Page 131 of Sing For Me

I raise an eyebrow at him, the slightest hint of amusement hitting me for the first time in hours. “You expecting yelling?”

He just shrugs. “We can yell or talk or sit in silence. Whatever you need to do, Will.”

I swallow hard, guilt churning in my gut, and follow him into the basement.

I avoid this area of the house as much as possible. For the most part, the finished basement is my dad’s domain. There’s a large living room complete with rows of leather recliners where we used to do most of our movie watching when I was younger. There’s a pool table and foosball—which my dad and his brothers play even more than the kids. I have a lot of happy memories in this basement.

On the other side of the game room, though, is my dad’s music room. He doesn’t have a full recording studio in the house—that would be at Reed’s house a few blocks away. But he does have a room he uses to store his instruments and to play with his brothers whenever they’re hanging out over here. It cost a shit ton of money to build—special measures were put into place to alleviate any instrument-warping moisture from being underground and the entire thing is massively soundproofed. He keeps about two dozen electric and acoustic guitars here, plus a few bass guitars, a Steinway, and a set of drums.

I used to practically live in that room. And I’m relieved as fuck when he takes his coffee over to one of the couches in the living room instead. He throws the sweat pants and a t-shirt at me. “Go get dry.”

You should go home,I tell myself, over and over again, like a mantra, the entire time I’m changing in the bathroom. But when I’m finished, I somehow find myself sitting on the couch, just a few feet away from him. My dad sips his coffee, and watches me.

“You’re up pretty early this morning,” he finally says.

I shrug. “I’ve been driving around for a while.”

A pause. “Well, I’m glad you came here.”

I wait for him to ask me what’s wrong, to wonder what sent me out driving through the dark streets of LA in the middle of the night. To ask why he found me sitting in his driveway for half an hour at the ass crack of dawn. But he doesn’t say anything. Merely drinks his coffee, watches me, and waits.

“I broke up with Eva,” I blurt out.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stiffen, but I concentrate on my coffee, not trusting what he’d see in my face if I looked at him.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he finally says. “I got the feeling you really liked her.”

I fucking love her.

But I don’t tell him that.

“You want to tell me why?”

I run a hand through my wet hair, feeling agitation spark in my belly. “You really need to ask?”

“Yeah, Will. I do. Because you sure as shit don’t talk to me anymore.”

I glare at him, that agitation shimmering into something a lot like anger. Maybe it was stupid to want to stay numb. Because this, having a target to direct all the shit in my head—is starting to feel pretty damn good.

“I can’t imagine why that is, Dad,” I snap, sarcasm bleeding through my voice.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look away. “I know exactly why it is. What I don’t know is what it’s going to take to get you to admit it.”

“Admit it? Admit what?”

“How angry you are.”

I stare at him, having no idea what the hell he’s talking about. I don’t think I’ve made any secret of how angry I am.

As if reading my mind, my dad sighs. “Youactangry, Will. You act like you can’t stand the fucking sight of me. But you won’t actually tell me. You won’t talk about it. You won’t—”

All of a sudden, that rage in my chest swells, too big to contain anymore. “You want me to talk about it? You want me totellyou? Fine, Dad. I’ll tell you. I think Skye would be alive right now if it wasn’t for you and your brothers.”

He holds my gaze, unblinking, giving me no sign that my words cause the slightest pain. It only makes me more pissed off. I’m up on my feet without even realizing, pacing around the room.

“She was too young to be thrust into that world,” I say. “She was only sixteen when you signed her! And you all threw her to the wolves. You signed her death warrant the minute you offered her a contract.”

“She was a drug addict, Will.”