Epilogue
MASON
She played the cello like she was making love to it.
Her fingers moved with a loving, knowing touch.
Each sweep of the bow, the curl of her arm, her face reflecting every emotion the music itself unashamedly ripped from a person.
Love. Flirty tenderness. Desperation. Desolation.
It was all there, living beneath the surface, brought to life by Sutton in a crowd that grew with each appearance onstage.
Dad started her out small, knowing she needed to approach this career choice with kid gloves.
Baby steps, he’d promised her, even as she was signing her name at the bottom of the contract with ASM.
Their first day in the studio was nothing heavy.
The songs that made her laugh, that brought her joy.
Then he’d dived deeper, slowly peeling back the layers, gentle but firm.
She recorded “Kashmir” and, of course, “Stairway to Heaven,” because that was what her fans expected.
Then she demanded something more traditional, classic with a hint of rock.
What she should have played at that damned competition but Maya had stolen from her.
By Christmas of that year, Sutton had over a million followers on all of her social media channels, with a two-person team from ASM that handled all the posting for her.
That was when Piper started getting more insistent.
After Cannon videoed the two of them performing “Carol of the Bells” at Emmie’s Christmas Eve party, and the video crashed Piper’s pages from the number of views at once, Sutton finally gave in and agreed to record one song.
Only one. That was what she said…until the one song became three and ended with Sutton signing a contract to do an entire album with Piper.
An album turned into guest appearances during Piper’s summer tour. The crowd loved Sutton so much, which wasn’t surprising. All it took was one song, and they couldn’t stop screaming my girl’s name.
Now she was booked for appearances on late-night shows, popping up at concerts with Piper and Autumn’s Slumber, while Dad slowly seeded the idea of her doing a few songs with Demon’s Wings.
She wasn’t there yet—definitely soon, though.
That step was too big for her. My girl still didn’t fully understand that she was a fucking star.
Dad was still being gentle with her. Letting her set the pace for her career.
But I refused to take anything slow, not with her, not between us.
I’d had my ring on her finger before that first summer was over.
A small wedding on the beach. No one knew beforehand, to keep the press coverage down—and to let Mom do an exclusive for her magazine.
A picture of Sutton, breathtakingly stunning in her wedding dress with the sun setting in the background, was the cover that month.
Now, she sat with her cello between her legs, arm raised, the compass tattoo on her wrist surrounded by a bouquet of roses peeping from beneath the cuff of her long-sleeved dress.
Lyric had designed it for her, then flew down with Mila and the kids to ink it on her.
Afterward, he’d added the anchor to my chest with our wedding date in Roman numerals beneath it.
“What are we waiting on?” Rosie whisper-yelled, sitting as still as a four-year-old could sit.
“It’s all about timing, Rose-bud,” Dad told her, sitting on the other side of her at the round table. “Mommy has to wait for the right moment.”
“Well, can it be the right moment now? This is taking forever,” she huffed. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled, “Play the twinkle song, Mommy!”
From the number of people who laughed, I knew Sutton heard our daughter. Her lips twitched in a ghost of a smile, but she remained perfectly still, waiting for the “right moment,” like Dad said.
“Are we making requests?” Bliss asked from the table directly beside ours. “Play ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’!”
“Why does everyone want her to play anything but a Demon’s Wings song?” Dad grumbled, then lifted his voice. “Play ‘Ashes’! Just once and I’ll shut up about it. I promise.”
“Until the next time,” Mom predicted with a laugh. “Rosie, come sit on Grandma’s lap. You can see better from here.”
Finally, the spotlight zeroed in on Sutton, and she lifted her bow.
When she began to play “Ashes,” Dad pumped his fist in the air.
He’d thought she was going to play the song that had won her more than one award.
Nik stepped out of the shadows, along with Uncle Drake and his guitar.
Tonight, we were celebrating Dad and Aunt Emmie.
And to start it off, Sutton was playing my dad’s favorite Demon’s Wings song, the song that had won them their first Grammy.
This was just the opening act, though. Later, other artists would play the songs that had won them their own Grammys, the music Dad had produced for them.
If anyone deserved this night, it was my father and Emmie.
And my girl—my wife—was up there showing the world how badass she was, while honoring my father.