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“Thank God Tarryn King was there to hold me up,” I joked with a wink.
Dad's brows lifted as he nodded. “She's a pretty one—that's for damn sure,” he said with a glint in his eye that lasted as long as it took for Mom to smack his chest. He rubbed the spot as if it hurt. “Did you two get acquainted last night?”
In 1966, my parents had met at a Bob Dylan concert. Dad was twenty-one, Mom was nineteen, and they were both virgins. They fell in love at first sight and knew immediately that their respective souls had found its mate, yet they remained pure until their wedding night … three months later.
Their chastity prior to that fated day had had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with self-respect. Neither of them was a prude, and neither had chastised me when they discovered I’d lost my virginity during a three-month-long relationship in the eleventh grade.
But that didn't mean they were thrilled with my habit of partaking in casual sex since my career as a singer and musician had taken off. And Dad never ceased to make that known in the stony expression he wore whenever he asked a question like,“Did you two getacquainted?”
Snorting and shaking my head, I replied, “Can't say that we did, Dad.”
Mom asked, “Well, did you at least have a nice time at the party? You did say you were going to the party afterward, right?”
I paused on my way to the steps as an image of Lennon came to mind—straddling my lap with her head thrown back, spilling her long black hair over my hands. It seemed unfair that my four years of celibacy had had to end with the greatest sex of my life, especially since I couldn’t at least call her up whenever I needed to have my world rocked again.
“It was okay,” I replied as Lennon faded from my vision as quickly as her scent on my shirt.
“I'm glad you went,” Mom said, taking my arm as we climbed the steps together. “I mean, you know I always want you to be careful, but I'm glad you decided to go and have a good time.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I said, nodding and wondering where Lennon was now. “So am I.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dylan
“…and I’m stuck here feeling stupid, wonderin’ if maybe I was wrong, to chat you up at a party, all to end up with this song. And maybe you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me, or maybe you never will, but it’s been a month since you warmed my bed, and I’m thinkin’ ‘bout you still,” I sang, strumming my acoustic in front of the computer screen.
With the final chord, I dropped the pick onto the kitchen table, then propped the guitar against my wheelchair. I looked at the computer to see Greyson’s hands fly to his long blond hair, pushing it back. At the same time, Dave sucked in a breath and puffed his cheeks while one hand clapped against his forehead. Both were silent, looking away from their respective screens to somewhere else, obviously waiting for someone else to speak first.
I regretted mentioning anything.
For years, I’d been worried that I had lost it—the talent, the drive, the ability to string words together and make magic. And now, from the looks on their faces, I had no choice but to believe it was true.
“It’s rough, I know,” I said, breaking the silence without even glancing at the screen.
God, it was worse than rough. It was a fucking love song, composed of simple words and an even simpler melody. That wasn't my niche; that wasn't what our band did. I had known it while writing it down, but I’d thought it could be redeemed, that maybe it wouldn't be so terrible once it was sung.
But their silence said it all.
With a defeated huff, I reached for the keyboard, ready to sign off. “Okay, well—”
“This chick really got you bad, huh?” Simon said, leaning in closer to the camera with a smirk on his stupid face.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “What do you—”
“Guys, you realize what's happening here, right?” he continued, cutting me off. “We've fuckin' lost him.”
I thrust a dismissive gesture at the screen. “I got some inspiration to write a few shitty songs. I wouldn't say I've jumped off the freakin' deep end, okay?”
“Sounds like you're pretty far gone to me,” Grey said, dropping his hands to his desk and smiling. “Not saying it's a bad thing. Just … you know, making an observation.”
“Wait,” I said, planting my elbows against the table. “So, you guys are saying you liked it?”
Dave shrugged. “Look, is it different from the usual stuff? Yeah, it is. But does that mean it'sbad?” He shook his head. “Not even a little bit.”
“I actually think it's kinda refreshing,” Grey added. “Might bring in some new fans.”
“Or, you know, drive away the old ones,” I challenged, laughing without an ounce of humor.
