Jason Hines was a pathetic man for obvious reasons. He was more pathetic because the truth I spoon-fed him made him look like a whimpering puppy. I snapped my attention back at the security guard, whose rounded dark eyes seemed shocked. “Please, get him out of here. Now!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before the guy could come after me again, I slammed the door shut and pressed in the lock. I turned around and saw Miles with his mouth hanging and his stunned eyes on me. He wasn’t sunk into the couch anymore.
“Blair, are you okay?”
I relit that joint, sucked in a deep hit, held it in my lungs only for a short second before I expelled it out in a cough. I hacked for a few moments until I opened my eyes and found Miles still observing me.
I tossed myself on the couch, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed uncontrollably, not caring at all that my eye makeup would streak down my face. Then, I smelled Reagan’s perfume and the sage oil clinging to her shirt. I didn’t even hear a knock on the door or Miles getting up to answer the door, and just as I processed it, her gentle arms pulled me into her body.
“Hey, Blair, what’s going on?” A pause. “You know what happened?”
“Um, yeah, I think her dad suddenly appeared,” Miles answered.
I cried so hard that I choked on my own cries. The anger ran through me so potently and quickly that I felt myself losing control of my emotions. I could have punched my fist through the wall, and that was something I never had the urge to do ever in my life.
But then it hit me just as hard as seeing the pathetic excuse for a father standing right in front of me. I could easily let him know what I was thinking—what I’d been thinking my whole twenty-four years. And I had the power to make sure all of Louisville knew how he made me feel. So, I wiped my face, unraveled from Reagan’s arms, and stormed out of the green room, hunting down the security guard who was whisking that guy out of my life forever.
No, there was something I needed to tell him.
I found the security guard about to eject him into the main lobby and yelled, “Wait!” Both of them zeroed in on me. “Let him stay.”
The security guard frowned. Jason let out a deep sigh. “Thank you—”
“Put him in the press section for our performance.”
And then I returned to the green room where Miles and Reagan remained in the same spots. I nestled back into Reagan’s arms and buried my face into her chest.
“Blair, what the hell is going on?” Reagan asked, rubbing my hair and holding me close.
I bit my lip for a second to swallow the stutter climbing up my throat. “My dad…he’s…um…he bought a VIP ticket.”
“God, Blair—”
I pulled away and turned to Miles. “We’re doing a cover,” I said and dabbed the tears around my eyes. “Or I’m doing a cover.”
“We haven’t even rehearsed it—” Miles started.
“It’s needs to happen.” I poured myself a shot of Patrón and savored the burning pain in my throat.
“Blair, maybe you should stop. That’s like four shots and three hits of that really strong weed—”
“I’m fine, Miles,” I said sharply, even though I knew I wasn’t. The weed made me feel as if I was floating like a balloon, but my deadbeat dad showing up was like someone forcing me back on the ground.
“Are you okay?” Reagan said as her fingertips rubbed up and down my arm. “Blair? Please, don’t drink or smoke anymore.”
I couldn’t even look her in the eye. I was so heartbroken and angry and nervous that I didn’t feel like a real person. I continued to gaze at the white walls. “I need to be alone right now.”
I snatched my Fender off the couch, and then I waited in the darkness of the side stage, resting my head against the wall. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I could feel the mixture of the potent weed and the shots mix together into one powerful cocktail in my blood.
When it was time, I floated onto that stage, and thank fucking God I was mellow enough to run through the first four songs of our set. The hardest part about being a singer was performing and pretending that everything was fine, convincing the crowd how awesome they were, and exuding so much lively energy when every part of me felt broken. When I hosted a party, even if I felt as if my insides were crumbling into a massive heap, I couldn’t let my guests see that. That was why I canceled all our shows when I knew my grandpa only had a few months left. I had to make them feel as if they were on top of the world when I was stuck at rock bottom, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do that. And without that strong weed and the shots of alcohol, I didn’t know how I was going to show the Louisville crowd a good time when my whole world just shattered.
