Chapter 24
Our house is eerily quiet. My mom is downtown at a dinner with investors, along with David and a few team members. Of course, knowing what I now know, I question whether there’s an investment group at all. Or team members. Or fuck . . . dinner.
I’m not shocked by the affair. I’ve had my suspicions over the years.
In a way, it makes my mom feel more human.
I’ve always resented the way she put her career before everything—and everyone—else.
To know that there was more to the late nights beyond a good performance review?
It doesn’t feel great, but I can understand it.
Desire.
Infatuation.
Hell, maybe she loved David. Or loves him still. Love can make a person stupid.
But David’s married again. And his wife, Lindsey, is young.
And honestly? She’s hot as hell. My mom is a beautiful woman, a classy and mature woman in her mid-forties.
I’ve seen Lindsey prance around the Anderson home in a thong bikini, and I just don’t know that David is deep enough to desire a woman’s mind over a body like that.
I guess I have no real reason to believe he’s not enjoying the best of both worlds, however.
My phone buzzes on my bathroom counter with a message from Rowan letting me know he’s parked outside.
He brought me home early this morning, and I spent most of the day sleeping since I get so little when I stay with him.
I’m a bit giddy now, even though I saw him only hours ago.
There’s something about the anticipation of him picking me up for a date.
I give my hair one last check. The curls are piled high in a ponytail near the crown of my head.
I wanted to feel older, perhaps. More mature, and not at all like the little girl my dad left behind.
Something about an up-do has always made me feel empowered.
I’m not ignorant of the fact that it makes me look a lot like my mom, either.
Our relationship may be a complicated mess, but I will never discount the strength my mom can project.
I bought this black dress to wear for my graduation.
It’s a short swing dress that grazes my upper thighs, and the satiny bodice hugs me so tight that it’s hard to take a full breath without feeling like the zipper in the back is going to bust. I like that it’s sleeveless, though, and paired with my black heels, it gives the illusion that I’m six feet tall.
I want to look down on people tonight, on my father.
Fair or not, I’m hurt. And I want him to know that.
I lock the door behind me, then skip down the stone pathway to where Rowan’s Camaro is rumbling in the street.
He rushes out of the driver’s seat and around the front of the car to open my door for me, and his gaze starts somewhere around my ankles and glides up my legs and torso.
Rowan looks drunk by the time our eyes meet.
“Well fuck me.”
My lip inches higher on one side as he takes my hand and helps me lower myself into his car. His gaze lingers on my legs for a few extra seconds, too, his teeth clinging to his lower lip as if he’s fighting not to take a bite out of me right here and now.
“Later,” I promise.
He holds his hand to his chest, over the deep gray button down he’s paired with black jeans, and I must admit that I’m just as hungry for him.
“Gah!” He bites his knuckles before gently shutting my door and skipping back to the passenger side.
“It smells nice in here. I like whatever cologne it is you’re wearing,” I say, the scent bringing me back to the night of my graduation party, to his body behind mine as he touched me so intimately while everyone’s eyes were elsewhere.
“I wanted to make this special. The track wasn’t really a date. This . . . is a date. And I know it’s important to you.” He moves his hand to my leg, rolling it over slowly so his knuckles graze against the inside of my thigh before his finger flexes and awaits my touch.
I slip my fingers between his, and his gentle squeeze lets me know that, however this evening goes, I’m not alone.
It takes us thirty minutes to drive into the northern part of the city to the Coal Mine Music Hall.
It’s a big deal that my father’s playing here.
Cami and I saw one of my favorite bands here only last month.
My dad has wanted to break into trendy places like the Coal Mine for years.
He and his band have something special brewing now, and I understand that he sees an opportunity to double down.
It’s just the fact that he’s putting a price tag on those years I missed with him that I can’t get past.
“How are you doing?” Rowan lets the car idle as we sit outside the venue. The marquee is lit up with Killer Mongoose’s name, and there’s a line of people waiting to get in. Nothing that will stop traffic, but it’s at least fifty people deep, wrapping around the side of the building.
“Is it possible to feel a lot of things all at once?” A short, pained laugh slips from my mouth.
