wasn’t even gone ten minutes,” I muttered, not bothering to argue about the being-too-nice part, or about the asshole who forgot my birthday. She was right, but the last part hurt too much to think about.
“Felt like longer.” Sophia slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me into her side.
Accustomed to her spontaneous displays of affection—and loving her for them—I was prepared and didn’t spill a drop of my beer. Part of that experience came from bartending, the other from going to concerts. Sophia and I had been in lots of standing-room-only pits in front of plenty of stages. The objectives were a lot like bartending—find and hold your position, and never spill alcohol on someone else.
“How’s your beer?” I asked as she took a sip.
“It’s good.” She licked her lips.
“It’s a local IPA.”
“Nice. Very hoppy.” She took another sip, her gaze drifting over me. “You were gone so long, I was afraid you’d sneaked off to call Saber and made up with him. Again.” She made a face.
“Not doing that anymore. It’s over this time for real.” Knowing her opinion regarding my on-again-off-again boyfriend, I repeated it. “I can’t keep letting Saber put me off and string me along every time something comes up with the band.”
Her black brows inched together. “He always has some lame excuse.”
“This time it seemed legit.” An ultimatum from Ash. Rephrasing Saber’s words, I attempted to mimic his lead-singer voice. “Sorry, baby, I can’t come with you to LA. Boss-man made your birthday the deadline to turn in our single.” My stomach tensed as I remembered how him giving me that excuse had made me feel. “Ash is pressuring him about band personnel too. He told Saber the group chemistry is wrong.”
“Everyone has work stress. Saber should have put you first. Sucks deluxe that he didn’t.” She frowned. “Makes me mad the way he dumps all his stress on you, but shuts you down whenever you bring up yours.”
“I have a lot more stress than him.” I bit down on my lip. “I don’t want to overwhelm him.”
“You’re making my point.” She shook her head, and her shoulder-length straight black hair swished over her slender shoulders. “He should have helped you more. Couples work out problems together, Lotus.”
My parents hadn’t. They’d lived separate lives in the same household, and then my mother had taken off. I knew I had to handle things differently, break the cycle. With Saber, I’d tried, but apparently I didn’t know how.
“If it wasn’t the band,” I said, “then it was always something else that put me in second place.”
I lifted my chin, holding my ground like Sophia and I were doing front-row center at the stage. Maybe I hadn’t broken the cycle with Saber, but I could learn from my mistake and do better going forward.
Conceding her point, I added, “It’s not a good relationship, a healthy one worth keeping, if a guy doesn’t put me first.”
Sophia nodded. “Now you’re talking truth, sister.”
She held up her free hand for a fist bump, which I readily gave her. But instead of an explosion after, we both lifted two fingers in the peace sign.
“Peace out,” I said.
“Peace received,” she said, giving me her usual response.
I gestured at the stage with my plastic cup. “Roadies set up fast while I was at the bar.”
“No road crew. The band did their own setting up.”
“Ah, I should have guessed.”
The opening band was usually local, undiscovered, and on a budget too tight to afford roadies. OB Hardy, Saber’s band, had done their own setting up until they signed a deal with Ashland Keys’s record label, Outside.
“The lead singer is hot.” Sophia fanned her face.
“How’d you know which one was the lead singer?” I raised a brow. “Did he wear a name tag,” I teased, my mood already lightening because of her.
“Might as well have,” she said with a grin. “He put his guitar in a stand next to the center mic. And I said to him, ‘Hey, you’re hot. Are you the lead singer?’”
“How did he respond?” I asked, shaking my head at her play-by-play that I suspected she exaggerated to get my mind off my breakup with Saber.