Chapter 12 #2
Sitting back on a park bench, I watched the interaction between Michelle and MGM.
It was the first time I could actually picture her in my life.
It looked so real, so possible, that my chest ached with the memory of everything I’d already lost. I knew better than to want more, but I couldn’t help it.
Hope was a habit I hadn’t managed to break.
MGM was strapped into a baby swing. Michelle grabbed his little legs on the forward motion and they both dissolved into giggles.
There was genuine affection there, and it was easy to see their growing connection.
But Michelle had never navigated bedtime with a tired toddler or changed a blowout diaper.
Or dealt with a temperamental April. These small snippets with him weren’t enough to show her the real life she’d step into if she chose me.
Not that I believed she would. Playing house for a summer was one thing; settling into my low-impact life was another.
After the park, we wandered the boardwalk, hands linked with a wobbly toddler between us, dodging bikes, skaters, and the occasional unsteady junkie.
“Scott?”
April’s voice cut through the crowd. She was heading our way with a cluster of friends, eyes sweeping the scene—me, MGM, and Michelle holding her son’s hand. Her expression shifted instantly.
“Who are you?” she asked, locking on Michelle.
I jumped in. “April, this is Michelle.”
MGM broke free and toddled to his mom. April scooped him up, never breaking eye contact. “Again. Who are you?”
“My girlfriend,” I said, and Michelle’s quick smile rewarded me.
April’s brows lifted. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. You’re not from around here.”
“I’m visiting for the summer,” Michelle answered smoothly. “Congratulations on the engagement.”
“Thanks.” April’s tone stayed clipped. Her gaze flicked between us. “So this”—she gestured at the three of us—“is serious?”
Michelle offered a small, genuine smile. “Scott and I are… new.”
“Not too new to be holding hands with my son on the Boardwalk,” April said, then exhaled, catching herself. “Maybe you could’ve warned me, Scott.”
“Like you warned me about the engagement?”
Michelle nudged me before stepping in. “I’ve only met Mitchell a couple of times, but he’s the sweetest little boy. You must be an amazing mother.”
The line landed perfectly. April’s shoulders eased. “He is pretty great, isn’t he?” She pressed a kiss to his cheek.
I took MGM back and slipped an arm around Michelle’s waist. “Glad we got that out of the way. We’re gonna keep walking now.”
Michelle waved politely. April lifted her hand in return—almost civil.
Out of earshot, Michelle turned to me. “You know she still likes you, right?”
“April? No. She hates my guts.”
“No,” Michelle said. “If I had to guess, she still loves you.”
“You’re wrong.” I shook my head. “We were never in love.”
“Maybe you weren’t,” she said. “But April was. Still is.”
I kicked the thought around as we walked. Then Michelle stopped short and pointed. “I want to go to the music store.”
We ducked inside. Dusty sunlight cut across crooked guitar stacks and amps. MGM made a beeline for a lonely upright piano and started hammering the keys. The clerk shot me a look. I gave an apologetic grin.
But Michelle didn’t flinch. She slid onto the bench, lifted MGM beside her, and caught his tiny hand in hers. Softly, she guided one finger to a key. Then another. Together they coaxed out something almost like a tune.
MGM beamed for thirty seconds before deciding the guitar wall needed climbing. I followed.
Michelle stayed.
Her hands drifted over the keys, tentative at first, then sure. A cascade of sound pouring out. It was effortless. Graceful. Alive.
I leaned against a row of amps, stunned, a toddler squirming in my arms. I knew she was talented—Juilliard didn’t take just anyone—but this was something else. Raw beauty. How had someone with a gift like that convinced herself to walk away?
When the last notes faded, the handful of customers and the clerk broke into applause.
I clapped as I walked over. “I had no idea.”
“I haven’t played once all summer.”
“Why? You’re incredible.”
“I just… don’t like playing anymore.”
Her mother had done her dirty. How do you take something that lights your kid up and turn it into something she fears?
“And the world is worse for it,” I said.
Michelle’s eyes lifted to mine—something unguarded flickering there. “Ready?”
I wanted to keep her in that moment, freer than I’d ever seen her. But MGM had other plans, wriggling free and forcing us into a full sprint after him.
Another week passed, and tonight’s field trip took us to the Sunset Strip, where live music spilled from every doorway and neon flickered pink and green across the pavement.
We ducked into a dive bar with no line. Michelle clutched my arm, taking in the seedy, loud electricity. I angled us through the crowd; nothing like the Rabid Jackal’s packed house, but the beer didn’t flow freely here either.
“I cannot believe that fake ID worked,” she said, sipping her wine cooler.
“My buddy’s got a lamination machine. It’s as easy as peeling back the plastic, swapping numbers, and resealing.”
“Wow, Scott. Imagine what you could accomplish if you hustled like this for more than breaking the law.”
“Please.” I grabbed her waist, pulling her flush. “If I applied myself, the world wouldn’t be ready.”
She tipped her head up; I stole a kiss. The lights dropped, and a guitar crashed in, stealing the moment from us.
The band launched into their set—all pout and power chords, pure hair-band bravado.
The lead singer strutted the stage shirtless and shameless, tresses flying as he howled into the microphone like the world owed him its attention. A true front man.
I leaned down. “What do you think of the singer?”
“He’s… okay. Decent voice. But practiced. Bored.”
“That’s my brother, Paul.”
Her head whipped around. “Your brother? Oh my god, Scott, why didn’t you stop me? He’s incredible.”
