Page 29 of Shattered Chords

“Sweets, you forgot about the greatest creation of the twenty-first century.”

“Huh?”

“Uber.” He waggled his brows. “One drink won’t hurt. You need to unwind while your kid is busy being famous.”

He came.

I saw him in my peripheral when The Army of Three was finishing their performance. The boys were all Ally’s age, dressed in tuxedos and armed with guitars. The drummer’s sun-kissed curls bouncing behind the row of cymbals were the only indication someone was actually playing an instrument.

My heart swelled in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the hormones, the margarita Harper bought me, or the anticipation of seeing my daughter perform, but my emotions were out of control. My mind raced in thousands of different directions along with the music blasting from the speakers lining the stage. There was something magical about a child creating a piece of art, be it my child or someone else’s.

I’d gone to the dressing room a few times to see if Ally needed help, but she was like a little porcupine. Her spikes came out every time I tried to offer support. All grown up, she was surrounded by her friends, who didn’t need to consult Google about Dante Martinez.

I didn’t think he’d show up. Why would a man of his wealth and status care to see a local high school band? Yet he was here, in the flesh. Gracing Valley Club with his rock’n’roll majesty presence. He sat at the table in the very back. Alone. The hood of his sweatshirt was thrown over his head. Tiny spotlights danced across his cheeks and chest. A glass of what looked like water sat in front of him, untouched. He sucked on a lollipop like a six-year-old and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to remain unnoticed or this was his usual night-out attitude. The club was packed and the air felt heavy, despite the AC working full-time. Elbows and shoulders knocked. People swirled around Dante’s table, but no one dared to approach.

Harper had gone to the bar to get another round. After nearly a week of denial over his breakup with Lucas, he was finally letting loose. I was still sipping on my first margarita, but all the confidence the drink had given me was replaced with anxiety the moment I realized Dante Martinez was here.

On stage, the kids jumped and bellowed. Their instruments and small voices squawked in unison and I willed myself to concentrate on the performance. Toward the end of the last song, when the front rows consisting mainly of enthusiastic parents began to clap and cheer, my gaze returned to Dante. The crowd around his table was growing bigger. I saw a man worming his way in. There it was. His first fan.

They exchanged a few words and a handshake.

“This place is hotter than hell.” Harper’s voice cut through the noise. “I got you another margarita.” He slid the drink over to me and flopped onto his stool.

“Thanks.” I turned to face him and inched closer. “He’s here.” My heart did a little flip as the words left my mouth.

“Who’s here?”

“Dante Martinez.”

Harper bit his straw and blinked rapidly. “You’re kidding?” Curiosity colored his eyes.

“No.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the table surrounded by a wall of moving bodies. “He’s in the back.”

“Ooh-la-la. Tonight just got interesting.” Harper craned his neck to get a better view of Dante’s face, but the man was under siege. “I assume he’s been spotted.”

“Looks like it.”

“Introduce me later, yeah?”

My phone started ringing. Once. Twice. It was Renn. Panic rushed through my stomach. We’d left her to close the boutique on her own, but she wouldn’t call unless it was something urgent.

“I have to take this.” I slid from my stool. “I’ll be right back.”

The song came to an end when I was halfway to the door, and the club erupted. Hands flew up. Feet stomped. A barrage of screams followed me outside, where the air was still impossibly hot.

My lungs begged me to go back into the building. Lingering heat sizzled across my skin. The sun hung low above the horizon line made up of roofs and structures that occupied the lot. Bright pinks and boastful oranges spilled across the darkening sky, turning the Market Square into a small inferno.

I stepped away from the entrance and dialed Renn’s number. My shoe impatiently danced against the pavement. “Is everything okay?”

“Pancho is here,” she said, her tone somewhere between incriminating and lost. “He insists on getting paid.” Renn’s statement sounded more like a question.

“Oh, Jesus.” I mentally cursed myself. “Yes, we owe him money for repairs.” I’d forgotten to tell her about the broken door. My mind had been all over the place these past few days with Ally having pre-show jitters and Harper going through post-breakup blues.

“How come I wasn’t aware of this?” Renn asked in a snappy voice. Sometimes, she liked to assume the role of my mother. I didn’t know whether it was the age thing or the fact that she’d worked at Dream Bride much longer, but she wanted to know what was happening at the boutique at all times.

“It just slipped my mind,” I explained. “There’s an envelope with his name on it under the cash box in my desk. He worked on the storage door last week and I was supposed to give the payment to Rita.”

“Okay. I’ll handle it. Tell Ally I said good luck.”

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