Living on the Edge (Crimson Edge #1)

Prologue

Ryleigh

One Year Ago

The blood pressure apparatus makes a whooshing sound as it takes my father’s readings.

87/59.

It’s low.

That means it’s almost time.

I know he’s going to die, but I’ve been holding out hope.

For what, I’m not sure.

The cancer came out of nowhere and spread quickly. One minute we met for dinner in L.A. to go to a few concerts, and a week later he was getting a biopsy.

It’s been three months, and now they’re making him comfortable.

Nothing we can do.

I’m so sorry.

This type of cancer can move quickly.

If only he’d come in sooner…

The platitudes make me want to hit something.

It’s not that I’m heartbroken because we’re so close—it’s because we’re not.

My parents divorced when I was a baby.

Dad would breeze in and out of town a few times a year with gifts and concert tickets and whatnot, and then he was gone.

He wasn’t a deadbeat, he sent money, but he was a lot stingier with his time.

My mother died when I was sixteen, and he had no choice but to move to Minneapolis to be with me until I graduated from high school. The minute he sent me off to college he was gone again. Hell, he was barely there when he was there. It’s hard to be angry because I always had everything I needed. Clothes, food, a roof over my head, even college tuition. Mom made sure of it.

But I never really had a father.

And now that I’m an adult and able to force the issue of father-daughter bonding, he’s going to die.

God, he pisses me off.

“You’re doing…that thing… with your eyebrows,” Dad whispers, his eyes clear and focused for the first time in days.

“What thing?” I ask, knitting my brows together.

“ That .” He chuckles.

I shake my head. “Frowning? I mean, people frown.”

“Yes, but you do it a lot. It’s going to give you those big frown lines women hate.”

I want to point out how sexist that is, but he’s dying. What’s the point?

“I know, you think I’m sexist.” He smiles as his eyes drift closed. But he’s not falling asleep. “I’m a middle-aged man who spent his entire career in the music business. I’m a little sexist…sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. You just need to focus on getting better.”

His eyes open and this time he’s the one who frowns. “Ryleigh… you know I’m not getting better. Right? You’ve been here when the doctors talk to me. This is it. I have hours, days, maybe a week or two.”

Despite my best efforts, tears puddle in my eyes.

“What the hell?” I demand in a harsh whisper. “First Mom, now you. Do I not deserve a family? It’s bad enough I grew up as an only child with two cousins, an absentee father, and a broken-hearted mom who never got over him.” I know I’m being ridiculous—there’s nothing he can do about the past—but this is the only chance I’ll have to get it off my chest.

“I know.” He reaches out a hand and waits for me to put mine in it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the dad I should have been. And I hate that I hurt your mom. When she got pregnant, I told her I wasn’t husband material, but I’d marry her if that’s what she wanted.”

“She said yes because of her parents,” I reply. My grandparents had been jerks, and they would have cut Mom and me off if she hadn’t married my father.

He nods. “Yeah. And I did it because it was the right thing to do. I wasn’t good at it, but I did the right thing because I loved her. I hope…” He pauses, coughing slightly. “I hope you don’t think I didn’t. I did. I just… I couldn’t be tied down. If she had been happy for me to come and go, I would have stayed with her. If she would have come with me, I would have stayed. But she wanted something more traditional, and I couldn’t give her—either of you—that.”

“She regretted it,” I whisper. I feel a twinge of guilt betraying my mom, but she’s long gone, and he’ll be gone soon too. “She wished she’d stuck it out. She said having a small part of you was better than none at all.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry, Ry. I mean that. I wish… I wish I could go back in time, fix some of this. I should have fought harder for the relationship. I was never going to give up my career, but I should have fought harder for the woman I loved. I never got over her either.”

“But the pull of rock and roll was stronger than your love for her.”

“No. The two things aren’t related. But I am who I am. I would have been miserable working for some local newspaper, covering high school football games and town hall meetings. And that would have impacted our relationship just as negatively as my leaving.”

Dad is a photojournalist, one of the most well-known in the music business, and from the outside looking in, it’s all consuming.

Sadly, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“I know but…” I rub my eyes with my free hand. “Couldn’t you have found a balance?”

“I tried. Your mom gave me an ultimatum.”

“She never told me that.”

He squeezes my hand. “Listen, kiddo, I know I never won any Dad of the Year awards, but you know I love you, yeah?”

Another rush of tears floods my eyes as I nod.

I know.”

“And I’m letting you down again because I won’t be here for any of the milestones… walking you down the aisle, being a grandpa to your kids, even following your career.”

“It’s okay.” I sniffle. What else can I say? It’s not, but he can’t help having cancer.

“There’s a little money, though,” he continues. “Look at me, Ryleigh.”

