Page 32 of Shattered Chords

Ross fussed with his Sony.

“Get in here, Camille.” She waved at me.

Reluctant, I squeezed into a narrow spot in the back row and willed myself not to stare at Dante as a sea of moving bodies cloaked him.

“Ready?” Ross shouted. “One, two, three.”

The camera flashed and clicked. He raised his finger in the air and urged everyone to stay still. As soon as the photo op was over, the kids grabbed their instruments and poured into the hallway.

I followed after them, my gaze trained on Ally.

Behind me, Jules, Ross, and a few more parents marched in tight formation. For a moment, I lost Dante while my mind was preoccupied with my kid. She’d done a few small talent shows at school but was mostly a closet musician up until last summer when Pauline had come up with the idea of forming a band. They’d faced some rough times at first—no one had wanted to play with two fourteen-year-olds—but everything had come together after Christmas.

My phone buzzed.

Harper: Where are you?Ally is about to go on.

I know. Come meet me backstage,I replied.

Ross rushed over to the front row with his camera to record the set. Jules pulled out her phone. Ally stood off to the side, her new guitar strapped over her neck. She ran through a few chords and mouthed some lyrics, her tiny nose screwed up in concentration. The rest of the guys seemed more at ease, as if this were just any other evening. Admittedly, Pauline and Trent had more experience with crowds. Though tonight’s audience consisted mostly of friends and family, it was still a nerve-wracking affair.

Ally was a lot like me. A loner who needed her space when under pressure. I knew she didn’t want to be bothered before the performance, but something inside me yearned to share this moment with her. She was my child, my blood, my most fascinating creation. A small piece of me, an extension of my dreams. Wanting to be there with her and bathe in her adolescent hopes was what a selfish part of me craved.

I pushed past a group of club employees and gave Ally a shoulder squeeze. “Break a leg, Bug.”

“Don’t forget about the video.” She glanced up at me through a black curtain of hair, and we swapped long, wired stares. I was just as tense as she was. Maybe even more.

“All right, I’ll leave you alone now,” I whispered. Trent’s friends were headed in our direction and something told me Ally didn’t want me around. “Go get ’em, tiger,”

“Thanks, Mom. Now go. Okay?” Rolling her eyes, she fiddled with the guitar strap and joined the rest of the guys.

Wrapped in a blanket of hammering noise, I stood near the line of speakers and watched the kids take the stage one by one. My phone was clutched in my hand. They did a quick soundcheck and tuned their instruments. Trent fumbled with the cymbals on his kit. Pauline adjusted the microphone. Mac, a senior who played bass and went to the same high school the girls did, hid in the corner. Round with long hair that concealed his entire face, he was the quiet one in the band. His father owned a small recording studio in North Hollywood and promised to help with the EP.

It seemed like ever since the girls had gotten together to play music, everything had moved too fast. Each minute felt like a second and I could hardly keep up with the changes my daughter was going through. The fact that she was about to record the songs she’d written with her friends in an actual studio blew my mind. At her age, I’d been a nerdy girl who spent most of her free time reading.

“We should watch it from the floor.” A voice near my ear cut through the rumble of the club.

His scent was unmistakable. The goosebumps that riddled my back told me my guess was correct when I turned and saw Dante’s face. His body aligned with mine, we were shoulder to shoulder, our feet almost bumping.

“You think?” I asked, dropping my gaze to the floor to make sure my heels didn’t get caught in the cables.

“The sound is better,” he explained while motioning at my phone. “Especially if you’re going to record.” Like Ally, he wore tall boots that were laced only at the bottom, as if he was in a rush to leave his house.

“Any chance you can talk my daughter out of wanting a tattoo?” I joked.

“I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask.” He was smiling, his gaze concentrated on the stage, arms crossed over his chest. “I can give it a shot if you want.”

I didn’t know what it was about Dante or how and why this man had gone from potential predator to a role model. I couldn't really pinpoint the exact moment my mind had done a one-eighty, but I no longer felt threatened. On the contrary, he was like a magnet. The combination of dark allure and absolute openness in front of all these parents intrigued me. My mommy radar wasn’t detecting any bad vibes either.

“But I have to warn you, I don’t have a lot of experience in that department,” Dante whispered.

“You mean children?”

“Yes.”

The lights dimmed and all eyes were on the stage.

“I was kidding,” I confessed. “I don’t think she’ll listen to you or anyone else.”

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