Page 25 of Hollow Heart

Why should he?

I’ve been a dick to him since he showed up.

I turn, my hand on the handle of the door as I look at him square in the eye. “I’m sure,” I say solidly and he nods.

Just as he turns to leave, I call his name, stopping him in his tracks.

He looks at me from beneath the ceiling light, which lights him up like an old 80’s music video.

For a moment, he looks younger, and I can almost imagine him playing sold out crowds and fucking shit up. Almost.

“Thanks, for... earlier,” I say softly.

In a candid burst of genuine shock, he nods, his own voice heavy with the weight of a lifetime.

“I get it, you know. I’ve been where you are,” he says, and I sigh. But before I can speak, tell him to save his Golden Globes pep talk for someone who cares, he continues. “I know how this business can be. But you don’t have to let it ruin you. That’s your choice. You want to stop feeling like a piece of shit? Stop treating yourself like a piece of shit.”

And with that, Duncan McKay leaves me standing, alone in the chilled hallway once more.

CHAPTER 9

Duncan

I barely hearBobby come through the door when he finally arrives home at five.

I’d been in my studio for hours, going over the set list, listening to Felix’s songs on Spotify, which I have to say, for someone who’s only been in the business for barely six years, his back catalog is pretty extensive.

He’s a workaholic.

The man has collaborated with so many artists, released ten albums, gone platinum, won fucking four Grammys.

On the outside, it’s easy to see why people like his music.

It’s well produced; it’s high energy.

But the lyrics... the lyrics are mostly lifeless, save for his last album,Black Sea.

The songs there are haunting. The sound, the production, is much darker than his previous nine albums, but I can’t say I dislike them. They feel more... real.

I’m in the middle of drumming toSeasons,the next to last song on the set list when Bobby walks in and scares the goddamn bejesus out of me.

“Christ, Bobby, you almost gave me a heart attack,” I say as he leans in the doorway, smirking.

“Does your inevitable death mean I inherit a massive fortune? Because, if so, I’ll find a way to make it look accidental.”

I shake my head, laughing. I know most parents would think his sense of humor is pretty dark, but Marci and I had the same dark, dry sense of humor. It’s refreshing; it’s familiar.

It’s our love language.

“Unfortunately, no. Having kids sucks the life and the money out of you,” I tease him as I set down my sticks, sliding my hands over my knees.

Bobby frowns. “Out of all the famous parents, I end up with the cheapskate.”

I shake my head, crossing my arms.

I know from his bitter tone something else is bothering him, but just like his mother, he lashes out at the people he loves.

Marci was always better at this sort of thing. Talking about feelings.

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