“When you stop actin’ like one, I’ll be sure to call you something more appropriate.”
“In that case,” I say, leaning forward until I’m almost in his face. “You can call me Queen.”
I tell myself not to look at his mouth. But my eyes betray me, flicking there before I can stop them. He smirks.
I snap my gaze back to his eyes, pretending they’ve been there the whole time.
“Fine by me, Queenie.” He leans down a few inches. “I have connections from attending NECM, but I don’t like talking about my time there because it didn’t end the way it should have.” He hesitates for only a second, but continuing seems to pain him. “The school and I came to a …mutual agreementat the end ofmy junior year that neither of us had anything to offer the other, and I left to go on tour with an up-and-coming band that didn’t work out. And because I chose music over my own family, I wasn’t there for my dad when he was in his accident that left him paralyzed. In fact, I forced Sean—the best brother a guy could ask for—to turn down the NHL to take care of our dad because my dreams mattered more to me than his.”
Shock pours over me like an ice bucket. “Sean was drafted to play in the NHL?”
Patty exhales, slow and steady, but the weight behind it is anything but. “Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “He was. But unlike me, he didn’t hesitate for a moment when he chose our dad.” He rubs his knuckles, his jaw clenched tight enough that I bet his teeth hurt. “And I have to live with the fact that I didn’t choose either of them.”
His words sit heavy in the air, like a bomb has just gone off, and he’s waiting for the dust to settle to assess the damage.
I have no right to ask this, but I do anyway, because something tells me this is my last shot at getting the truth.
“What happened to your mom?”
“She didn’t choose them, either. Left two months after the accident because ‘being a caretaker was too heartbreaking’ for her. And she ‘had to spread her wings and fly.’”
I draw back in a near-flinch, his words striking a blow. “She left your dad? She left all of you?”
His chuckle is like a frigid gust of wind. “She’s nothing like your momma.”
My breath catches, but I force myself to keep my voice even. “And what do you know about my momma?”
“I know she chose her family over her career.”
My grip tightens around my water bottle, the plastic crinkling in protest. “Yeah? And she never should’ve had to make that choice at all. If my father hadn’t been so caught upin the rockstar lifestyle, she could still be performing. Her name should be mentioned along with Dolly and Reba and Loretta, and instead, she’s an afterthought. And all because she fell in love with her lead guitarist, and he fell in love with partying.”
“And you think that makes her some tragic figure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Is she not happy?”
I frown. “She is. Because she’s the type to be happy digging coal. But she could have more.”
“Don’t y’all live on a fifty-acre ranch outside of Augusta?”
“I don’t mean money, although she could have more of that, too. I meanfulfillment. Music was her life—still is. But instead of getting to perform it, she teaches private lessons to spoiled kids who blame her when they get cut in the first round of American Idol.”
Patty backs up a few inches, and that space gives me room to breathe.
Somehow, the world has continued while we’ve argued. My friends are singing or chatting with my band, except for Parker, who’s joined the guys in playing cards around a table in the corner of the room.
“I reckon we see this differently.”
“I reckon we do,” I snap.
Patty’s tongue runs over one of his back teeth, a sign of irritation if I’ve ever seen one.
“Are you satisfied with my credentials?”
I stand up straighter. I’ve held on to this frustration—this resentment over my momma’s situation—for years. Yet I’ve never let myself get this carried away.
“I don’t know.”
