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“I’d love that. Thanks,” Peace says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Can I have one too?” Bo asks.
Fucking hell.
I raise a brow at Bryan and gesture to his son. Both our kids are sellouts. He just shrugs.
“Of course you can,” Avery says, shifting toward Bo, who is on the other side of Peace.
My punishment doesn’t seem to be keeping my daughter and Bryan’s son apart.
“So, you like music too, Bo?” Avery asks him.
“Oh yeah.” He nods. I can just barely see him around Avery.
“Who are your favorite bands?” Avery tilts her head.
“Same as Peace.”
That is interesting. I’m not surprised Bo didn’t mention Tempest. Bryan’s son doesn’t attempt to placate his father. I like that about him. But I don’t want Peace to placate me. I just want her to love me and to know I love her.
I frown.
“What do you like best about your favorite bands?” Avery asks, leaning back in her chair.
“The lyrics.”
“The guitars,” Bo says.
Peace shakes her head at Bo. “That’s what you always say.”
“They’re important.” Bo crosses his arms over his chest.
“Lyrics are more important,” Peace says, defending her choice. “They tell a story.”
“A guitar solo can do that.”
“It can add to the mood, but it can’t tell the story. Not like words do.”
“Is that what you’re writing in your notebook?” Avery aims her gaze at where it rests beside Peace’s plate. “Lyrics?”
“Not really. Just some notes and poems.” Peace sounds evasive.
“Poems can be lyrics. Most are.” Avery’s voice softens. “I used to write my thoughts in a notebook that I took with me everywhere. Is that what you do?”
“Yeah,” Peace whispers. “Sometimes I don’t know what to say, and it’s easier to write down the words.”
“I agree.” Avery smiles. “I think that’s very cool.”
“Thanks.” Peace beams at Avery like she’s a unicorn shooting wish-granting farts out of her ass.
Admittedly, I’m not an Avery fan like most of America and probably half the world is. But I do like that she engaged my shy daughter and got her talking. I just wish Peace was sharing with me rather than with Avery.
Suddenly, I have an idea. A title for a song and lyrics come to me.
A plan unfolds, one that I hope will help me reach my daughter.
“I like Red,” King says. From his spot behind his kit, he bangs on his snare with his sticks. His expression beams with determination. “But we can’t lose to BS.”
