Page 34 of Shattered Chords

“No.” Dante shook his head. “Only if I like a band member’s mother.”

My cheeks flamed. He was so direct, it almost knocked me off my feet. My breath was suddenly stuck somewhere between my lungs and my throat and I felt completely naked under his gaze. No wonder the man changed girlfriends like socks.

Pauline was done with her speech and another blast of loud music poured from the speakers, erasing the uncomfortable tension that his words had created. I turned on the camera and raised my phone in the air to get a better view of the stage.

Silent, we stood side by side as I filmed the performance. Dante’s hands were buried in the pockets of his sweatshirt, and from afar, he probably looked much the same as all the fathers who were attending the show tonight. However, up close, he was just the opposite. He was a distant yet tangible idea of what fame could turn my daughter into.

The thought gave me chills.

When the second song ended, I shut off the camera and rolled my shoulders. Trying to stay still for three minutes while holding a phone had proved to be challenging, and with the way my brain was abuzz, I regretted not bringing some earplugs.

“Allow me?” Dante asked, motioning at the device.

“That’s okay,” I protested politely.

“We can switch,” he insisted. “And I’m taller. Ally will want some full-body videos, right?”

“Are you saying I’m short?” I laughed, refusing to give the man my phone.

“No. I’m saying that there’s a whole lot of hands and heads in your frame and you probably want to make sure she has a video of her solos.”

“Okay. You win.” I smiled and handed him my phone.

We alternated just as he’d promised. There was very little talking, but several fans attempted to strike up a conversation with him during the last song. Then as soon as the set ended, a group of people swept him away.

“Did you get it?” Ally rushed over to me as I walked into the dressing room. The air here was stuffy, filled with remnants of adrenaline and the smell of sweat. There was hardly any space to breathe, let alone socialize, and I didn’t dare try to imagine how much worse it would be if my daughter were in an actual touring band.

“Yes.” I looked around, trying to figure out what was causing the racket I was hearing. Where’s your guitar?”

“Cal’s watching it.”

“You can’t just leave it like that.” I lowered my voice. “It’s worth more than my monthly mortgage payment.”

“You zoomed in when I was doing my solos, right?” Ally continued her interrogation as we moved past loud clusters of people.

I had to think about it because my head was still ringing from Pauline’s singing. Face split into a huge grin, she maneuvered her way through the crowd, chatting and laughing. I wondered how the kid could still talk after tormenting the club for thirty minutes straight.

“Mom? You zoomed in, right?”

I nodded, unsure of whether I was telling the truth.

“Dante saw me play?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything?”

“You were great, Bug.”

“He said that?”

“Killer set,” a voice to my right muttered. It belonged to the beer guy. Ignoring my presence, he shot Ally a lazy scowl, the kind I knew all too well. It was perfunctory, and men who didn’t care to put some effort into a smile didn’t make it on my list of those who deserved much attention. But sadly, teenage girls were impressionable and impossible to argue with.

What was his name? Brandon? Ah, yes. Braden.

“Thanks.” Ally’s chin went up and her shoulders straightened. She literally grew two inches right in front of me. “It’s cool you came. Wanna check out my new Les Paul?”

Two seconds later, my daughter was gone, and Jules took the liberty of squeezing into her spot.

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