“Dad,” I said, only half-remembering to raise my microphone. The single syllable triggered another wave of applause and wild screaming. I was going to gut Teddy with a spoon.
If I turned around and stalked off this stage right now, the girls would back me. I was pretty sure the guys would, too. For one seemingly endless and painful moment, I wondered if they’d known he was coming.
If they’d…
No.
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take a long breath.
No, they hadn’t known.
Their anger and regret had been tangible. It was real.
I couldn’t leave.
Whatever we ended up doing out here would set the tone for the rest of the night. Tonight wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about Dad. It wasn’t even about all those people out there in the audience or watching on screens…
Tonight was about Pen.
My throat locked up, even though I kept putting one foot in front of the other, moving across the stage. Fueled by the practice of performing on so many stages over the years. The only difference right now?
I was flying solo.
Dad definitely didn’t count.
But if I faltered, my girls would be here. Aubrey and Yvette weren’t more than a few dozen steps behind me.
“I hope you have a plan,” I said, not quite trusting my voice not to wobble. But it came out a little husky. “Cause I didn’t even know you were going to be here.”
“Yeah,” Dad said, his smile almost sheepish. Enough that I might have bought it, if he hadn’t glanced at the audience. “The producers wanted to go for a real moment.”
I snorted.
A real moment.
The crowd had quieted some as if they hadn’t expected us to talk.
Well, they weren’t alone in that. “This is Hollywood,” I reminded us both as I came to a stop just a few feet away from him. We had to put on a show. “Nothing here is real.”
His gaze locked on mine and I lifted my chin. There were cameras. They were all over the place … including one guy who was all but crouched at our feet. Every nuance of this interaction was going to be available fucking everywhere.
But I could play my damn part.
“Maybe so, Sweet Kaity,” Dad said, the slow roll of his voice looping around me like a hug he wanted to offer. “Never was a big fan of Hollywood. Although you’re still my girl, right?”
The urge to snort in his face was right there. His girl.
That wouldn’t help Pen.
So, I summoned a smile and then chuckled. If not for the flashing lights, the hum of the masses, and the cameraman four feet away from us, I could almost pretend we were alone.
Right, I couldn’t even sell that line to myself. “Might have to work on that,” I finally said by way of an answer. “I kind of grew up.”
Tapping a hand against his guitar lightly, Dad nodded. “You’ll always be my sweet Kaity, though.”
This time I snorted and the audience lapped it up. “Sorry, Dad. You might have to settle for sassy rather than sweet.”
Their laughter rolled up and onto the stage as if to egg me on. Except it was Dad I kept my focus on. If I did that, controlled my breathing, and remembered where I was—I wouldn’t hyperventilate or throw up.
Mom used to tell me the easiest way to overcome stage fright was to remember that on stage, you were someone else.
That advice trickled through me and I lifted my chin again. “Speaking of being sassy … ” I deliberately paused to let the word sink in. “What are we singing? Since we’ve never done this before.”
I braced myself for whatever he picked. I assumed they’d picked something for this performance. I might not gut Teddy. Maybe I’d just kick him square in the balls.
“Thought we’d do something we both know pretty well… ” Dad gave me a side-long look, even as the ease in his eyes had gone guarded and his smile had definitely faded. Perhaps me keeping my distance finally got it through his head how unhappy I was with him.
He ignored me for years, and to show up tonight of all nights?
Right.
“Well, won’t know until we try,” I suggested, glancing at the cameraman who was about to look right up my skirt. He shot me a grin and backed off.
Asshole.
Dad tilted his head down as he adjusted his hands on the guitar. First chord.
Second.
The music washed over me as he began to play. The shouts and cries from the audience faded away, and the only sound was the guitar as he pulled the music from it.
And he wasn’t wrong…
I recognized the song.
He made it through the first stanza with neither of us singing a word before he lifted his gaze and met mine. Eyebrows raised, he asked me if I knew it.
I nodded once.
How could I forget it…
It was one of his earliest hits. A song he’d written for Mom.
Well, that was the rumor anyway.
He flashed me a grin, then started over at the top and I began to tap my foot. There was no percussion, but this song had a definite beat.
By the time he made it to the second note of the intro, I lifted the microphone and packed it all away. This would be as sotto voce and unplugged as it got—save for him playing on the guitar.
“Oh my god, my dear…” Singing the words was like ripping off a bandage. It stung and it felt good in the same breath. “Oh my god, my dear,” I continued. “Don’t waste time, don’t waste thought, because you are the reason I have no fear…”
Tears clouded my eyes and threatened my voice, but I pushed it all away. Out here, I was Kaitlin Crosse, part of Torched. I was a sister. A friend. And a lover. I was me.
The audience clapped, measuring the beats for us, and it wasn’t until I headed for the first chorus that Dad jumped in. “Oh my god, my dear,” he rasped into the song and his deeper baritone lifted my alto, and I caught him staring at me.
It was a challenge.
So, I kicked it up a notch.
“Don’t waste time, don’t waste thought, because when you’re here, I have nothing to fear … ”
The song started out with the idea of love, to the commitment, to the part where love was as much a battle as it was a balm. I followed his lead as he played. When we hit the finish, the crowd roared.
His grin should have been contagious, yet he didn’t wait for the accolades as he transitioned into another song. One he’d recorded when I was eight. It was one of the first of his I learned how to play on the guitar. It reminded me of sitting in his lap with his guitar braced in front of us as he put my hands in the right places.
It was a song about love, and not wasting it on the wrong people.
What a dick.
But I matched him measure for measure. Even when he switched it up to play an old cover his band used to perform, it was a wildly up-tempo song. Not his usual style these days, but it’s much more like the type of rock I enjoyed performing. It didn’t hurt that the female vocals were right in my range.
Pride seemed to shine in his eyes as we faced each other toward the last stanza. His voice and mine matched. There were definitely some wobbly moments, but the live on-stage atmosphere seemed to overwrite that.
That pride was like a knife in my gut.
Why the fuck was he here? Had he actually come for Pen? Or was this something else? Why hadn’t he answered my calls? Why … ?