I meet his gaze, wishing I didn’t have tears streaming down my cheeks.

“The condo is paid for, so you only have to worry about the maintenance, taxes, and utilities.”

I don’t know why but that makes me feel worse.

“There’s some money in my retirement fund, but don’t dig into that until you’re older unless it’s urgent. Short-term, there’s about twelve thousand in my personal savings account, and a few grand in my checking account. Your name is on everything, and I set up a trust, so you won’t have to go through any complicated probate stuff.”

I hadn’t known that, and despite my sadness, I’m grateful he thought ahead this way.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“And yesterday I spoke to Rich Fowler.”

My eyebrows inch up.

Rich Fowler is the managing editor of Rock Harder Magazine . He and Dad go way back, and he started the magazine as an alternative to Rolling Stone , something less political and more music oriented. In my opinion, it’s a little too focused on drama and gossip, but Dad and Rich are good friends and Dad has freelanced for them since their inception.

“He’s willing to give you a small slot as a reviewer.”

I frown. “A reviewer?”

That sounds incredibly basic.

“You know, albums and CDs and stuff. The pay isn’t great, I think it’s a hundred bucks per review, and you’ll probably only do a few a month, but it’s a foot in the door. He said if you work hard and prove yourself, he’ll think about putting you on the roster.”

The roster.

As a full-time contributing writer.

At Rock Harder Magazine .

I got my degree in journalism but in the two years since I graduated, job opportunities have been few and far between. To get by, I started a small social media channel talking about bands I love, concerts I attend, and new music coming out. I’m not doing too bad, and it’s a good if somewhat unreliable source of income. That’s in addition to waiting tables part time, something Dad doesn’t like.

“Promise me you’ll give it a chance, Ry.”

I open my mouth but close it again.

“Dad, I don’t know if?—”

“I know Rolling Stone is the holy grail for music journalists, but I don’t have an in there. I have an in at Rock Harder . This could make your career. Like I said, the condo is paid for, and the expenses are affordable. You can do this. It will take a little sacrifice in the beginning, but it could pay off big.”

“Rich doesn’t like me,” I say with a shrug. “And I don’t particularly like him.”

“He doesn’t understand your generation, the influencer thing, all of that. But he respects me, and I asked for a favor. A dying wish for a friend of thirty years.”

I wince.

I don’t know if I want to work for Rich. He’s an ass.

“He’s a jerk,” I say, making a face. “Divorced four times, doesn’t talk to any of his kids, and?—”

“Let’s not confuse the personal with the professional. He’s a hell of a writer and editor. People like and respect him. They’ve come to like and respect Rock Harder . If you get your name on the roster as one of their contributing writers, it’ll be a huge steppingstone for your career. And it won’t take long for him to see how smart and talented you are if you show some initiative. Give it five years. If at that point you don’t want to work with Rich, or he’s too much of a pain in the ass for it to be fulfilling for you, walk away. Once you have that on your resume, you’ll be able to get a job anywhere. Maybe even Rolling Stone . Just promise me you’ll give this a chance.”

“I usually make enough to support myself as an influencer.” I try another protest, even though it’s a weak one.

“Then why are you waiting tables?” he counters.

“To make sure I have a nice nest egg in case things go wrong or for the months when things are slower.” It’s hard to know how much I’m going to make any given month. I get bonuses based on clicks and videos going viral, but it’s not consistent.

“If you get on the full-time roster at Rock Harder , you won’t need a second job. Between that and how many people you already know, you’re going to do great things, honey. I’ve read a lot of your stuff—it’s good. Frankly, I think you’re brilliant. That’s why I want you to live up to your potential. I never did. I was too busy fucking around in the early days, having fun, going on tour with my friends instead of focusing on the big picture. You should do better.”

This is the most lucid he’s been in days and we’re talking about my career?

“Dad, I don’t want to talk about?—”

“But we have to. Because I won’t be here to guide you, encourage you… do the things parents are supposed to do. What I should have been doing all along.”

“I know you don’t understand the influencer stuff, but I love it. I’m good at it. And I’m making money.”

“I know, but you’ve seen how unstable some of those platforms can be. You need something solid—something that will sustain you long-term. We have no idea what social media is going to look like in five years. And once I’m gone, you won’t have anything or anyone to rely on. You also need benefits, like health insurance. Promise me, Ryleigh. Promise me you’ll give it a shot.”

I swallow hard.

“All right, Dad. I promise.”

“Okay, good.” He squeezes my hand and lets out a long, deep breath, as if he’s been holding it in.

He looks tired again.

“Rest, Dad. Okay?”

He nods and closes his eyes.

And twelve hours later, he’s gone.