Page 18 of Fight For Me

As I head out to my car, I try to tell myself that my sudden desire to leave has nothing to do with a certain brown-eyed piano player who just happens to currently be within a few blocks of my parent’s house. I almost believe the lie.

* * *

I’m hopingto find my mom first, but it’s my dad who’s sitting in the living room when I walk in. At the sound of the front door shutting, he looks up, peering at me over his copy ofRolling Stone. His jaw is tense, frustration evident on his face, but he manages a small smile and relief floods through me.

I plop down on the couch next to him. “Where’s Mom?”

“Basement.”

I wince. “Is she stress-developing?” It’s something she does sometimes, when her kids are annoying her or she’s in a tiff with Dad. She can spend hours down in the basement under the red lights of her darkroom, working through the hundreds of photos she takes every week. She does most of her actual work digitally—hand processing photographs is something she mainly does to relax.

“Nah. Just trying to keep herself busy. She figured you’d be coming home soon.”

I settle back into the couch and look over at him. “What about you? I thought you’d be a six-pack deep by now, commiserating with Reed and Daltrey about your terribly unruly children.”

He snorts and reaches over to flick my shoulder. I flick him right back—it’s kind of our thing.

“Yes, you’ve always been such an unruly child. The things you put me through. All your wild, wild ways.”

“Hey! I can occasionally be wild.”

“Uh huh. Sure you can. You got suspended, what—once? In your entire educational career?”

“True. But I got that suspension for kneeing Billy Dover in the balls when he snapped my bra strap in seventh grade, which you have to admit is pretty hardcore of me.”

He grins, all earlier signs of tension absent from his face. “It may have actually been the proudest of you I’ve ever been. My girl takes no shit from idiot boys.”

“You were more pissed at the principal for punishing me at all.”

“You were standing up for yourself!”

I laugh at the memory. “You told her you were going to let me watch movies and eat ice cream the whole time I was out of school.”

He grins sheepishly. “That lady was an old cow.”

When I was a kid, we’d spent a good chunk of our time out on the road with Ransom. My dad managed the band and my mom was the official tour photographer. When the Ransome brothers decided to settle down a little, Dad helped them to start up their record label here in LA. That was right around the time Mom’s photography reputation really started taking off. She traveled quite a bit for work, often leaving Dad home to handle the day-to-day of getting kids to school and making sure we ate more than sugary cereal and donuts. He wasn’t always the most conventional parent, but I’ve never had a single complaint.

I lean my head against his shoulder. “How mad are you right now?”

He sighs, slipping an arm around me. “I’m not mad, Alex. Worried, yes. But I’m not mad at you.” He pulls away enough to look down at me. “Iamcrazy proud of the work you’ve done. That website is no joke.”

“We worked really hard on it.”

He keeps my gaze for a minute. “I would imagine starting up a company would put a bit of pressure on you.” He doesn’t need to elaborate for me to get his meaning.

“I’ve been sleeping fine, Dad,” I assure him.

I’ve had chronic insomnia since I was a teenager. It got so bad at one point that I had to be pulled out of school. I’ve gotten better at managing it, but the whole thing really shook my parents up. I imagine it would be hard to watch your kid struggle and not be able to help.

He doesn’t look at all abashed. “I’m always going to check in on you, Allie.” He sighs. “Whether you live here or in some producer’s condo.”

I stare up at him. “Does that mean you’re okay with this?”

“Okay?” he lets out a derisive snort. “Of course I’m not okay. But I’m not going to lock you in your room, either.”

A flutter of hope takes flight in my chest. I’d expected a lot more push back than that. Sure, it would be nice to have him fully supporting the idea, but I guess I can’t complain so long as he isn’t actively trying to stop it from happening.

A throat clears and we both look up to see my mom standing in the doorway to the room. “I figured I’d be intervening in a fight by now.”