He stares at the ink staining the paper in his hand. “Like what?”
“Like … kidnappings and things. You said a couple of months ago that you were taken by people with strange beliefs …” I trail off, hoping he’ll explain more to me. I don’t want to push him.
His fingers strangle the paper, the edges ruffling. “I wasn’t necessarily taken … I was given away.”
“By who?”
“My mother.” His tone is sharp, his eyes cold, lost. He looks like a scared little boy.
My breath catches in my throat. “She gave you to those people?”
“Left us with them,” is all he says. He folds up the papers and chucks them on the desk. “I have a bunch of stuff to do before I head to practice.”
I instantly regret showing him the paper, but there’s not a whole lot that I can do about it now.
“All right, I’ll see you later maybe.”
He doesn’t respond, so I leave the room, praying that I didn’t break him.
Chapter 8
Lyric
I have about an hour until date time and should be getting ready, but instead I end up getting distracted with my notebook. A lot of the stuff coming out of me today is strange and mainly centered on my worry for Ayden, but since I still don’t completely understand him or everything he went through, I feel as though my words are lacking. My lyrics usually do.
Honestly, I’m nowhere near where I want to be in any music area. I’ve yet to decide which instrument I want to focus on, haven’t performed at all, and the idea of performing in front of anyone makes me want to hurl. It gets frustrating. Ayden, who barely talks to anyone, is perfectly fine standing up on stage and playing the guitar, while me, Miss Chatterbox, suffers from stage fright.
Go. Fucking. Figure.
About fifteen minutes before date time, I start the process of getting ready, moving slower than usual as I keep glancing out the window toward Ayden’s bedroom. His curtain is shut, so I have no clue what he’s doing.
Finally, after going through all of my clothes, I end up stealing a thin-strapped black dress from my mother’s closet, and then slip a leather jacket on since it’s fall and sometimes the nights can sometimes get a little breezy. I dab on some kohl eyeliner and pink lip gloss, then top off the look with my favorite pair of boots before I go downstairs to wait for my date.
I find my dad lounging on the living room sofa, jotting down lyrics in his own notebook. He glances up when I enter.
“Where are you headed to all dressed up?” he asks, setting the pen and notebook down on the sofa cushion beside him.
“To a party.” I drop down in the chair across from him and kick my feet up on an antique trunk that acts as a coffee table.
He puts on his interrogation face. “And where is this party?”
“At Maggie’s house.” I check my watch. “Mom already went over this with me, Dad.”
“And who are you going with?” he continues, ignoring my last statement.
“With a guy from school.”
“Which one?”
“Someone you haven’t met yet.” I lower my feet to the floor. “His name’s William Stephington.”
“And what does this William do?” he asks, reaching for his soda that’s on the trunk.
“He goes to school with me.” I fiddle with one of the leather bands on my wrists. “He’s on the football team, too.”
His grip constricts on the soda can as he frowns. “Football? Really?”
“What? There’s nothing wrong with football guys.”
“Yeah, but … it just doesn’t seem like your type.”
“I don’t even know my type yet.” I resist an eye roll. Jesus, he’s getting weirder and weirder about guys the more I go out on dates.
He places the can back on the trunk then rests his arms on his knees. “Is Ayden going to this party?”
I shrug, feeling a lump swell in my throat as I remember the coldness in his eyes when I left his room. “I invited him, and he seemed like he might show up, but with Ayden you can never be sure. He might end up feeling too guilty about missing movie night.”
Maybe I should go check on him before I leave?
Or at least text him.
I just need to know that he’s okay.
My dad ponders over something then sticks his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to call Ethan to see if I can find out.” He presses a button then puts the phone to his ear while I retrieve my cell from my jacket pocket to text Ayden.
“Yeah, you do that.” I jump to my feet when I hear a horn honk outside. “That’s my ride. Have fun with your phone call.” I scurry for the door with the phone clutched in my hand.
“Lyric Scott, get your butt back here.”
Dammit, so close.
I spin around and smile innocently at him. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Don’t you ‘yes Daddy’ me.” He nods his head toward the window at the driveway where the engine of William’s car is rumbling. “I have to meet him before you get in that car with him.”
My shoulders slacken. “What, you don’t trust my judgment?”
He dithers with indecision. “No, not really. You are my daughter after all.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Fine. You can walk me to the car and meet him.” I aim a finger at him. “But don’t be weirdo, strict dad.”
He rolls his eyes as he stuffs his phone back inside his pocket. “Lyric, when it comes to you dating guys, I will always be weirdo, strict dad, but only because I love you.”
Sighing, I lead him out to William, knowing my dad’s already docking points for the Mercedes he’s driving. William appears wigged out when I stroll up to the driver’s side and rap on the glass.
He rolls the window down. “What’s up?” He casts a glimpse over my shoulder at my dad. His appearance is going to be strike two—blonde hair slicked back, a polo shirt, and his somewhat cocky grin isn’t going to impress him.
“William, this is my dad.” I motion back and forth between them. “Dad, this is William.”
My dad eyeballs the sleek lines of the car with his face screwed up tight, like he just tasted something bitter. “How long have you had your license?”
“For about a year.” William flicks a what the hell look at me.