Page 39 of Hollow Heart

I lookat myself in the mirror, modeling off the clothes Lou had sent to the house, per Felix’s instruction.

I normally wouldn’t wear the color purple, but I have to admit the velvet blazer is actually pretty stunning, and makes me look slightly slimmer.

“Wow, nice digs, Dad,” Bobby chirps, pulling my attention.

I turn around, seeing him in my bedroom door frame, arms crossed, leaning against it.

“Yeah, well, guess I gotta look the part. Can’t have me and all my faded band tees on the late show.”

Bobby shrugs. “That may have passed in 1985, but it’s 2023, Dad.”

I smile as he chuckles.

“You better be in bed when I get home. Asleep,” I say as sternly as possible.

Bobby only rolls his eyes.

“If you think I amnotstaying up to watch my dad on Joe Romano, you are sorely mistaken,” he says, flashing me with a smile, and I can hear the pride in his voice.

“I don’t need you sleeping in and slacking off. That’s how it starts, you know,” I state as he enters my bedroom.

I settle on leaving the top button of my black, silk shirt—that probably cost more than I could afford on my own—unbuttoned, because it feels less constricting.

Even though the size is right, the fit leaves me feeling half naked. It’s tighter, more tailored, and I am somewhat self-conscious that it draws attention to my not-so-tapered waist.

Bobby stops beside me, wrapping his arm around me, his face beaming with pride.

“Ah, but if I fall off the wagon, won’t I just be following in my father’s footsteps?” he teases.

I settle my hand over my chest, straightening out the smooth fabric. “I want more for you, you know.” I stare at the man in the mirror. I’ve trimmed my beard, gelled my hair. Trying to look “the part” of someone in Felix’s band, and not a former member of a hair metal band.

I can’t remember the last time I cleaned up like this willingly, but I know how important appearances can be, especially on television.

Bobby smiles. “I know, Dad.” He says the words softly, like they are made of glass.

My phone dings, breaking the moment, and I see that it’s Lou, telling me my transport should be arriving any minute.

I turn to hug my son, gripping him like he is a life raft. And maybe in some ways, he is.

I always thought I’d be the one in this position, fixing his cufflinks, straightening his tie before a big date, or even the prom.

But Bobby never goes on dates, and as far as I knew he hasn’t been asked to the prom.

“Knock ‘em dead, Dad,” he whispers in my ear, before letting me go.

“Abso-fucking-lutely, kid.” I chin up, channeling confidence that I’m not sure I really have, but hey... fake it until you make it, right?

The minuteI step foot onto the set of the late night show, it all comes flashing back.

Memories ofHollow Pointe’s musical guest spots, memories of me underneath the bright, hot lights while Issax went on and on about whatever topic his drug-induced high took him on.

Me, under those bright lights while hosts asked me about my solo career—the one that never happened.

You can do this,I tell myself.

It’s for the show.

“And this is your dressing—” My guide and I stop in front of what I assume to be my dressing room, but it looks like a science experiment gone wrong. There is a crew of men in overalls and suits with masks walking through the doorway, with their arms full of pipes and cleaning products.

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