Page 4 of Tortured Tones

Surely there was some way out of this.

I needed a miracle.

I needed a miracle now.

Chapter 2

COLE

In Downtown LA, sweat beaded on my brow as I walked toward the boardroom at the legal firm representing Shelby’s family with Patrick, my lawyer, and Flint, my moral support. For the past two days, I’d met with Patrick to run through my options. They were less than limited since the child was mine. But I held onto a sliver of hope. Hope that Shelby’s grandparents had changed their mind and wanted to contest the will. They’d be much better candidates than me to take care of the kid. They’d been looking after Charlotte since the accident. I didn’t want to rip her away from the family she already knew.

Behind those mahogany doors, my future would be determined.

The receptionist led us into the meeting room and spun to face us. Her cheeks flushed as she eyed Flint and me up and down. Guessed it wasn’t every day two rock stars walked through your office. If I wasn’t so anxious about what laid ahead, I’d have chatted and taken selfies, packed on the charm and met everyone there. But my mouth was dry, and I could barely form a word.

She waved us through the doorway. “I’ll let Usher know you’re here. He won’t be long.”

“Thank you.” Patrick nodded.

We entered the boardroom full of dark wooden furniture, high-backed leather chairs and huge windows that overlooked Wilshire Boulevard. The three of us took seats on one side of the table. Patrick opened his laptop and leather folder containing a pile of documents.

Flint nudged his arm against mine. “Hey? Everything will be okay.”

I half-heartedly nodded. I wished I shared his confidence.

Five minutes later, the door opened. In strode a man full of Matt Damon confidence, flecks of gray in his groomed beard, and dressed in a black pinstripe suit. Definitely a lawyer. He nodded in our direction, holding the door wider for a short woman with a kind smile that formed deep crinkles at the corner of her eyes, and an elderly man with snow-white hair in a wheelchair—Shelby’s grandparents, Paul and Hannah Lane.

As I stood to greet them, a new truck overloaded with distress slammed into the center of my chest. Since when had Mr. Lane been in a wheelchair?

But what hit harder than that was the grief draining the light from their eyes. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since Flint and I had seen Paul and Hannah. Six years at least. They’d lived not far from our childhood homes in Pasadena and had raised Shelby after she’d lost her mom to some rare heart disease. Her dad had never been in the picture.

Patrick held out his hand to greet their lawyer. “Morning. I’m Patrick Lopez.” He waved me forward. “This is Cole Tanner and his friend Flint Glover.”

“Good morning. I’m Usher Weeks.” He shook our hands then introduced Shelby’s grandparents. “This is Hannah and Paul Lane. Cole, my understanding is you already know each other.”

“Yeah.” Nodding, I stepped over to them. “Hi.”

“Oh, Cole.” Sadness, confusion, hurt, and something I couldn’t put my finger on...oh, wait...was that disappointment...welling in Hannah’s tear-filled eyes? She wasn’t the first parent or grandparent who’d looked at me like that. “I wish we were catching up under better circumstances.”

“Me too,” I said. She held out her shaky hand, but I gave her a hug instead. After turning to Paul, I clutched his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. He hadn’t aged a bit since I’d last seen him. “How are you, Mr. Lane? Still surfing? What’s with the wheels?”

“Hey, Cole.” He wrapped his crooked fingers around the joystick on his wheelchair. “My surfing days are over. I’ve been in this damn wheelchair for two years. MS is a bitch.”

Fuck. Multiple sclerosis? I didn’t wish a degenerative disease on anyone, but would that change things for me? A dull ache thudded deep inside my head. No...no, it couldn’t. However, I couldn’t expect them to look after a kid when he was so sick.

I kept the mood light, play-punching him in the arm. “Bet that doesn’t stop you from causing havoc around the town.”

“Oh, there’s none of that anymore. I’m trying to live my best life, but unfortunately, this shitty disease is beating me.”

Crap. That’s not good.

Hannah held out her arms to Flint and embraced him. “Oh, my goodness. It’s been so long. Haven’t you grown into a fine young man. How are you?”

My heart twanged. They’d always liked Flint...and me, Slip, and Phil when we’d hung out with Shelby and her friends at their house before going to gigs or parties. Hannah had always made us sandwiches and baked treats for our shows and had always said we’d be stars.

I was glad we’d proven her right.

“I’m good, Mrs. Lane.” Flint stepped back, then clutched Paul on the shoulder. “Sorry to hear about Shelby.” Too much emotion quivered through his voice.

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