Chapter Four
· Brooks ·
“Well, no, I know he’s not a real bandit. You don’t have to keep pretending with me.” Skye rolled her eyes at Renee, who had shown up to the VIP tour in full Western regalia.
Renee’s eyes darted over Skye’s head toward me, clearly seeking reassurance.
“She doesn’t like to be babied.” I shrugged.
I wasn’t sure if Skye had been more open to pretend play as a little kid, but for as long as I’d known her, she just wanted people to be straight with her.
I learned that the day she woke up in the hospital and her first question was whether her mother had survived.
Not where she was, or whether she was hurt, or even who the hell I was…
“All right then”—Renee clapped her hands together—“Ace was inspired by a number of different bandits from the Old West. Jesse James, Butch Cassidy, and Sundance…”
Skye’s face lit up at the mention of those names. “So Ace’s gang of outlaws is inspired by the Wild Bunch?”
“Well, yes and no.” Renee launched into an explanation of how the park had actually been inspired by pulp Western novels, so the theatrics and the drama were all part of the vision.
With that, Skye found a new topic to latch on to.
As far as I knew, her hours of mainlining cowboy documentaries had not yet led her to novels.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took a few steps away from the Mountain Pass Railroad roller coaster. A quick glance around confirmed that we were still mostly alone, save for some theme park employees at their various posts.
I didn’t need to check caller ID. This was supposed to be Skye’s morning, so I’d silenced my notifications with one exception.
“Give me good news, Mason,” I said, keeping my voice low. My daughter didn’t need to hear me discussing her case with my lawyer. I had, so far, shielded her from the custody disagreement between me and her maternal grandparents.
The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line told me more than any legal rambling could.
No good news.
“Brooks…”
“Just tell me.”
“There’s an old video of you, high as a kite, covered in some gold body glitter shit, smashing a six-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne on the hood of a Lamborghini.
” He cleared his throat. “We can’t say for certain that the Greens will enter it into evidence, but if our guys found it, so will theirs. ”
“I know that’s bad”—I rubbed the back of my neck—“but it’s nothing new, right? I partied a lot in my twenties. We’ve established that.”
“We can argue away the partying and even the drugs. The issue will be the time stamp on that video. It was filmed the week Skye was born. They’ll use it to further prove that Candace was right not to let you know about your daughter.”
My stomach soured. Twelve years ago, Candace had been in the hospital, delivering my daughter into the world, and I didn’t even remember the party from that video.
I really wouldn’t have been fit for fatherhood.
As much as I hated that I’d missed the first nine years of my daughter’s life, that I’d never get to know her as a little kid, her mother had been right to exclude me.
“I don’t understand. I thought our argument was that I’m reformed.
No drugs, no parties, no scandals.” I’d left those things behind even before I’d learned about Candace’s death and Skye’s existence in the same night.
It seemed idiotic to keep dragging up the past as if snorting coke with record producers in my twenties had any worthwhile impact on my parenting capabilities in my forties.
“The more unstable they can paint you, the harder it will be for us to make it believable that you’ve changed.”
“It’s believable because it’s true.”
“Man, we’ve been over this. Do you really want me to bill you for my time just to say it again?
” Mason grunted on the other end. The legal fees of Preston, Keller & Partners were way more than I made on my first two or three albums, but I’d happily bleed my coffers dry and sell every asset in my name if it meant keeping custody of Skye.
I glanced back toward the roller coaster, where a staff member dressed like a train conductor allowed my girl to inspect the control panel while he explained each switch and lever.
“No, I got it,” I replied. “Legal system. The truth is only true if there’s evidence.”
“This was just a heads-up in case the video goes public. I’ll see you Tuesday, Brooks.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you Tuesday,” I said and hung up.
Even my phone background should have been evidence enough that I wasn’t that Brooks Monroe anymore.
The photo showed Skye and me in matching bright red cowboy boots on a Greek beach last year.
Those had been the only shoes she’d been comfortable in for a few months, but she’d been self-conscious about wearing them on our island vacation.
