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Her father shook his head. “That’s not how family works.”
“This is business.” She smiled at him. “It would be a mistake, Daddy. Y’all have to go to ACMF.”
“People will talk.” Travis’s jaw was locked. “You can’t just not show up. We are the Three Kings. You know?”
“Travis.” Her father’s voice was gruff. “I need everyone to be on board with this. Hell, to feel good about it. And I’ll be turning on the damn security system, too. Every time, something goes missing. Not this year.”
Krystal smiled. “If that will make you feel better, Daddy.”
He nodded. “But you don’t have to go, Krystal.”
“Make something up.” Emmy Lou shrugged. “Laryngitis? That’d keep her from performing. And talking.”
“How about we work out the details later.” She looked at Jace—and regretted it. “You have a song for Jace, Daddy?” Her gaze fell to Clem.
Her father nodded. “I do.”
Clementine’s tail wagged and her little tongue brushed the underside of Krystal’s chin. “Thank you, baby.”
“Here.” Travis put the box on the table and slid into the seat opposite her. “Going to Australia wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
She smiled at him. “Australian women superhot?”
He grinned. “I’m game to find out.”
“The new album comes out next month,” she pointed out. “This is where we need to be. You know Daddy. He’ll get the Australian dates pushed back.”
Travis was staring at her, posture going stiff, his green eyes troubled. He had questions. One day, he’d want answers.
“Working on that new song.” She cut him off. “Wanna hear?”
He nodded, his posture easing.
She gave him Clementine.
“She doesn’t have to be held twenty-four hours a day,” Travis grumbled, rubbing the white poof of hair on the dog’s head. “You are one spoiled dog, you know that?”
Clementine was all wiggles.
“Just ignore him, Clem,” Emmy said, sitting on the seat by her brother. “He only wishes he’d get half the attention you do.”
“Poor Travis,” Krystal cooed, mussing her brother’s hair before she headed for her guitar.
Her daddy caught her hand as she walked past to her room. She paused long enough to kiss him on the temple.
“You know I mean it.” He squeezed her hand.
She nodded and did her best to smile. Her daddy loved her—even after all that had happened. She squeezed his hand, hating how her smile wobbled. Better to roll her eyes, pretend it wasn’t a big deal. She tried, then hurried to the storage compartments at the back of the bus. It was quieter there and she needed space to clear her mind. She opened the cabinet and pulled out her guitar, her heart hammering against her chest. Damn Tig Whitman. Two deep breaths. Resting her forehead against the cool wood compartment. Thinking of her happy place—her grandfather’s kitchen, elbow deep in biscuit dough with her grandmother singing to whatever song was blaring from her radio.
It helped. But he was still there. Tig Whitman. Her personal boogeyman, waiting to pop out and scare the shit out of her when she thought he was gone for good.
It wasn’t as though she were a fragile sixteen-year-old anymore. She had a firm grip on reality. Life wasn’t a love song. Being a hero meant doing the right thing, and they were a rare breed. Tears were a waste of time and energy. The people who loved you could hurt you worst of all. Uncle Tig. Her mother. Her father—though he’d done his best to make up for that. And, finally, some wounds would never fully heal. The Wellness Ranch taught her that—the place had taught her a lot, actually. Mostly, how to survive. And lying to hide the nasty truth was the only way everything would be okay. Not for her—but for the rest of the world.
The only time she’d slipped? Years ago. Why her mother thought a “Welcome home from Wellness Ranch” party was appropriate, she still didn’t know. Uncle Tig showed up. He’d forgiven her for the horrible things she’d said about him, he said. He’d make sure she knew she was his special girl, he said. But his hug, his hands on her, pressing her close, had been too much. She’d thrown up all over his fancy custom suit and run for her bedroom, refusing to open the door to anyone. Her daddy had to take the door off the hinges to get inside. He’d taken one look at her, hiding in the back of her closet, and told her mother Tig was no longer welcome in their home. Not his name nor his presence. It was the one time her father had laid down the law with her mother.
Her mother had never forgiven her for it. And Krystal could never forgive her mother for deserting her when she’d needed her most. A daughter should be able to rely on her mother, shouldn’t she? She tried to be strong, she did. But sometimes, she ached to have someone to turn to.
Her daddy was already too tormented by the past.
