by Aly Stiles
To my surprise she actually smiles and starts toward the guitar. When she reaches it, her gentle touch is almost reverent.
“You won’t hurt it. Just pick it up.”
She glances back at me, and I return an encouraging nod. Her teeth sink into her lip as she turns back to the guitar and unhooks it from the stand. She lifts it, cradling it in her arms.
“Damn,” I say, studying her. She stiffens, then relaxes at my smile. “You’re a natural.”
Her smile spreads into a grin I’ve never seen before. I force away a twinge and wave her over.
“It’s lighter than I thought. The wood is so smooth,” she says.
I nod. “They’re all different. Guitars are like fingerprints. Each one is unique to its musician. Here, sit down.” I shift to make room for her on the edge of the bed.
She lowers herself, balancing the instrument in her arms. Her left hand curves perfectly around its neck. Her right casually strums a clear, steady rhythm. Not gonna lie, a spike of pride shoots through me at how naturally she handles it.
“Hey, that’s pretty good. Here, put this finger there, and this one here.” I reach over and arrange the tips of her index and middle fingers on the A and D strings. “Okay, now push as hard as you can and strum.”
She obeys, both of us cringing at the discordant clank. I chuckle and lean forward. “It’s okay. It’s really hard to do when you first start. Try again.” This time I cover her hand with mine and help her push. The hum ringing out is a much healthier E-minor chord.
Her face is beaming when I check. My heart surges in my chest.
“That’s an E-minor. With some practice you’ll have it down in no time.”
She tries again on her own, but it’s not much better than the first attempt.
“You’re doing fine. Like I said, it’s hard and will take lots of practice until you get the finger strength and callouses. Plus, I like higher action on the frets, which makes it harder to play. For little hands like yours, we’ll have to get you something with lower action.” Her head whips to me in surprise, and I lift a smirk. “You’re gonna need your own guitar to practice. I can’t keep giving you mine all the time. Let’s go look today.”
She blinks at me, speechless. Man, it feels good to knock the snark out of her. “You… you’re buying me a guitar?”
“Do you want a guitar?”
Her eyes are giant, green orbs as she nods. “But they’re expensive,” she whispers.
I shrug. “The good ones are, yeah. But if you’re going to play, you’ll need the right instrument. You willing to give up buying more of these weird hoodies?” I ask, tugging on her sleeve.
She grins back at me. “Sure. I guess.”
“Good. Let me get dressed. We can stop at the diner for waffles on the way.”
I could kick myself for not figuring out this music thing sooner. My niece is a different kid standing in front of a wall of guitars. She’s spent the day locked in awed silence like a prophet receiving sacred instructions.
“Here, try this one,” I say, plucking a low-end Martin from the wall.
“It’s fifteen hundred dollars!” she hisses, backing away. “Shouldn’t we start with one of those?”
I almost laugh at her fear to touch the Martin. “No niece of mine is playing a guitar that comes in a box with a starter kit. Just sit and see how this feels.”
“But…”
“Naomi? Sit.”
She grunts and drops to a stool nearby. I fish a pick out of my pocket and help her arrange the guitar on her lap like it’s a newborn baby. She still seems hesitant to strum it.
“You played my Taylor just fine this morning,” I point out when she lifts those big green eyes to me.
“Because it wasn’t fifteen hundred dollars,” she hisses.
“Nope, that one was five grand.”
She coughs out a choke, and I shake my head with a grin. “Just play, kid. You’re gonna love it.”
Her fingers tentatively rest on the strings as she gazes down at the instrument. She finally strums it a few times, a smile slipping out. No smile on my lips, though. Ouch. When’s the last time this thing has been tuned?
“Hey, let me see that for a sec,” I say, reaching for it.
She hands it over, and I balance on the stool beside her. After tuning it as well as possible by ear, I launch into “Unforgiven” to test it out for real. It’s got a warm, full tone with a comfortable body for flat-picking and finger-picking. Since we don’t know what kind of artist she’s going to be yet, I like that she’ll have the flexibility to play what feels natural to her.