“I like your honest opinion better. You’re spot on. Paulie’s a band hopper. Gets kicked out of every one.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Paul spotted me mid-set, pointed, and grinned. After the final number, he took an exaggerated bow and came straight over, drink in hand, slick with sweat.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my baby brother.” He grabbed me in a rough headlock. “Where’ve you been? Why didn’t you come home for Christmas?”
Paul was eight years older than me. He only showed up to family events if there was some benefit in it for him. Like a favorite dinner. Pants that needed mending. A festively wrapped Christmas present.
“I was excommunicated,” I reminded him. “You were there. It was Ragu spaghetti night. Dad tossed me out. Don’t you remember?”
Paulie scratched his head. “Nah, I wasn’t there… was I?”
“You were.”
“Really?” His pupils were huge, his eyes moving too fast, like he couldn’t land on anything. Yeah. He was high. “What’d you do to get kicked out?”
“Got a girl pregnant.”
“Fuck me, dude. Now I remember. Still don’t get why you didn’t just take her into the clinic. Poof. Gone.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t always work that way. I have a son.”
“Huh.” He finally noticed Michelle, his focus snapping into place. “Wait… the lucky lady?”
“I’m not. But you make it sound so enticing. I’m Michelle.” She stuck out her hand. “The date.”
“Look at you… so formal.” He shook it, amused. “Want my advice? Stay away from this one.” Paul tightened the headlock. “He’s a freak. Dude’s obsessed with moonwalking—”
“When I was eleven,” I cut in, trying to salvage what little credibility I had left.
Paul ignored me. “He moonwalked across the boulevard. Caused an accident. Nearly killed some poor old lady.”
“Hey, I was obeying traffic laws. Not my fault the sun hit my sequins wrong.”
“See?” Paul said, finally letting me go. “Freak.”
Yeah, fine. My moonwalking phase was embarrassing. But at least I grew out of it and wasn’t snorting away the few brain cells I had left.
A tall brunette in barely-there clothes hooked Paul’s arm. “Baby, you’re amazing.”
He slapped her ass, pulled her in for a long, sloppy kiss. Michelle actually glanced at her watch and then back at me like I was personally responsible for wasting her time.
Paul surfaced. “Scotty, meet Marina.”
We said our hellos. Marina vanished toward the bar, and within seconds a blonde had taken her place—same slap, same kiss, same introduction. Only the name changed.
Once she left, Paul winked at Michelle. “What can I say? I’m a generous man.”
“Such a philanthropist.”
“What kind of word is that?” Paul eyed her outfit. “You’re like… preppy and shit. What’s with the Ralph Lauren polo? You got boat shoes at home to go with it?”
“I’m not sure you should give fashion advice in neon spandex pants,” she shot back.
Paul’s brows shot up. He wasn’t used to being roasted by a woman. His gaze dragged over Michelle. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? And fancy. I like it.”
Then he whacked me in the chest. “You still singing in that shitty band?”
“Yep.”
“What was the name again—Rabid Jerkoff?” He snorted.
“So close,” I said. “We’re on tomorrow night at the Allard Street House. Eight sharp. Come by if you want to hear real music.”
“Eight? That’s adorable. Do you hand out pudding cups at intermission?”
“No. It’s to skirt the noise ordinance this time around.”
“Noise ordinance? Fuck that. Sunset Boulevard doesn’t have a noise ordinance.”
“Well, come if you want,” I said, prickling at the dig. His band was playing the strip, but mine was packing the house.
“Will you be there?” he asked Michelle, his eyes doing another slow lap around her.
“I will,” she said.
“Wearing Prada, no doubt?”
They exchanged a smile, bonding over… hell if I knew.
The guitarist waved him back. Paul flipped him off, then to us said, “Gotta go collect my check. Michelle, stay fresh. Scotty, save me a chocolate.”
“Eight’s not that early,” I called, but he was gone.
Michelle turned to me, eyes wide. “Wow. So… Paul, huh?”
“That’s right.” I smiled.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother?”
“I’ve got an older sister, Erica, too.”
She frowned. “Why did I think you were an only child?”
“I was my mom’s only child.”
“So, Paul is your dad’s kid, then?”
“No.”
“I’m confused.”
I glanced at the stage, then back at her. This dive bar wasn’t the place to unpack this particular mess. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Let’s not. I want to know who you are. And you obviously want me to know, or you wouldn’t have brought me here tonight.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Just tell me.”
I rarely talked about my siblings because it felt like a lie. No—it was a lie. But if Michelle was going to know me, she had to know about them.
“After my mom died, my dad dropped me off at my aunt and uncle’s doorstep. Said he’d be back soon. I’m still waiting.”
Michelle blinked, clearly not expecting that. While she searched for the right words, I fought the old anger. It never softened, no matter how hard I tried to make peace with his abandonment. He’d failed me so completely that every day of my life had become a personal crusade to never become him.
“Were you adopted by them?” she asked, gently.
“No. The idea was that my father would come back. But months stretched into years, and I was just… absorbed into Jim and Sue’s family.
Eventually they wanted me to call them mom and dad, and my cousins, brother and sister.
I hated it. It never felt like they were mine. But it was the price of admission.”
Michelle reached for my hand. That simple touch steadied me more than any well-meaning sympathy could have.
“I was never theirs to begin with,” I said. “That’s why it was so easy for them to kick me out when April got pregnant.”
The words hung between us. I didn’t fill the silence. Neither did she. Michelle had never seen this side of me. I’d always kept things light so she wouldn’t look too closely.
This wasn’t light.
And for once, I didn’t know how to lead us through it.