Page 68 of Take My Hand

Walker: Meeting the ’rents…big step bro! Hope it goes better than mine did with Scar’s

I tamp down a snort that tries to escape at his text. His first meeting with Scar’s parents ended with her running out of dinner, him telling them both off, and Scar disappearing for a few hours before Walker finally tracked her down.

From the little time I’ve spent with Roger already, I’d say this is definitely going to go smoother than his.

After we place our orders, Carter fills Roger in on everything from her apartment to her photography to her travels with me and the band. He listens intently to her every word and practically glows with pride when she tells him that one of her photos of us was featured in a magazine run along with an interview we gave a few weeks prior.

You can see the love he has for his daughter, his only child.

“I told you that you could do it on your own. You’ve always been capable of it. Just had to believe it for yourself,” he tells her and the unspoken words hang heavy between them.

That she’s never needed Daniel, no matter how much he convinced her otherwise. I saw the same thing, recognized her talent above his, and share a knowing look with her dad.

I don’t know what Roger’s relationship was like with his daughter’s ex, but there’s clearly no love lost there as he says, “You have that spunk back in your step. I’ve missed it like hell.” His voice cracks a bit at the end, and Carter ducks her head down, either to hide her reaction to his words or to put an end to that line of conversation.

A cluster of screams erupts from the bar area and I jump in the booth, heart rate immediately spiking and all of my senses on edge. My neck whips in that direction, body already leaning forward to keep Carter behind me.

But as my eyes scan the room for the threat, it sinks in that the group was yelling at the baseball game currently playing on one of the screens. They groan and shout profanities at the umpires, clearly upset by a call that seemed to end the game with their favored team losing.

My mind recognizes that it’s nothing, that I’m safe, but my heart takes a while to catch up. I lean back in the booth, trying to calm myself down but still feeling that edge of panic looming in the distance.

A small hand grips my thigh and squeezes hard at first, but then softens in a gentle caress. It grounds me and I look over to see Carter watching me with concern.

I lay my hand on top of hers to keep it place, to keep her touch on me and something to tether me into this moment. Giving her a grateful nod, my breathing finally starts to even out.

Roger watches me with curiosity and my stomach sinks. Does he know anything about me? Does he know about my history? By the way he’s looking at me as if I’m a piece of DIY furniture that arrived without a manual and is trying to figure out how it all works, I’d say not.

But that’s not exactly a first meeting, casual dinner conversation. Hell, Carter and I haven’t really even talked about it in depth yet. I can tell that there have been times that she’s had questions, or has been tempted to dig deeper, but she always backs off before digging too far.

I guess I’d rather him know by me telling him though than him going home and googling me. But I don’t want to see pity in his eyes when he looks at me. Don’t want him to think that maybe I’m not strong enough to protect his daughter if he knows how much my mind attacks me every day.

“Thought you’d be used to crowds screaming, being a rockstar and all,” Roger breaks the silence, trying to lighten the mood.

Carter’s face falls and she throws a silent apology my way before telling him under her breath, “Not now. Okay?”

Roger’s brows dive in confusion at her reaction, and I jump in. “It’s okay, Carter. I uh.” I pause, clearing my throat with a sip of water. “A student at one of my brother’s high school graduation a couple years ago opened fire during the ceremony.” The back of my neck grows hot and I reach a hand up to rub away the burn. “I’m just a little sensitive to crowds and loud noises from it.”

Roger stares at me in shock for a moment, before he dips and shakes his head. “Senseless, senseless violence.” He takes a long drink of his beer before he meets my eyes again and I brace myself to see it.

The pity. The sympathy that suffocates.

But instead, I just see anger. Cold, icy, anger.

“Was your family safe?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

He nods, digesting that nugget of information as if trying to let it pacify him.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, son. It happens too fucking often and I just—” he cuts off, rubbing his hand roughly across his mouth and jaw. “It just happens too often.”

“Thank you.”

Our food arrives, giving us all a momentary reprieve from the serious cloud hanging over us and dig in.

We eat the first few bites in silence, until Carter pipes in, switching topics to something much lighter and I shoot her an appreciative smile.

“Hayden is the one whose house I sent you those photos of and was asking you about some of the remodels,” she tells him. His eyes light up in either recognition or the idea of getting to talk about something he loves.

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