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The devastation is spectacular.
43
ISKIP MY MORNING CLASSES THE NEXT DAY AND GO TO MY FATHER’Shotel instead, where the concierge fawns and fusses over me like I’m the celebrity. The man even rides the elevator to the penthouse with me, then presents me to my father as if I’m a visiting dignitary and not the dude’s daughter.
We don’t say a word as we wait for the sycophantic gentleman to leave. Once he does, my father’s polite expression collapses into itself, and he lets out an unsteady breath.
“Let’s sit,” he says.
“Fine.” My tone isn’t harsh but resigned. Yet he flinches all the same.
We settle on opposite ends of the plush love seat in the living area of his expensive suite. Across the room is a gleaming grand piano, on top of which sit an empty wineglass and two open bottles of red. The bench is pulled out, several pages of sheet music arranged on the piano shelf. I glimpse smudged notations done in pencil.
“Were you writing music?” I turn to him in surprise.
He nods. “Couldn’t sleep. Stayed up all night working on a new song.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re unretiring.”
“Nah. I think I’ll record it, though. Give it to you for your birthday this weekend.”
My heart clenches. Damn it. Why does he have to say stuff like that? It makes it impossible to stay mad at him.
“You know when you first came to live with me, I used to sit and watch you sleep for hours?” Dad confesses. “Just fascinated that you were real. And terrified that I wouldn’t know how to keep you alive. How to keep you happy and safe…”
He drifts off for a moment, donning a faraway expression.
“I know it might not have felt like it when I was touring, when you were left alone with your nannies, but you were the most precious thing to me. I’d lie awake every night while I was on tour thinking about all the ways I could screw you up.”
“But you didn’t screw me up,” I point out.
“Because I made a conscious effort not to. Other parents, I’d see them let their twelve-year-old try a sip of wine. Drop their tweens off at the mall and let them roam around alone for hours. Let their teenagers get wasted, smoke pot. I thought they were nuts. Didn’t they realize what kids do in malls? When I was sixteen, I got a BJ from my bandmate’s sister in a goddamn dressing room.”
“Ew, Dad. Gross. Next-level TMI.” I’m cringing hard.
“I’m just saying, I knew all about trouble. I’ve seen girls your age strung out on God knows what, trying to sleep with anyone even remotely connected to some rock star or celebrity.”
I know we’re both thinking of my own mother when he says that. It’s no secret Nancy slept with a few of Dad’s roadies before she gained access to Gunner Bly. And although he’s never confirmed it, the tabloids claim my father had a paternity test done before gaining custody of me. Normally I don’t buy what they’re selling, but I’m inclined to believe that story is true.
“I refused to let you go down that path,” he says simply. “And I suppose that made me more protective than other parents.”
“You suppose?” I can’t stop the sarcastic snort that pops out.
“I was petrified when you got accepted to the Pembridge program,” he admits. “I didn’t know how to deal with the fear thatI wouldn’t be there to protect you, and I guess I thought if I had a proxy over there, across the pond, it would save me some sleepless nights. It came from a good place, kid. Last night, you accused me of not having trust or faith in you. That’s not true at all. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust. Not you. Never you.”
“You have no idea how humiliating it is, what you did. I thought you were finally allowing me some independence, and instead you were checking up on me behind my back.”
“I’m sorry. It was wrong. What I did was wrong.”
“I’ve waited my whole life to start living.” My voice cracks. “Having my own stories and adventures, not just retelling yours.”
Guilt creases his rugged features.
“There isn’t much downside to being Gunner Bly’s daughter, but it is a little chilly in your shadow. All I’ve ever wanted was some space to be my own person.”
Dad curses under his breath. “Christ, kid. That one cuts deep. I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I don’t want you to feel bad. It’s not your fault that you are who you are.” I sigh. “But it’s time you allowed me to be whoIam.”
