Page 4 of If Only In Our Dreams

I didn’t want to let the people who supported me down.

“Bobbie’s abigfan,” the woman shoved her son forward. He looked…miserable. Totally fucking embarrassed that his mom was doing this to him. And thatkilledme.

“Moooom,” Bobbie grumbled, cheeks about as red as mine were two seconds ago.

“He’s got the biggest crush on you!” She continued to chatter, way too fucking friendly, throwing her kid under the bus without realizing it. Poor kid, oh my god. Was this lady oblivious or what?

I grinned, ducking my head, catching his gaze with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m flattered.”

He relaxed a little, relieved when he realized I wasn’t offended. “You’re old but you—” he fidgeted, “I really like the way you play guitar.”

You’re old.

Damn kid, goin’ right for the kidneys.

“He wants to be a musician when he grows up,” she gushed again. “Do you have any advice?”

People did this all the time, treated me like I was fucking Jesus of music or some shit. Like I knew the secret to success in the music industry. Unfortunately, the truth was thatIwasn’t even sure how I’d made it as far as I had. I’d simply been in the right place at the right time.

Knew the right person.

Got lucky.

But you couldn’t saythatto a fucking kid. Even if it was true.

“Don’t give up, even when things get hard,” I said instead, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Find out…what inspires you.” I scratched my temple, embarrassed this was happening, a sick pit in my stomach because I felt like a fucking hypocrite. “And cling to that. No matter how hard it gets—or who tells you that you can’t. Don’t letanyonetell you that you need to change to achieve your dreams.”

Projecting much?

“That’s a good point,” Mom grinned. Her expression softened.

“Andpractice,” I added, making eye contact with the kid again—because I wastryingto be uplifting. “Because one day someone might come knocking on your door, and if you’re not ready, that’s on you.”

Well, that was dark.

Jesus.

Bobbie, to his credit, nodded along. His eyes lit up, a little grin spreading across his lips, like what I’d just told him was pure gold. “Okay,” he said, cheeks still pink. “Okay,” he repeated, more determined this time.

“You’re already ahead of me, kid,” I shrugged, my smile softening. “Seriously. When I was your age I had no idea what I wanted to do. So keep trying and just…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Hold on to the parts of music that make you happy.”

I wish I could say I’d done that.

“Could we get your autograph?” Bobbie’s mom asked, and I nodded, already reaching for the pen I kept in my backpack for moments just like this.

I signed the kid’s baseball cap and made sure to make eye contact. He smiled shyly at me, ducking his head, his chubby little hands shaking. I hated that I made him nervous, but I didn’t know how to fix it.

So I just let his mom take a pic of us together, and then watched them walk away, feeling like somehow…I’d fucked that up.

Like I could’ve been moreprofoundor motivational or some shit.

But that had never been my strong suit.

Slumping a little, I turned back around—only to see that apparently, I’d had an audience. Immediately, my pulse skittered to life, and my hands grew sweaty.

He’s not going to yell at you,I tried to convince myself.

But I wasn’t so sure I believed it.

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