Then when the time came, Miles ditched the drums and stepped off stage, leaving me out there alone with my piano and the soft white lights above me.
“Hey, Louisville, we’re still doing all right?” I said, and I could feel my voice quivering as I placed my mic in the stand. As usual, I got the same eager roars from the arena, mixed in with extra screams that I automatically assumed were from all of the news going on about us. “Awesome. This next song was written by the wonderful Kelly Clarkson. You guys like Kelly Clarkson?” They responded in another thunderous round of applause as I played the first chord on the piano that then trickled into the opening melody. “It’s a really good song. Super slow, a little sad, but it’s okay if I sing it for you? You guys like sad songs?”
It was a trick question because of course they would cheer for it. I continued to play the opening chords until I choked back the tumor growing in my throat. It was more than a little sad. It was a devastating song, and a song that perfectly fit how I felt about my father in the crowd, standing in a section he wasn’t worthy of being in.
Through the tears desperately trying to escape, I performed the song “Piece by Piece,” a tearjerker of a song Kelly Clarkson wrote to her deadbeat dad. I related to every single word that comprised it. The audience fell dead silent as I sang Kelly’s words about how much of a deadbeat father she had. She wrote about the people who were there for her when her father wasn’t. Since I was never going to get a husband, and I didn’t have a daughter, I pictured Gramps and Mom and all the wonderful things they did for me. Always encouraging me to dream. Supporting my music. Telling me I was worthy during that phase where I questioned my self-worth because my father didn’t want me in his life. Gramps taught me so much. He gave me so much, and it hit me then on that stage that I don’t think I ever thanked him for everything he sacrificed for me.
As the song reached the climax, I poured everything I had into the song. I sang the words of how I was going to put my mom first, and I thought of her and how she never got the love she deserved from Jason Hines. I belted the high note an octave higher than the rest of the song, and the silent crowd erupted in loud applause as I sang my heart out, hoping Gramps could hear me, hoping that Jason Hines could see the damage he created. And when I cut the high note off, the stage went silent except for the hammers and strings of the piano, sweeping the arena up in the sound of melancholic melodies, and I ended the song, softly singing the last line.
I sat there for a moment staring at the black and white keys, hearing the crowd roaring. I closed my eyes briefly, swallowed back the tears, and told myself to keep going for the fans, for my grandparents, and most importantly, for myself.
We finished our set list with our two most upbeat and high energy songs to make up for the somberness we’d sent into the crowd. But the second we headed off stage, I collapsed on the couch and sobbed. I didn’t even get a minute to myself when Miles crouched down and rubbed my back. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t blame him. What was the right thing to say? I didn’t even know what I wanted or needed to hear. I think the only thing I knew I needed was someone there for me, and Miles was always there. Had been since we were fourteen. His arm tightened around my shoulders, and his sweaty face and hair rested against my forehead, but it didn’t even gross me
out like it usually did. His embrace was so comforting, and nothing would make me push that away.
“You’re amazing, Blair,” he said softly. “And I love you.”
He kissed me on the forehead, and that made me cry harder. I buried my face in his shoulder. We sat there in that embrace until I heard the faint patter of Reagan’s boots tapping into the room. Miles stopped rubbing my back, and I smelled Reagan and the sage again.
“Babe, come here,” she said in such a soft, nurturing way.
As I lifted my head, Miles left the room to give us some privacy, and Reagan slid down to the couch. I wrapped my arms so tightly around her. She squeezed my back, and she let me cry it all out. I only had twenty minutes to do so before she had to go to her hidden stage lift for her first song.
I think the reason I cried so much and hard was because I never really did over the years. Especially over Jason Hines. I remember constantly asking about my dad when I was little, like in kindergarten or elementary school when all my friends talked about their dads, and I started to realize that it wasn’t normal to live with your mom and grandparents. What was normal for me was that Father’s Day was called Gramps’s Day to lessen the blow of my father not being around. But even then, I was more confused than I was heartbroken because I couldn’t really be upset over something I never had. But this crying session was holding the suppressed feelings about never having a dad, this awkward strain following Reagan and me around, and missing my mom and my grandparents. All those emotions slipped right out of me, and after our set, I didn’t even try to choke them back. I knew I had to let them all out because that weight was getting too heavy for me to carry.