Rowan leans into me, brushing the back of his hand along my cheek before lifting my chin slightly. His eyes dive deep into mine, his expression serious yet soft.
“It’s possible to feel however the fuck you need to. If you want to go right now, we can leave. If you want to walk in there and walk right back out, we can do that too. We can stay for drinks or dinner after the show or slip out with the crowd, never letting him know we were ever here.”
My head tilts to the side, and a wry smile tugs at my mouth.
“He saved us seats, right up front. I’m pretty sure he’ll notice if we’re in them or not.”
Rowan’s head bobs side to side.
“Meh, maybe. He’s a musician, though, so he might just be all self-absorbed and into his craft so deep that he can’t see beyond the lights.” Rowan squints, and I laugh.
“He’s really good. And I miss him.”
Rowan closes the few inches between our lips and dusts mine with a soft kiss before falling back into his seat.
“I know you do,” he says.
I lean forward, gazing up at the marquee one last time before taking a deep breath and readying myself for the next . . . however long I can stand it.
“I’m ready,” I announce, and Rowan dashes from the driver’s side to my door, taking my hand to help me step up on the curb. I notice the way he strategically shields my body from the crowd gathered outside, too, making sure nobody gets a view of what’s under my dress as I exit the car.
We make our way to the VIP entrance, and I hand over my ID, giving the worker my name.
She sighs as she hovers the tip of her pen down a printed list on a clipboard.
I’m not sure if she’s annoyed by her job or bothered by me.
I feel my age in places like this, especially when she pulls a blue wristband from the back of the clipboard and proceeds to snap it around my wrist to alert everyone in here that I’m not yet twenty-one.
“I’ll take one too,” Rowan says, holding his wrist up beside mine.
“You won’t be able to drink,” the woman explains.
“Don’t want to,” Rowan responds.
The woman’s gaze shifts from Rowan to me, then back again, before she shrugs and rolls her eyes, mumbling, “Whatever.”
Rowan reaches for my hand as soon as we step inside, and I hug his arm close to my side.
“Thank you,” I say, lifting on my toes to reach his ear.
He merely drops his gaze to me with a faint smile as if what he did was no big deal. Perhaps it wasn’t to him. But it meant the world to me. He made a tiny gesture to make sure I felt like I belonged, or at least like we both are outsiders together.
I think I would have been nervous seeing my dad tonight regardless. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen one another face to face. And while we call and text often, it’s different than being involved in one another’s lives daily. There’s a guard that gets put in place, almost automatically.
Now that I know the reason he’s here, however, that guard has grown thick. I feel slighted. Even if it’s not his intention, it’s the byproduct. He has a song that’s got a million streams. He could have booked a show in the Valley anytime. But he chose now.
“You okay?” Rowan keeps checking on me. It’s sweet. But I must be showing my nerves because he’s asked a few times in the last five minutes.
“I’m just anxious. I want it to be over, and that sort of sucks.” My mouth falls into a relaxed line.
We step into the roped-off area to the right front of the stage, and Rowan positions himself directly behind me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders and chest as his chin skims the side of my face.
“Remember, we can leave whenever you want to. Just say go, and we’re gone.
” His voice is soft at my ear, and the tickle from his day-old stubble brushes the crook of my neck, sending welcome shivers down my spine.
I prefer feeling like this, so I wrap my hands around his in front of my body and focus on how incredible it feels to be in a place like this with him.
The venue fills up fast, even in our roped-off section, and I’m suddenly twice as grateful to have Rowan’s body acting as a buffer from the sharp elbows and tall bodies squeezing in.
I feel a tinge of pride overhearing pieces of conversations around us, actual fans of my father’s band, excited to see them live.
One woman to our left is gushing about how she’s followed them on the road through six tour stops.
“My dad has a groupie,” I whisper, looking up at Rowan. He chuckles and teases me about my potential new stepmom, which makes me study the woman with more discerning eyes. She might be a little crazy upon a second look. But aren’t we all?
By the time the lights dim and the crowd engulfing us begins to scream in anticipation, I’ve nearly buried the resentment I’ve been harboring since finding out my father’s visit is more about cashing in than seeing me.
And when the lights go up, coloring his squared jaw and neat beard in deep red and purple hues, I fall into a state of awe.