Page 3 of Deliverance

“Good stuff, huh?” Dom motions at the frame. “Local artist, I think.”

I drop my gaze to the bottom of the canvas and read the description.

Drew Kadence. Rhythm.

“I like it.” I nod. “Would look great in my living room.”

“Hold your wallet. You haven’t seen Hazel’s work yet.”

We continue our walk down the curve of the corridor until it begins to merge with the large, brightly-lit room full of people. Above me, the ceiling disappears and I see a dark stretch of starless Los Angeles sky. More artwork adorns white walls. Bouquets of pastel flowers sit on pedestals. On the opposite side, next to the bay windows overlooking the street, there’s a small cocktail station.

Some guests are slowly moving from one frame to another, chatting as they go. Others are gathered into small groups. The Gates of Hale tune playing in the background triggers a whole lot of memories in me. Suddenly, I’m a kid again, rocking my very first drum kit in my parents’ garage while my dad’s washing his car in the driveway and cheering me on. We weren’t rich, but we were well-to-do, and my parents supported my desire to make a living by beating the shit out of stuff. I came from love, wealth, and support. I got lucky.

Some didn’t.

Aiden’s the first one to notice me. He torpedoes through the room and hugs my knees.

“Zander!”

“What’s up, big guy?” His long, dark hair tickles my face when I lift him up for an embrace. He’s grown a few inches and gotten heavier, and the change startles me.

His small arms wrap around my neck in a deadly chokehold. I’ve forgotten how unapologetically passionate kids can be. “Where have you been?” he inquires and it hits me—he’s no longer mispronouncing words.

“Traveling.”

Aiden tightens his grip for a second before I lower him back to the floor. We make our way to the cluster of people near the buffet, where Justice is entertaining the guests with his daughter in tow. Last time I saw the little girl, she was a hairless bundle. Dressed in a pink chiffon skirt and a Motorhead jacket, she’s clinging to her father’s neck for dear life. Tiny fingers curled into fists, face serious. Maybe even too serious for a one-year-old. I’m just happy she’s not making a scene and is actually letting her parents socialize.

“Dad! Dad!” Aiden yells, pulling my hand. “Zander’s here!”

A few heads turn and I note Cruz and Wendy. His hand is on her ass and she’s rocking a new hair color—a mix of purple and red I struggle to label.

Chaotic embraces are exchanged.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Justice moves closer, his face splitting into a sheepish grin. “I thought you were conquering Everest.” He looks thoroughly sleep-deprived, which is nothing unusual for someone who’s got two very attention-demanding kids. Stubble shadows his jaw and his hair is what women would call a perfect bedroom mess. Just enough to create the impression that he doesn’t care about his looks. We all know it’s bullshit. The dude cleans up nicely. Requirements of the trade.

“Fatherhood agrees with you.” I give him a light pat on the shoulder and switch my attention to the baby. “Hey, Princess. Remember me?”

She blinks, eyes wide and curious, plump cheeks wobbling.

“It’s Uncle Zander,” I explain, shaking her little hand.

“Baba.” She waves her fist at me. “Baba.”

“What’s Baba?” I look at Justice, needing some help translating the baby language.

“Ah.” He carefully brushes her unruly hair to smooth back some of her golden locks. “A code word for everything. Mom. Dad. Aiden. Hungry.” His eyes settle on his daughter’s face and the world freezes for a long moment. Not for me, but for them. I’m just the witness, but I still experience this short burst of pure unadulterated love radiating from him. The way he’s looking at her—as if she’s the end and the beginning of everything—is what most people who listen to our music will never get to see. For many, we’re just a bunch of perverted dudes in makeup and tight clothes.

We’re anything but normal, which conjures a question of its own.

What is normal, anyway?

“Are you gonna come see my new bicycle?” Aiden jerks the sleeve of my jacket and my attention is back at the gallery again, encompassed by light chatter and the clink of champagne glasses.

After we hang out for a bit, we move over to the quieter side of the room to steal a moment of privacy.

“What do you think?” Justice leads me to the large painting in the corner. He stops and stares at the splashes of pink and blue for a long moment as if he’s looking for something. His daughter is now sucking on her thumb, her big eyes sweeping over the room full of people as if she’s trying to decide whether she should take after her dad—the party animal, or her mom—the silent observer.

“You married up, man,” I tell him honestly, shoving both hands in the pockets of my jacket.

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