Page 45 of Trusting Blake
I rest my head against his shoulder, the two of us intimately close together, and we listen to Jason smash out song after song with some intervening joking with the crowd.
After a while, I glance up at Blake. “You seem happy to see him, but I thought. . . Well, I guess I assumed by the way you talked about him at the bonfire that you didn’t like him all that much.”
Blake tucks an arm around me and leans his jaw against the top of my head, the pair of us still huddled close. “It’s complicated. He’s always been my musical inspiration, but I also thought he was a coward for giving it all up just because Mom thought he needed to grow up.”
“She didn’t support him?”
“Does that honestly still surprise you at this point?”
“No,” I admit. “Is that why he left?”
“Yup,” says Blake. “Quit his music, walked out and left me his guitar when I was twelve, moved here to Memphis, and acted even more carefree than he did before. He wasn’t really cut out to be a father. He was always boozed up whenever I saw him. Not, like, flat-out drunk or anything. But he always had a buzz on, kind of drifting his way through life. I’m just relieved he seems to have some motivation again.”
“I just can’t see him with your mom. They’re—”
“Polar opposites, right?” Blake finishes, and I nod shyly against him. I don’t know if he would prefer not to talk about this stuff, but I figure he doesn’t mind when he continues: “I remember my mom was fun for a while when I was younger. Dad encouraged her to let her hair down, I think that’s why she liked him, but then she got more involved with her work for the city council and the idea of becoming mayor. Her fun side was short-lived. Dad was still acting like a free spirit, so Mom didn’t have a choice but to step up and be the serious one.”
I lift my chin to look at him. “You’re like them, you know. Your parents.”
“What – an alcoholic politician?” Blake asks, a hint of tease in his words as his eyes dip to meet mine.
“No.” I stifle a laugh and snuggle in closer against his arm. “You’re easygoing and talented like your dad, but you’re composed and single-minded like your mom. At least when you need to be.”
“Hmm,” he says, then goes quiet as though pondering this observation.
We remain pressed close to one another for a few more songs until our food arrives. I dive straight in, but Blake picks slowly at his wings, his mind evidently elsewhere.
His plate is still half full when his dad reaches the end of his set.
“That’s all from me this evening, folks!” Jason declares in between panting breaths as he wipes the back of his hand over his brow, having given his all up there. As the Tin Roof rumbles with applause, he unplugs his guitar and chugs a glass of water, then hops nimbly off the stage.
Blake pushes his plate away and gets to his feet. “Time to let him know I’m here,” he says with a deep breath. “Are you coming?”
I scramble after him as he takes off, easing his way around tables and bar patrons in the direction of his father. Jason is over by the bar, laughing with a guy who seems to be the manager of this joint, and he nestles his guitar protectively into its case and slings it over his shoulder. One of the girls behind the bar passes him a bottled water, and he gives a little salute of a thanks before he swaggers toward the exit.
“Hey!” Blake picks up his pace and intercepts his father. “Hey, Dad.”
Jason is knocked for six. He stiffens into position as he squints, like he’s shortsighted, and takes in the boy standing in front of him. His strong, rugged features shift from shock to joyful disbelief. “Blake! What the hell are you doing here?” He awkwardly throws his arms around Blake, thumping him a little too hard on the back.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Blake replies as he pulls away. Although he is happy to see his dad again, he’s also extremely wary, like he knows there’s potential for this to turn into a catastrophe. “Are you seriously sober in a bar?Andperforming again?”
Jason holds up the bottle of water in his hand with a shrug. “Hey, let’s not rat me out in front of strangers.” He then gives me a clipped nod and curiously asks, “Who is this, Blake?”
“How about we sit down, Dad?” Blake suggests instead, clapping a hand on Jason’s shoulder and guiding him back to our table across the bar. Blake and I sit back down in our seats, and Jason pulls up a nearby empty chair. He sets his guitar case down at his feet with the same delicate handling Blake uses with his own guitar, and then whips off his cowboy hat and shakes out his damp hair.
“This is Mila. She’s—” Blake introduces, but he catches my eye and grins before he can get the words out.
I plant my elbows on the table, cup my hands innocently around my chin, and taunt him with a smoldering gaze. “Say it, Blake.”
Blake narrows his dark eyes back at me, a seductive smile on his lips. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Well, hey, missy!” Jason says, briefly lifting his hat from the table as a polite gesture. “Nice to meet ya. So, what brings you two lovebirds here to Memphis?”
“Got into a fight with Mom again,” Blake says with a slightly petulant shrug. They may not have a close relationship and it may have been many months since they last spoke, but there’s a sense of understanding between them, however ill at ease it may be.
“About school?”
“No. I did something stupid and ended up in the Fairview paper,” Blake admits, not quite looking at his dad. “I, uh, threw a punch at one of the paparazzi guys outside Mila’s family ranch.”
