Page 179 of Love Felt Like This

I swallow back the tightness in my jaw. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get this parenting thing right.”

“You won’t.”

I jerk my head to him, but Dom smiles.

“It’s not easy,” he says. “It’ll never be exactly how you imagine. We promised we wouldn’t be a sports household, but my girl wanted softball, so now our house smells like damp socks during the spring. She’s still figuring out how to do her laundry—also something we said she’d do on her own—but we do it for her anyway because she’s busy. My youngest stays up too late even though we set a bedtime, and don’t get me started on those screens.”

That might be the most I’ve ever heard Dom monologue about his family. It has my lips twitching at the corner.

“You should talk about them more, Dom.”

“You’re her dad,” he continues. “You’re not perfect. You never will be. But you get to choose what happens now and how you react to the shit that comes next. You choose the life that fits both of you. I liked Robin. She was a good woman and a good mom. But you can’t live your life hoping to raise the kid how she would, because you’re not her. That just ain’t how life is. Be honest with yourself: Was hiding Ava ever going to work long term?”

That unease twists my gut more than peering over the side of Elk Grove’s lookout.

He’s right.

I hate that he’s right.

We were always going to cross this bridge at some point, even if Robin were still here. We couldn’t hide Ava forever.

I glance up at the glass window, watching her giggle with Poe as he mouths a song to her. Royce taps his foot to the silent beat. Even though I can’t hear them on this side of the glass, I see that laugh explode out of her.

Maybe this is the happiness she needs.

An open life with her dad. Not being cooped up in the house. I can’t shelter her forever, and even if I could, would she think she’s a shameful secret? Ava is anything but shameful.

I glance down at my notebook on the floor.

The lyrics. The notes meant for piano.

I’m not ashamed of anything.

I pace over to the piano, running my tongue over my teeth. I plunk down a key. It’s crisp and clear, like I imagined it was when I wrote it. I tap a key again, then add another. I press down both hands with twitching fingers that find their notes like muscle memory. It all flows easily, just like it’s meant to.

The intercom scratches to life, and I hear Jimmy’s voice say, “What, uh, whatcha doin’, Griff?”

I cut a glance to the window. Jimmy wears a steely expression. But behind him, Poe and Royce have curious looks. Not disappointed. Interested.

I press down on the keys again. The notes that follow feel right. The chords reflect the magic in the lyrics. The magic of Beverly Lark.

The intercom scratches.

“I kinda like that, man,” Poe says.

“This is good,” Dom says from behind me.

I pull my hands back.

“It’s not what I’m known for,” I murmur.

Dom scoffs. “Who gives a shit? We just want to play good music, don’t we?”

“It’s not me.”

“It is. Stop living in the past. It’s time to move on.”

There’s thumping on the recording-booth glass. I turn around on the piano bench and see Ava leaning forward in Poe’s arms. I can’t hear her, but I see her lips clearly form the words Daddy, play!