Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
D eclan
I’m going to have to rename the Dumpster Fire Red Blend next year. Though most everyone in town knows the story of me and Josie, all the tourists who are here for the festival keep demanding the innermost stories of my former marriage. It’s all way too much.
As the pair of Gen Zers, who spent the entire tasting comparing selfies, leave the tasting table, Alex shows up, face smeared with vanilla cream.
“Another cream puff?” I sigh. “I gave you money for food. Actual food, with nutrients and vitamins and things that won’t get me sent to parent jail.”
“No one believes in parent jail any more.” He taps the face of his Minecraft watch. “It’s noon. Come on.”
“Is it noon already?” I think it’s a decent approximation of surprise. I’ve cut back to checking the time every eight minutes instead of every two. “Wow, look at that. ”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Dad. Let’s go. I don’t want to miss this.”
I think I have time to check my appearance in a mirror or with a selfie, but one glance at Alex tells me I don’t. His expression is all pre-teen exasperation. “Right. I’m on it.” It doesn’t matter what I look like anyway. Daughtry has a one time only policy, after all.
I hide all the bottles beneath the table and set a little placard out saying that I’ll be back in ten minutes.
“Let’s go.” We wind our way through the festival, which is thronged with people. Visitors shop, eat, or listen to the music from the big concert stage set up by the lake. Currently, there’s a folk trio singing. They’re pretty good, if a person doesn’t mind their music with a hefty dose of twang.
“She said to meet her by the backstage entrance.” Alex folds his hands together repeatedly. I haven’t seen him so nervous since his first day of kindergarten when Josie and I dropped him off at school. I loop an arm around his shoulders and squeeze.
“It’s okay. She’ll be there.” Hopefully.
The backstage entrance is little more than a rope fence off the side of the stage, guarded by a burly, overly tanned white man wearing an unironic crew cut and a black tee shirt with Security stamped on it.
“Hi.” I lift my hand. “This is Alex Foster. We’re here to see Daughtry Sutcliffe. She’s expecting us.”
The security officer harrumphs at the interruption. In his defense, we are distracting him from his Sudoku. He turns around to the performers and their entourages milling around the fenced area. “Daughtry?”
Her bright pink head pops up and she waves at us. Beside me, Alex’s entire body grins.
Who am I kidding? Mine does, too.
“They’re with me, Todd!” Daughtry calls .
Todd opens the rope gate and shoos us inside without another word.
“This is so cool,” Alex whispers under his breath. “No one’s going to believe this when school starts.”
“Agreed.” I’ve never been backstage at anything. The last concert I went to had been Summerfest in Milwaukee with Josie when Alex was four. It was nothing like this. People in summer weight suits stand around on their phones, artists sit with their instruments, and grips set up heavy pieces of equipment. Everyone chats and laughs or sings quietly to themselves.
Daughtry, in her gloves and dress and pink hair, fits in perfectly. Me, not so much.
It should not have irritated me as much as it does.
“Hi!” Daughtry glances up at me, her eyes sparkling, before wrapping Alex in a hug. “I’m so glad you guys came.”
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Alex says before I can even open my mouth. “You are the coolest.”
“Thanks.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, hitting me with a waft of her shampoo smell. That scent lingered on my hands last night after I—
“Hi, Daughtry.” My voice cracks like I’m a thirteen-year-old again.
“Hey, Declan.” Her mouth widens into a sinuous curve that unwinds all aspects of my composure. “Come this way.” With her arm around Alex’s shoulders, she guides us through the crowd to a quartet of shipping crates where four musicians sit. I recognize Ellery Vaughn from America Sings! Her guitar rests against her leg like she doesn’t feel whole without it.
I get that. It’s how I feel, with Daughtry here.
Ellery raises a hand. “Hi. You must be Alex and Declan. Nice to meet you. I’m Ellery. ”
Daughtry points around the circle. “This is Dante, Selene, and Lorraine. They’re the Vendetta.”
Alex vibrates with excitement beside me. “I am so excited to meet you guys. I’m a massive fan.”
“Pull up a crate, friend.” Dante gestures to the crate beside him and Alex perches on it. If he weren’t nine, I’d check to ensure he’s not having a heart attack. He looks stunned and mesmerized and nervous, all at once.
“You guys are my favorite band,” Alex says, sitting on his hands. “I have so many questions for you.”
“Fire away,” Dante replies.
I’ve never seen my kid so excited. I owe this band the world’s largest fruit and wine basket.
Daughtry takes a step backward until she’s in line with me. “Looks like they'll be busy for a while,” she says softly, like she wants only me to hear. That may also have been wishful thinking, but I’ll take it. “I’m starving. Buy me lunch?”
My brain short-circuits, sending all sorts of mixed messages to my body, meaning I gyrate a little on the spot. There’s a reason people do not consider me the dancer in the family.
“Lunch?”
“Yeah.” She points to the food tents. “I haven’t eaten all morning. Trust me, these are very good people and Alex is in excellent hands. You can leave him for a little bit.”