“Hey, you’re pretty good,” a man says, approaching.
I glance over at the employee and smile a return greeting. “Thanks,” I say, handing the guitar and pick back to Naomi. “Just checking out guitars for my niece.”
“Duh, he’s a rockstar. That’s why he’s good,” Naomi interjects, and my gaze snaps to her in surprise. She shrugs with a smug smile at the employee’s reaction, and I can’t help but grin as well. Is she bragging about me?
“Oh yeah? Cool,” the guy says. “What’s your band?”
“Still working on a name,” I say, cringing inwardly at how ridiculous that sounds. The guy gives me a pitying nod that says oh, you’re “that” kind of rockstar.
Naomi glares at him, probably noticing his less-than-impressed reaction. “He just started a band with Viv Hastings. She used to be Genevieve Fox but now she does kick-ass rock. Ever heard of Genevieve Fox?” Naomi quips, and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. At least I’m not the only victim of her snark.
Based on the man’s face, he’s heard of Genevieve Fox, one of the biggest popstars in the world until last week. He clears his throat and leans down to inspect the guitar in her lap. If I had to guess, he would have been happy to pick up a dust ball on the floor to avoid another blast from my niece.
“Ah, that’s a good guitar. You’ll like that one,” he says to Naomi. “Is it too big, though? You want to look at the three-quarter scale models?”
Naomi’s brow scrunches and she turns to me for clarification.
“I don’t think so,” I answer for her. “She can handle a full-sized guitar. What do you say, Naomi?”
“Is that what this is?”
I nod.
“Is that what the Taylor you have is?”
I nod again.
“Then I want a full-size.”
The man forces a smile and tilts his head toward the front of the store. “Okay, great. Well, I’ll be over there if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Dave. Appreciate it,” Naomi says, focusing back on her guitar.
I snicker as Dave slinks away, clearly not sure what to make of us. Yep, that’s my girl. Without looking at her, I lift my fist into the space between us. She taps it with hers.
“Hadley?”
I pull open the door, confused by her presence. Okay, and a little embarrassed. And a little turned on because, let’s be honest, last night was fucking horrific and weirdly hot. She left after our short exchange in the kitchen, just in time for her soft touch to fizzle into nothing instead of exploding into a trauma-induced moment we’d both regret. I wasn’t prepared to see her again so soon, and definitely not with Naomi in the grandstand.
“Hey! You came!” my niece calls from the couch where we’d been seated with our guitars. Huh?
Hadley offers a sheepish grin, carefully avoiding my gaze as she hovers in the doorway. Is she blushing? “Naomi texted me and invited me over after work. She said she had a surprise?”
My hand clenches around the neck of my own guitar as it dangles at my side. This can’t be real. They’re texting besties now? Our first lesson was going so well. Our entire day, really. These last hours have been a fantasy after the nightmare of our first month together. Why’d Naomi have to ruin it?
“Oh. Um. Okay. Come in,” I say, stepping back so Hadley can enter.
She might be avoiding my eyes, but I can tell
by her pause and open scan of everything else that she wants to say more. Maybe do more with the way her gaze stalls on my stomach and sinks lower. A spark of awareness fires through me. Memories of her hands on my skin. The odd mixture of fire and compassion in her eyes last night. I’m wearing an undershirt, but it doesn’t feel like it the way she’s studying me. My searing gaze finds plenty to admire right back beneath her typical sweats that look even cuter today.
I swallow hard and glance at Naomi who’s back to concentrating on her guitar. Could this situation be any more messed up?
“Thanks,” Hadley says, slipping past me. It’s like she goes out of her way to avoid even the slightest contact.
But her eyes tell a different story when she scans my face. Heat. Sympathy. Did she just cringe?
“Ouch. It looks worse this morn…” She stops when I shoot her a warning look, her voice more nervous than I’m accustomed to. She’s always so sure of herself. Well, sure of her hatred of me, anyway. Last night messed up a lot of things in our little world.
