Page 70 of Out of the Blue

“You didn’t strum it like I thought you would. No, you touched each string carefully. Your hand slid up the neck and you examined the instrument as if it were priceless. When the store owner came over and asked if you wanted to put it on, you couldn’t answer him. You only nodded.”

“He put the strap across my body and … I felt like I was home.”

“Yes.” She pushes her hair away from her face, her lips curved upward. “Then you strummed your first note. And another one. We all were amazed at how you took to the guitar. And, of course, my sister bought it for you, and you refused to take it off even when you went to bed.” She laughs.

“I loved that guitar.”

Her eyes crinkle. “Well, later on, your mother and I shared some beers on the front porch. We had a real humdinger of a fight. It ended with me begging her to try again to tell Braxton about his son. About how you were a chip off the old block. She yelled at me that it was none of my business, and how you believed your father was Rory. Who was dead.”

I turn my head away. When the silence continues, I force my gaze to return to her. Only then does she pick up where she left off. “That was the beginning of the end for your mother and me. I knew, even back then, you had—at the very least—inherited his musical ability. I didn’t learn until a decade later that you also got his singing voice.”

She tries to place her hand on mine, but I scooch it away.

“And now Braxton knows the truth. It’s after your mother passed, but at least he knows. And it’s right for him to know. You didn’t need him growing up, although I’m sure you felt his absence, even if you believed your father was killed in combat. But now you do need him. Desperately. And I, for one, really want you to consider his offer.”

Because she’s my aunt, my mother’s twin, I don’t tell her I’d rather die than be beholden to the man for anything more than he’s already given me. “I hear you.”

She stands. “I’ve said what I needed to say. Just consider this. This is his second chance to give you life. One in which he willingly and knowingly has agreed to do. Which, might I add, he did before he found out the truth. Think on that.” She bends down and kisses my forehead, then leaves without saying another word.

I’m left blessedly alone for at least thirty minutes before the nurse comes back in to check my vitals. When she leaves, Dwight enters the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” I reply truthfully. Not going to lie to my brother.

“I bet.” He stops next to me but instead of sitting, he remains standing.

“Hey, sorry about your Harley. I’ll get you a replacement.”

He waves his hand in dismissal. “We’ll sort it out later. She’s the least of our problems.” Caramel arms cross his broad chest. “So. Braxton Hunte, huh?”

My eyes close. “Yeah.”

“Seems to me he’s never been a Marine, and he’s still very much alive.”

I pluck the sterile blanket and remain silent. I deserve this.

“Who else knew?”

“Mom. My aunt.” My lips pucker as my breath streams out. “Cordelia.”

My best friend shifts from one leg to the other. “You see, I understand the first two. Hell, of course I get them. But your girlfriend? Really? And not me? Don’t you trust me?”

The tone of his voice is more painful than my road burn. “Dwight, I just couldn’t bring myself to share it with you. We’ve known each other all our lives. You were there when I would talk about my so-called hero father. How could I tell you it was all a lie?”

He kicks the floor. “You should’ve found a way.” He turns his head toward the door.

My life is a fucking mess. “I’m such a schmuck. You’re right. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?” When he doesn’t respond, I barrel ahead. “But there’s another side to this, you know. You guys were all so excited to be touring with the Rock-and-Roll-Hall-of-Famers-Hunte. How would you have felt to know the truth?” I pause for a beat. “Well, I can tell you. It sucked.” I face the window, so now we’re both staring away from each other.

A few moments later, the ubiquitous chair rolls on the tiled floor. It squeaks as it accepts Dwight’s weight. “I didn’t think of it like that.” He hits a beat on my bed. “So, how in the hell did this happen in the first place?”

I roll my face toward my best friend and am sure we’re back on the right footing. Shrugging, I reply, “The typical. She went to a Hunte concert, he picked her out of the crowd, and voila. Here I am.”

“Dude. That’s pretty fucked up.” He dons a smirk. “Kinda in the truest sense of the word.”

My eyebrows raise and we bust out in laughter. Well, he laughs and I chuckle, as anything more is too painful. We shoot the shit for a while, the only hiccup coming—from my perspective, not his—when he tells me how Cordelia took down the stupid tabloid’s latest story about him from this very hospital room. We end with a fist bump and I’m grateful, once more, to have such a brother. Visits with Maurice and Joey go much in the same vein. When I leave this earth, I’m going to miss my band.

Myband?

The group of guys I’ve grown up with, celebrated with, mourned with. Who have always been there for me, as I have been there for them. We’ve written songs together—well, they’ve come up with the music and I’ve added the lyrics. Who will write their lyrics for them when I’m gone?

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