So I’d gotten a matching pair and donned them every day—even with my swim shorts.
I was going to do whatever it took to make that girl happy.
I’d made sacrifices from the day I learned she existed.
Her grandparents hadn’t even wanted her. Not until recently.
Maybe on paper they looked better. Married for thirty-five years.
They were vets with a small pet clinic. More importantly, they had a patent on some kind of formula that made cat litter clumpy and easy to clean.
Which sounded strange, right up until your lawyers let you know how much a patent like that was worth, especially when used by cat litter manufacturers all over the world.
They’d lived in the same house their entire married life, their neighbors had known Candace and later Skye, and their school district was one of the best in the state.
But it wasn’t the best fit for Skye. We’d cycled through four schools, all of them making her miserable, before we found an online academy that was tailored to disabled and neurodivergent kids.
Her mood had improved alongside her grades, and she spent hours every week giggling and chatting on FaceTime with her school friends.
If I’d been given that kind of support as a kid, I probably wouldn’t have skipped classes to lock myself in the band room and tinker with instruments.
I probably wouldn’t have spent my twenties trying every alcohol and drug in existence to make social encounters easier, because people liked my music but still found me a little odd at every party.
It didn’t matter that I saw so much of myself in the kid.
I had a rough past. I hadn’t been in a worthwhile steady relationship. And my career had been over for years at only forty-one. Ironically, I’d retired from music for Skye’s sake, but now I was jobless in the eyes of the family court. On paper, I still wasn’t fit for fatherhood.
“Excuse me, Mr. Monroe?” The young train conductor had come over and pointed toward the roller coaster. “Your daughter was inquiring about your availability to join her on the next train.”
I had to give these people props for their dedication to staying in character. “Coming.”
I pocketed my phone and took my seat beside Skye at the very front of the small train. Renee took my hat for safekeeping. Meanwhile, Skye’s hair was already wind-tousled, and her cheeks split by a wide, toothy grin.
“You’re gonna scream,” she said breathlessly, trembling with excitement.
“I don’t know, kiddo. I’m not that easily scared.”
“You’re so gonna scream, Dad. It’s gonna be awesome.”
Even the bars that lowered over our heads couldn’t contain her shaking with adrenaline.
I’d never seen her this amped up, and I couldn’t help the big smile spreading on my own lips.
She’d come so far out of her shell the last three years.
The roller coaster was a fun, quick ride, and I screamed my lungs out, because I loved this kid and her shrieking laughter as we got off the train and she ran toward the photograph kiosk.
“This place is so cool,” she squealed, a framed picture of us clutched to her chest.
“No longer bothered by the historical inaccuracies?”
We followed Renee down the main street. It was only a few minutes until the park opened to the public and we were going to get ourselves popcorn buckets for the drive home. Skye wanted the one shaped like a pink cowgirl hat, and I was going to get the one that looked like the brAVE sheriff star.
“Renee taught me about penny dreadfuls,” Skye mused, “and pulp magazines, so even though some of it is historically inaccurate to reality, it is accurate to the books. In that way, Bravetown is kind of a story land.” Her legs stopped working as we passed by window displays of intricate costumes.
From frilly parasols to leather holsters, even the accessories matched the Bravetown vibe.
Skye’s little apron and my suspenders were a joke in comparison.
“You want to try on some clothes?”
Skye bit her lip and shot a look down the road toward the popcorn cart. “Do we have time?”
“We’ll make time.” Or I’d just send someone to grab us the popcorn while she was in the dressing room.
“Then yes, please.”
“Is that okay?” I asked and turned to Renee.
“Of course it is.” She smiled and opened the door for us. The young woman behind the counter looked up and quickly hid a phone in her skirt pockets. She switched to a perfectly bright customer service smile in an instant.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. You’re here bright and early.
My name’s Caroline and I’m happy to help you find the perfect fit.
” She greeted us all, but she directed her attention to Skye and waved her forward to the clothing racks.
“Our new collection, designed by our very own Madame Beaufort with the finest fabrics from overseas.”