Hmm. On one hand, I’m supposed to be working the winery tent. Plus, what about Alex? I can’t leave him alone with people I’ve never met—music people, too. Not that music people are like carnies, though that might be an insult to carnies. Is it carnies now or carnival folk? I don’t want to offend any one of them. Though come to think of it—
I’m getting off topic. Proximity to Daughtry scrambles my brain like an electromagnetic pulse .
“Alex,” I call. He turns toward me, masking his annoyance. Good. It reminds me of my place in the world. I’m a parent. I’m an adult. I can control my life. “Daughtry and I are going to get something to eat. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a goodbye somewhere in my general vicinity then turns back to whatever Dante’s saying.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him,” Ellery says. “He’ll be here in one piece when you get back from lunch.”
Since Alex seems completely absorbed in meeting his idols, I absolve myself of my parental guilt and take Daughtry’s arm. Her touch is electric against my skin.
“Let’s get some lunch.”
She doesn’t have any preference, so we wander the food tents until her nose informs her stomach what we will be eating.
“How did your interview go?” I ask, perusing the smoothie stand menu.
“Eh. It went okay. She kept asking me about my mom.” Daughtry frowns and moves toward the pizza stand. If we walk much further, we will eventually hit the fire department grill, and I have zero interest in even the remotest possibility of running into Ciaran. I steer us past Laura Marshall’s Sweet and Salty table, and pick up a cellophane bag of snickerdoodles for Alex.
“Why don’t you want to talk about your mom?” I have several assumptions, but any little glimmer of her life that she’s willing to offer, I want to hear.
She bites her lip and waits in line for shaken lemonade. “It’s complicated. My mom was always on the move, always bad at relationships, always seeking the next best thing. I worry sometimes that I’m just like her.”
She places her order for a strawberry lemonade, but I intercept her reach for her credit card, and pay. “I don’t think you’re like her. I didn’t know her well, but you’re caring and compassionate and fun. Look how great you are with Alex. Nothing you’ve said about your mom implies she has any of those qualities.”
Picking up her strawberry lemonade, she glances at me thoughtfully. “You don’t know me that well, either.”
I stick my hands in my pockets. “This is true. It’s been twelve years. A person can change a lot.”
She points her drink at my chest. “Or not. You seem exactly the same, only secretly buff. I’ll bet you still drop all those fancy science terms of yours, and the ladies fall all over themselves.”
“I have no idea how to respond to that.” I watch as her lips close around her straw, my mouth going arid. “Thank you for thinking I’m secretly buff.”
She elbows me playfully. “You’re the one walking around your house shirtless.”
“I spilled—never mind.” There is no winning in this game.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You looked hot.”
“I looked hot? Meaning I do not currently look hot?” I ask. Bantering with Daughtry is almost as fun as having sex with her.
“Now you’re fishing for compliments, which is never sexy.”
I snort. “Very few people have ever called me sexy.”
“That’s because you don’t pay attention.” At my incredulous expression, Daughtry shrugs. We’re moving further away from the food tents, but I don’t particularly care. I want only to spend more time with her. “All those tutoring sessions? I kept trying to get your attention but you never looked up from your books.”
My brain frizzes again like an old rabbit-eared television set. “Wait, what? ”
“I liked you back then. But I thought you hated me.”
“Hated you?” I pause, and she stops across from me. “No. Absolutely not. I never hated you.”
“I thought you did. After those first few times, it seemed like you were never around. Even for holidays, you only spent time with me when absolutely necessary.”
Something in her expression cuts me straight to my core. I’ve hurt her. I haven’t meant to, but intentions are worth about as much as three-day-old dog poo. “Daughtry, I never hated you. I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way.” She wavers, playing with the straw in her drink. It’s time to come clean. “Honestly, I avoided you because I liked you. So much. It was difficult to think when I was around you. But you were with Ciaran.” Saying my brother’s name at that moment tastes like drinking straight banana ester.
Which, by the way, is revolting.
Daughtry tosses her lemonade into a nearby trash can, and lines her body up with mine. The nearness of her cancels out everything else. “I’m not with Ciaran now,” she says, her voice like sandpaper on silk.
Alarm bells clang at full alert in my brain, but my hands flex and suddenly they’re on her hips, my fingers rustling the fabric of her dress. “I thought you had a one-time policy.”
“Rules are made to be broken.” Winding her arms around my neck, she presses her chest into mine. So much for keeping it together. Her soft breasts press into my chest, and my cock hardens in anticipation.
This is every single dream I’ve ever had, barring my recurring nightmare about being attacked by the periodic table.
Privacy. We need privacy.
My brain tells me to pause, to think about my responsibilities. I left my son with a rock band. I’m supposed to be working .
But Daughtry overwhelms my rational brain.
I’m going to be spontaneous for once.
I step away from her and take her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” She giggles and stumbles. That won’t do. We don’t have time for her to injure herself. I scoop her up into my arms, the fabric of her dress rustling sensuously against my skin, and I carry her toward the parking lot.
“I can’t do this in plain sight of my first grade teacher or my mom’s friends,” I say through gritted teeth.
She leans toward me and nips at my earlobe. “What is it that you want to do?”