Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
D eclan
I drift through the rest of the day in a fog. Picking up Alex is a breeze. He can not stop talking about the Vendetta. They’ve given him a T-shirt and a signed LP, so Alex attempts to convince me to order a record player on the internet. I mollify him by saying I’ll talk to Moe at the hardware store and see if he can order one instead. We’re a tight knit community that thrives on shopping small.
Otherwise, it’s work, selling wine, chatting to my students’ parents, and trying not to think of Daughtry.
Which is impossible because I have her panties, smelling of her arousal and filled with my come, wrapped in a handkerchief in my pocket. It’s naughty and sexy and I fucking love it.
I love her. It’s always been there, just below the surface, but the explosion of attraction between us tipped me over. I’m two heartbeats and one more sexual encounter away from taking Alex with me and we’ll become roadies. Fuck school and convention.
I only want her.
My mom arrives at four o’clock, releasing me and Alex so we can go watch Daughtry’s performance before the Vendetta goes on as the marquee act.
“Dad,” Alex says as we wait in line for his dinner of bratwurst and fries. Festival food is a special event.
“What’s up?” I peruse the menu. Nothing for me with onions or garlic. I have plans for after Alex goes to bed tonight.
“Do you like Daughtry?”
Like a skipping record, my attention snags and then snaps to my kid. “Sure. She’s pretty cool.” Well done. That sounds almost nonchalant. “I really like that she introduced you to your idols.”
Alex shrugs and we move forward another step in line. “People say you shouldn’t meet your idols, but the Vendetta lives up to their reputation. But don’t avoid my question. I mean, do you like like Daughtry.”
This is a minefield I’ve never explored with him. Josie keeps her dating life private from him as well. Neither of us wants to introduce him to someone unless it’s a sure thing. He’s been through enough in his nine years. Besides, look at Daughtry. Her mom was married no less than seven times, the shortest lasting barely two weeks.
It’s not like I’m going to whisk Daughtry off to Vegas for a surprise elopement, though, honestly that doesn’t sound all that bad.
In the span of the last two days, I feel just as strongly about her as I did twelve years ago. More, even, as I get to know her better. Maybe it’s always been there, just under the surface, and I buried it under obligations and work. I know she’s important to me, but who am I to her? An easy fuck? A checkmark on her experience list?
A kernel of doubt settles between my shoulders, but I shrug it off. “What would you think if I said yes?” I ask Alex, choosing my words with careful precision.
He tilts his head to the side, but he could just have been reading the chalkboard menu. Who knows why, since he’s been ordering his bratwurst the same way since he turned five. “I think it would be cool. Daughtry’s awesome, and you look happy. Not stressed. I think she mellows you out. You deserve not to look stressed.”
Oh. The couple in front of us finishes ordering but I don’t step up to the window. “I don’t even know what it would look like, me and her. She lives in LA, and she’s a singer. She travels all the time.” An old anxiety knots behind my sternum. “What do I even offer someone like her?”
Pushing me aside, Alex places his order then holds out a hand for my credit card, which I give him with numb fingers. “You and Mom are always telling me that there are lots of different types of people and different types of families, and all of them are good and valid as long as there’s love. I know you and Mom don’t love each other any more in that way, but you still love each other like friends, so that makes us work. Why not make it work with Daughtry?”
This is all far too on the nose for a discussion with my nine-year-old. “Eat your bratwurst. We can’t be late.”
On stage, Daughtry is stunning. She looks like Madonna and works the crowd like her, too.
I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure I’m the only one who knows she’s commando under that dress, and it twists my insides into a pleasant Tesla coil of energy.
“She’s amazing!” Alex says, dancing his heart out to her rousing anthem, “Call Me Lady.”
She is. Like there’s an electric current between us, she keeps finding me in the crowd, her eyes sparkling in the stage lights. Shimmying and dancing and playing her guitar like it’s the only thing she ever wants to do. Watching her perform, it’s clear that this is what she is meant to do. Daughtry has big things in her future.