“You want something to drink?” I ask.
“Water would be great,” she says.
“How’s Viv? Did you see her today?” Naomi calls out as Hadley moves toward the living room and I head to the kitchen. My view is slightly obstructed, but I can still hear them clearly.
“Just for a little bit. I mostly did scheduling and paperwork today. She’s spending some time with Oliver.”
“Her boyfriend, right? He’s a goalie for the Trojans?”
“Yes. He’s been out all season with an injury and will finally get a chance to practice skating again tomorrow. He and Viv are really excited.”
“I bet. Oh! Want to hear an E-minor chord?”
“I’d love to.”
I shake my head with a smile as I fill a glass for Hadley and listen to Naomi’s rough strum of an E-minor chord. We also learned a C, but that one’s been even sketchier and she doesn’t attempt it. I’ve never heard the animated gossip side of Naomi before. It’s kind of a fun twist on the sullen, moody misanthrope I’m used to.
“Wow. That’s awesome! You learned a chord. Is that the surprise?”
I enter the room and hand Hadley the glass.
“Not the chord,” Naomi says with a laugh. “The guitar! Uncle Julian bought it for me today.”
Hadley’s eyes widen as she stares at Naomi for a moment, then lifts her gaze to me. I shrug and drop to the loveseat perpendicular to them.
Swinging my guitar into my lap, I start a light strum, content to let them do girl time while I work. I wouldn’t mind a distraction from the disturbing effect of Hadley’s presence either. Whatever changed last night is making it a lot harder to be near her. Somehow her hatred was easier to manage than her interest.
The girls are talking about something Viv-related now, and I manage to tune it out in favor of my strings. That lyric has been bugging me non-stop lately. A constant loop at this point, and still nothing to go with it. No chords feel right. No other lyrics are good enough to go before or after.
Please stay. I need you for the better days.
Who is it for? I don’t even know. Where did it come from?
I think about Ashley and how she used to tell me not to focus too hard on the future or I’d miss the steps to get there.
“Any dream worth having will take a piece of your soul.”
How many times did she tell me that when I’d come home frustrated after a disappointing gig in front of nobody? When tips and stipends didn’t even cover my minimal expenses? How many hours of gazing at the big names, and even mid-level names, and deciding to give up because it seemed so far out of reach and then…
“Uncle Julian?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened with Eastern Crush?”
I choke out a cough. “What?”
“Just…” Naomi looks away. Hadley looks like she simultaneously wants to shrink into the couch and go grab a bowl of popcorn.
“I… where did… what?” I ask again.
Naomi’s eyes center on me, and I see confusion above everything else. Maybe a little fear. Both trigger my anger. Not at her, just at the whole screwed up situation we’re in. I just bought her a guitar, paid to have the action adjusted, bought her extra strings, a tuner, even a small amp so she can play around with the electric component of her new acoustic-electric. I thought maybe we even bonded a little. Somehow that should earn me a reprieve from the negative stuff, right? How can she still look at me like she doesn’t trust me or know me at all?
She sighs. “Never mind,” she mutters, strumming through another few passes at the E-minor. Is the chord actually getting worse? It’s possible. She’s been at it a while so her fingers are probably tired and sore—like me and every muscle in my body and neuron in my brain.
“Naomi, it’s just…” I glance at Hadley, who clears her throat.
“Maybe I should go,” she says quickly. She starts to push up from the couch when Naomi grabs her arm.
“No, don’t leave. It’s fine. It’s not important. I don’t even care.” But we all know she’s lying. Something made her ask that question out of the blue. And something made her do it in front of Hadley.
Hadley and I exchange a long look, everything that happened last night flooding back in agonizing detail. Is she thinking about it too? Burning for more and wanting to pretend it never happened at the same time?
Old Julian would have accepted Naomi’s deferral. New Julian has learned what happens when you do that. Danny Ps fill the gap.