Reagan cupped my cheeks, and her thumbs wiped away the moisture collecting on my face. Her eyes filled up in a thin layer of gloss, looking at me with so much worry.
“For starters, how you got through that set completely amazed me,” she said. “You amaze me, and your cover was so powerful and beautiful, and you sang your heart out. You could hear your heart through your voice. Second: if you want him to be removed, let me know so I can do that.”
“I don’t know what I want anymore.” I sniffed and wiped my face.
“Whatever you want, I’ll support you. Just let me know what I need to do to make you feel better. Okay?”
During the set, the same question sprouted in my mind every second like a weed: What did he want to say to me? For years, I wanted to know why I didn’t have a father. I wondered if he had any regrets, if his heart was seriously as cold as Mom and my grandparents always described it. I wanted to know all the “why” questions, and that piece of shit was the only one who would give me the answers I’d been wondering about my whole life.
“I think I want to know why,” I said.
Her eyes widened as if she didn’t expect that answer. I guess we were both equally surprised about the truth that came out. “Okay, so does that mean you want me to go get him?”
“I think so.”
She hesitated, shifting in her seat as she blinked a few times. “Um, okay, but I’m gonna have to go on stage in, like, ten minutes, so I can’t really be here with you.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll be there for you if you want to talk about it after the show. I’m all yours—well, after the VIPs and everything.”
I grabbed her hand. She didn’t need to explain herself. “I know, babe. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, I am worried about you, okay? If you really want to talk to him, I’ll go get him. You sure that’s what you want?” When I nodded, she kissed my cheek. “Okay, I’ll go get him.”
The second she left, I went into my bag to grab the extra drugs. The weed and the alcohol helped, but I wanted something stronger. I wanted something to lift me up, so I took a bump and tossed the small bag way down in a pouch of my book bag, hoping that would get me through this conversation. I closed my eyes when I sat back down and tasted the bitter drip slowly crawling down my throat.
The appearance of two men in the doorway snapped me out of my Zen. The security guard from before escorted Jason Hines into the green room. Jason’s eyes were darker than they were before the show, more somber, more reluctant to look me in the eye, and if I did my job correctly, the words I sang to him still haunted him as they continued playing nonstop in his head. Honestly, looking at that man staring at his brown shoes instead of me, I was shocked that he could show any ounce of emotion given the fact he abandoned his pregnant girlfriend and unborn baby, but hey, deadbeat dads had emotions too, I came to find out. I learned something new every day.
“Thank you,” I said to the security guard and sat straight up on the couch as the high from the cocaine watered my eyes. “I think we’ll be fine for now.”
“I’ll be right outside if you change your mind,” he said.
I gave him a friendly smile, and he shut the door enough to give us privacy but left it cracked open in case he needed to step in. I wiped away the smile and directed my scowl at Jason.
He nervously scratched the back of his head. “So…uh.” He whimpered like the coward he was. “You’re really talented.” His eyes glanced down at me but flinched when our gazes met. I smirked on the inside, knowing that he feared me more than I feared him. I had the power now. “You got a hell of a voice too—”
“I don’t fucking care what you think of me, so save the bullshit, okay?” I snapped. He rapidly blinked, took a step back, and his gaze found the floor. “The only reason why you’re back here is so you can answer all my ‘whys.’ Why did you leave my mom? Why didn’t you ever try to contact me? Why didn’t you try to meet me before? And why the fuck are you here tonight?”
He wiggled into the corner of a chair that I never said he could sit in and scratched the back of his head again, a thing I noticed I did all the time, and I hated that I’d discovered the first habit we shared.
