Page 12 of Mayhem

“Shit’s been real for a while now,” Stefan says, his face unreadable as he walks away. “Welcome to the show.”

The rollercoaster of emotions from the last five minutes makes my head hurt. From Charlie and the girls’ excitement to Brad’s reticence, Emmett’s awakening, and now Stefan’s odd reaction, I’m not sure what to make of any of it.

Part of me is relieved we might have a real prospect on our hands thanks to my idea. But another part of me is wary that it might still go wrong. And then there’s the part that keeps glancing over at Brad to see if he’s glancing at me, like some stupid high school crush, making me feel as immature as Charlie.

I knew coming in that this was going to be complicated. I’m in unknown territory. What I didn’t expect was getting emotionally invested in any of it, or anyone. That’s not what I do, or how I work. I keep a distance.

But now, I care.

Damnit.

9

DISSOLVE ME

BRAD

Ilean against the cracked tile counter in my cramped kitchen, the faint smell of burnt coffee permeating the space. My eyes drift over the disorderly mess: a precarious tower of splattered mixing bowls, a dusting of cocoa powder, the dregs of our late movie night ice cream melted to sticky puddles across the table. Hints of Charlie everywhere, breathing new life into my sterile bachelor existence.

My gaze lands on Charlie’s glitter glue sticking to the brown leather couch, stubborn sparkly remnants glinting back no matter how much I scrub. The mottled carpet still embedded with crumbs from impromptu floor picnics no vacuum can quite pull up. Mismatched throw pillows and blankets in bright colors she lovingly assembled into a cozy nest. Signs of vitality slicing through the dim, muted tones of my typically lone refuge.

It feels good.

I can't help grinning as I take in the comfortable mess Charlie's made here - my boring bachelor pad is now bursting with color and energy only an eight-year-old tornado of a girl could bring. This cramped place hasn't felt much like home lately. It’s just been somewhere to pass out after late shows and even later nights at the studio. But with Charlie's bubbly laughter filling up the empty space, it already feels warmer.

The grin deepens remembering Charlie ranting about messed up details as we watched movies last night. She takes analyzing that cartoon world so seriously, pointing out things that shatter believability for her eight-year-old brain. We made a game of finding plot holes and cheap animation cheats. Her frown would get deeper with each dramatic eyeroll until laughter finally exploded out at particularly stupid parts.

Watching her crack up like that clinches my throat sometimes. Because underneath the smarty pants act, those carefree little kid giggles poke out. Reminding me of the childhood she got cheated out of with me gone more than around. Each gig or schedule change erasing our plans probably dimmed that light in her a little over the years. Sure, Jude is there, but I’m her real fucking dad. I should have been there more.

If I don't screw this visit up, could moments like last night bring that spark back for real? Could six weeks heal old wounds and rebuild trust if I stick to my promises for once? I don’t flake on purpose. Not anymore. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. It’ll never be enough to make up for lost time. Being here consistently matters more than even the fun stuff we get into. I know this.

I know this.

The stability in my crash pad these last few years probably looks monumental through a kid’s eyes. Eyes that somehow still gaze at me with more patience than I deserve most days.

My smile falters though, thinking about how short-lived this visit is. Ren being gone these weeks meant Charlie and me wouldn’t get our usual time together. Yet Charlie asked to stay with me instead of taking that overseas trip. That means something. I know getting thrown into Dad duty full-time these couple months won't be easy. But I’m actually loving it.

Could I get used to having her lighting up my days like this all the time? Or even just more often? That question already ties my gut in knots. I need to keep doing better.

It’s probably best I focus on the whirlwind already lined up for tomorrow when we meet that wildcard bass player from the internet. The one goofy video Charlie picked out that weirdly grabbed us. Was it just crazy luck with the whole internet call-out? Or maybe some deeper connection exists out there guiding strangers together somehow.

I like to believe in fate. That things happen for a reason. But does everything? Or only important things? Maybe just the small things?

Who the fuck knows.

My tornado of thoughts shifts unexpectedly to Tess. There's some magnetic pull happening there I wasn't expecting either. One that gets harder to ignore the more we talk. The image of her sweet smile, those blonde strands falling across her graceful neck as we chatted over dinner...keeps replaying in my brain like a song stuck on repeat.

I chuckle to myself remembering Tess huddled with Charlie in the studio space, both gluing rhinestones on some fluffy critter creation. Their giggling girl talk, and easy camaraderie stirred that fierce protectiveness in me as always. I can't help it after people have let my girl down before.

But something in the genuine warmth shining through in Tess's smile put me at ease. The way she gave Charlie her full attention instead of that distant distraction adults often slide into around kids. How thoughtful questions brought Charlie out of her initially shy shell little by little.

And those sly winks and whispers they exchanged like co-conspirators, pushed me over the edge. Tess didn't just humor Charlie's arts and crafts hobby. She somehow knew exactly which details would make it epic in a kid's eyes.

Seeing Charlie's beam widen as she bonds with someone new usually worries me. But watching Tess win her over inch-by-inch filled me with other emotions I can't quite name yet. Ones that quicken my pulse and clench my chest unexpectedly.

Maybe Tess understands the secrets of brightening a child’s world better than most. She hasn’t said anything specific about it, but I get the sense that her current position is hard won. She’s a fighter. I recognize that weight in her even if the details of it stayed locked up tight.

My thoughts flash to the deflected questions whenever our conversations turn personal. Her slowed reactions those times emotions almost cracked the surface before she re-tightened her control. I recognize that hyper-vigilance of not letting anyone too close.

---