“There you guys are.” Ciaran claps me on the back and wrestles Alex into a hug. “I’ve been stuck at the grill all day.” He smells like it too, ash and seared meat. He glances up at the stage, and a proprietary and very animal part of me roars inwardly. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she is.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling my expression turn to stone. Why does Ciaran have to ruin this? No, he can’t. Daughtry’s with me. Twice. With luck on my side, a third time later tonight. She isn’t into Ciaran any more. Was she ever? She almost admitted it before, that maybe she hadn’t loved my brother.
None of this helps. Ciaran stares at the stage like he knows Daughtry is pantiless, too.
Why didn’t I talk to her about any of this? Maybe because she only just came back to my life yesterday. It’s too soon to be thinking about forever.
But dammit, that’s how it all feels. Like we’re on the precipice of a future that is so much greater than our pasts.
I picture it all so clearly. Daughtry writing songs in our living room, teaching Alex to play the guitar or helping him paint his nails. My mom and Daughtry going out for girls' nights. Alex and I globe-trotting with her on school holidays. Friday night fish fries down at the lake, sitting next to Daughtry while Alex plays with his friends.
It’s a white picket fence kind of future, I know that. Is that what Daughtry wants?
She’s a star on the rise. She doesn’t need me holding her back.
The stage lights dim and she plays a guitar riff that has everyone in the crowd cheering. The air fills with the scent of popcorn and fry oil and hops. “Good evening, St. Olaf!” she says into the microphone, and the crowd erupts with applause. “Thank you all so much for having me back here. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. This was the only place that ever felt like home growing up.” Her gaze softens, and she plays a lingering chord that hangs in the mist of evening humidity. “This song is about a boy, of course. Love lost, and love found.” Her gaze flicks to me as she leans toward the mic and croons into it.
“Grape Crush” is a story, soft and slow during the verses, then upbeat anthem during the chorus. The verses she sings are about longing, staring across a crowded room, but you only see one face. The chorus insists that you just need to cross the line to have the one you want.
The knot in my chest loosens.
Yes. This is it. Isn’t she as good as saying she chooses me? Only years of stoicism prevent me from storming the stage, wrapping her in my arms, and showing the entire Rock and Wine Festival exactly who this song is about.
Alex pumps his fist in the air. “Dad, this song is amazing!”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral while inwardly, I’m dancing right along with him. It’s amazing. She’s amazing. I can put my doubts aside.
Ciaran nudges me in the side. “You know, she wrote this song when we were together.”
I spin on him so quickly Ciaran takes a step back. “What are you talking about?” Maybe it’s more of an accusation. I can’t really say.
“This song. I remember her writing it in her old notebook. She used to carry that thing everywhere. It had a rainbow on the cover, and I bought her a unicorn sticker for it.” Ciaran shrugs. “She always told me the odds of making it in the music industry were the same as seeing a unicorn in the wild.”
I’m hyperventilating. This can’t be good. I remember that notebook, too. It was on the table the night I made her pancakes. Is it true? Are all of her songs about Ciaran?
Of course it’s possible. Not just possible, but probable. If one looks at the scientific definition of accuracy vs precision, it’s both precise and accurate to assume the songs are about Ciaran.
Fuck my life.
He shrugs. “I went to see her last night, after I got home. She looked so fucking cute in her pajamas. I think we might get back together.”
He saw her last night? After she and I had sex? Why wouldn’t she have told me today?
I know the answer, as much as I don’t want to admit it.
I’m nothing to her. A fling. A two-time experience that might get lauded as a brief mention on her next album, but more than likely will fade to obscurity in the back of her mind. I’ll always be second to my little brother, and a distant hum to her.
The music onstage turns into a torrent of tuneless sound.
“I have to go,” I say.
Alex glances at me like I’ve completely lost my mind, and he’s right. I have. “You can stay, Alex. If Ciaran can bring you home.”
Alex looks between me and my brother, who merely shrugs like it’s an everyday occurrence that I have a major life crisis. “No, it’s okay. I’m tired. I’ll go home with you, Dad.”
Without looking at the stage one more time—I’m not strong enough for that—I loop my arm around Alex’s shoulders and we head for the parking lot.