As much as I’d rather gouge my eye out than have this conversation, especially in front of Hadley, I force the words from my lips. “No, not never mind. Something is making you ask that question. What’s up, Naomi?”
She huffs and straightens. “Nothing. You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“If something’s bothering you, then I’m glad you did,” I say, surprising myself. I am glad she did. I’m fucking relieved she asked me and didn’t text some random predator she met on the internet.
She grunts and releases a heavy sigh. “Okay. It’s just, Dad always said you guys were criminals and rapists. What did he mean by that? And what really happened?”
Ouch.
I stare at her for a second, pretty sure my stunned expression is giving away everything stirring inside me. I don’t want to be so transparent, but how do you recover from that? Also, what psychopath abandons his daughter to a man he’s previously labeled as a criminal and rapist? Allan better be wearing a full armor suit if he ever dares to show his face again.
I feel Hadley’s direct stare as well, and avert my gaze. How the hell do I answer Naomi? Picking at the strings on my Taylor, I run her questions through my mind and fish for any answer that will make sense to them. I barely understand what happened, let alone an eleven-year-old who’s probably been filled with heaven knows how much misinformation. I don’t really know what to do other than go back to the beginning… well, kind of.
“You probably don’t remember much about living in Pennsylvania. You were young when you and your mom moved out here to L.A.”
“Mom was from Pennsylvania.”
“Yeah. We grew up right near the town where you were born. That’s also where the guys from Eastern Crush were from. And Mason West.”
“Wait, you grew up near Mason West?” Hadley asks, shrinking at my cynical look. “Sorry. Just… sorry. Continue.”
I force away a smile. Okay, then. Guess this is going to be a full audience production. “Yeah. He’s the one who started Eastern Crush, remember? Except then it was Western Crush.”
“So you played with him?” Naomi asks.
I shake my head. “Not then. I played mostly solo stuff back then. Or did contract gigs for other people. Pretty much anything I could do to get on a stage and put a dollar in my pocket. Hell, I did some street performance for a while.”
I sense Hadley’s eyes on me again, but don’t want to risk getting
derailed now that the words are coming out. Maybe it’s good for her to know the truth. She seemed pretty damn sure about the lies yesterday.
“Anyway Western Crush was always a big deal in our circuit, mostly because of the hype around Mason, so it was huge news when they got signed by Ex1t Row Records and Mason quit the band to take care of his kid.”
Hadley frowns at me, and I lift my hands. “I know, okay? Obviously, that’s not what really happened. At the time, though, that’s what they told me. That Mason quit to focus on family, Rob was stepping up to take over lead, Rick was moving into his spot which left an opening for a rhythm guitarist.
“Honestly, at the time it felt like God himself had stepped in to hand me this opportunity. After everything I’d been through and all the years of scraping by, here’s a free ticket on a train about to explode to the top. All the hard work had been done, dues paid. I just had to hop on and take the ride.”
I look away and pull in a deep breath. I feel their attention. The judgment, the pity. It’s a completely different story now that we know the ending.
“But that’s not what happened,” Hadley says quietly.
I shake my head, running a hand over my face as I lean back in the seat. “No, that’s not what happened.”
I focus on Naomi, whose wide eyes betray her typical indifference. I don’t even know how to edit the real story for eleven-year-old ears.
“Your dad called us criminals because it turns out Mason didn’t quit the band. He needed time to sort out his life after his girlfriend died and left him alone with a baby, and instead of being the family and support his band should have been, they abandoned him. They’d just been signed by Ex1t Row and didn’t want to lose the momentum they had.”
I blow out a breath. “There’s no getting around it. In a total dick move, they kicked Mason to the curb, changed the name to Eastern Crush, and kept performing the songs that got them noticed and signed—his songs. That’s where the legal side of this comes in.” Shit, how to explain months of complicated lawsuits, depositions, countersuits and—
“So you stole his songs,” Naomi says dryly. I glance at her with a hint of amusement. Yep, that works.