With the cocaine in my system, I had a lot more energy to help spew out all the anger I saved up just in case I ever met him. It made me excited to release some of it. Kind of like going to therapy.
“And how the hell did you even know I was your daughter?” I added.
“Because I knew your grandpa. I saw that he passed a few months back, and the obituary mentioned your name and your mom’s, said that you were also a musician. So, I looked you up and saw that you’re on tour with Reagan Moore. And a few other gossipy things.” I rolled my eyes at that last part. It made me cringe knowing that Jason Hines might or might not have read my text messages with Reagan. “And then I saw you were coming to Louisville, so I told myself that this was maybe a sign or something that I should at least try to meet you.”
“Why? Because I’m on tour with Reagan Moore? Because you think I have money now?”
He frowned as if what I said was ludicrous. “No, that’s not it at all—”
“Because if you came here asking for money, I wouldn’t give a penny to you.”
He raised his hand. “I don’t want your money,” he said sternly. “It’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you? What makes you think I ever wanted to meet you?”
He nervously chuckled. “I, um, I don’t know. I guessed I just assumed—”
“Well, you assumed wrong. I never wanted to meet you. I had everything I needed with my amazing mom, who you abandoned, and my amazing grandparents. My life was completely fine without you.”
Except that it wasn’t anymore. It was in shambles. I had no grip on my life, clearly. But he didn’t need to know that.
He finally looked up at me. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He caught me rolling my eyes and then continued more firmly, “I know that sounds lame, all right? I know, and it doesn’t do any justice by just saying ‘I’m sorry,’ but I don’t know what else to say. I was twenty years old. I never wanted kids. Hell, I was still a kid and didn’t even know what the hell I wanted to do for the rest of my life. All I wanted to do was drink, do drugs, sleep with women, and repeat. Your mother and I, we only dat
ed for a few months, and that was even too much for me at the time. When I found out she was pregnant, I freaked out. I could barely take care of myself. How was I going to take care of two other people?”
It wasn’t until then that he had my full attention. My chest constricted when I heard that sentence. It was the exact same thing I told Alanna when I broke up with her. I couldn’t take care of myself. How the hell could I be in a relationship? Hell, I was dating Reagan, and every day, I felt as if I was losing more of her, and I had no idea if it was because of me just sucking at being in relationships or if it was because we were trying so hard to protect ourselves from the public after the hacking.
I hated so much that there was something I could relate with him over. The smile and the nervous head scratching were more than enough, but the logic? I had the same logic as child-abandoner Jason Hines?
“You never even tried to reach out,” I said. “You weren’t at all curious?”
“Of course, I was curious, but if I reached out, I would have had to have been responsible for something I shouldn’t have been responsible for. I was a mess. No child should be stuck with a mess. And you know what, a part of me is really glad I wasn’t involved. And before you lash out at me for saying that, let me explain why.”
It was a smart move to add that disclaimer because I had a whole arsenal of insults that were ready to fire after he said he didn’t regret abandoning me.
“I had a father who shouldn’t have been a father,” he explained softly. “He was awful. Negligent. A drunk. He was also a father who didn’t want to be a father, and I spent my whole childhood striving for his attention and his approval, and I got nothing in return. Well, the apple really didn’t fall far from the tree because when I was twenty, I was a drunk with no ambition or life, only caring about myself. I got this girl pregnant who I hardly knew, and I imagined what my life would be like if I stuck around, if I stayed with your mom to raise you during the worst years of my life. I don’t think you would have turned out as successful as you are now, and when I heard how well you were doing—on a world tour with my niece’s favorite singer—as much as it sucked and as much as I knew it must have hurt you never knowing your father, I knew it was the right thing. And that’s what I wanted to say to you. I saved up a bunch of money to get back here to tell you this: my side of the story and how sorry I am about the pain I caused you. You have every right to hate me. I get it. I hate my father too, and there are things I’ll never forgive him for.”
Hammers, Strings, and Beautiful Things Page 20
