Page 63 of Tortured Tones

“Cool. First, this is how you hold the sticks. Palms out, facing down.” I held my hand out to demonstrate. She copied. “It’s all about balance. Place the stick between your index finger and your thumb, then wrap your hand around it. Like this.” I wriggled her stick into position, then closed her fingers over it. “This is called a matched grip.”

She held up the sticks. “Is this right?”

“Perfect.” Not bad for her first lesson. “Now you tap this drum and I’ll play the bass. Ready?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s go.” I pumped the pedal in a steady four-on-the-floor beat. Charlotte struck the small tom-tom. Her beat was uneven and out of time. I chuckled and just let her play. The smile on her face and light in her eyes was worth it. “That’s good. Keep going. One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four.” I picked up a stick and played the other side of the kit, showing off, hitting the drums at double the speed.

Glitter shimmered in her bright eyes. She wriggled on my lap, swinging and rocking her legs back and forth. Yeah, playing drums was super cool. I jerked my chin to the cymbal. “Hit the big shiny gold disk. Really hard.”

She clutched the stick with all her might and slammed it against the cymbal. It tinkered softly and barely moved. But I was down for some healthy encouragement.

“Yeah. Do it again.”

As Charlotte struck the cymbal a second time, I glanced up. Ava stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb.

I hadn’t heard her come in.

I was about to throw her a wink, but her watery eyes caught me off-guard. I grabbed Charlotte’s hand and stilled her drumming. “Ava? Is everything okay?” How long had she been standing there? The whole time? Was I getting used to having her around?

Maybe.

She sniffled and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.” She thumbed toward the hallway. “I’ve just finished checking in. All’s good. I’ll head off and see you soon.”

“Okay.” I wouldn’t mind if she stayed, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want to. “Thanks.”

She went to turn but stopped. “Cole? This is what having a kid is all about. Magical moments that create beautiful memories. Be the best father she could ever hope for.”

With that, Ava took off.

I rubbed Charlotte’s arm, then sat her higher up on my leg. She tapped away on the drums, awe sparkling in her eyes with every beat. Every time I looked at Charlotte my mind spun, my chest ached, and my heart cracked open a fraction more.

She was mine.

I’d do everything I could to give her a good life. A family. Anything she needed. I just needed to sort myself out in the process too. And that might prove to be impossible.

After playing on the drums for another twenty minutes, I made sandwiches for lunch. Peanut butter for Charlotte. Loaded chicken salad for me. We were just finishing up when Hannah came home.

She joined us then surprised me during her call to the social worker.

She didn’t feed me to the sharks. Instead, Hannah told Arilla we were slowly adjusting and getting better every day. That Charlotte was well and loved her new home.

Fuck... I didn’t deserve the tick, but I’d take it. I had to step up. Be better for my kid. Be there for my band. Take more onto my plate that was already overflowing.

Yep. I had to. I could.

Everything would be fine.

But when Ava returned at one o’clock sharp, the niggle in the back of my neck tightened. Rather than lingering by the front door, she came straight over to where I sat at the kitchen counter with urgency in her step. She handed me a photo of a black Mercedes parked down the street from my house.

“Bruno, on our surveillance team, captured this car this morning just before we left. We ran the plates, but they’re fake.”

“Fuck.” A chill shot down my spine, erasing the good vibes I’d had from hanging out with Charlotte. Nausea flooded my gut as I scanned the picture. “Is this the same one that was at the park?”

“Yes, it is. ”

“So we were followed?” I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump lodged in my throat.

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