Chapter Six

All the best movies started with a fake relationship. Needing a date for a wedding, a person to charm the parents, or even to help a friend. Those desperate moments when pretending to be loved by someone seemed like life or death. And even though there were a ton of different options, it always seemed the most practical.

I wouldn't say Wren and I were headed in that direction. This was about being right, but that wasn't a good enough excuse for what I was doing now. Following a boy, I didn't know, to a place he wouldn't disclose. I'd followed him before, but at least I was with his friends. This time, we were alone. If Shae was watching this scene from the outside, they'd scream, "YOU TRIPPIN'!"

But his hands were warm. And though I knew it was a terrible excuse, I wanted to trust him. I'd never have a night like this again. Experiencing something as magical as that show, I wanted to believe if I stayed with him, I'd get as close to magic as I could. Although he hadn't given me much, I trusted him.

His concert high simmered down as he drummed his fingers into my skin. The warmth of his hand smothered my own. We weaved through the parked cars. Though I'd never seen it before, I found his car instantly.

Tugging me closer, he popped the locks of a custom 1969 cherry red convertible mustang. The simple fact of owning a car was impressive to me, but one of this stature deserved to be praised. "Nice car."

My mother said complimenting a man on his car was like complimenting the man himself. And by the way he beamed, I knew she was right.

"Thanks." He opened the car door for me. He was a gentleman too. I had to laugh at myself. Humans have let us down so much, we praise someone for the littlest things. But it was good enough for me. I would use anything to rationalize my actions. And the running tally was now at three.

Reason to Trust Wren Wade:

1. He's magical

2. He has warm hands.

3. He's a gentleman. (Except when he makes romantic declarations of love without asking.)

As he pulled into the empty street, I took a moment to get more acquainted. His car looked like him in the way owners mirrored their pets. It was a customized expression of him. And it was expensive. "Are you secretly rich or something?" I asked.

His laugh sounded so alive, I felt goosebumps rise on my skin. "It was my Dad's."

He brought the windows down and the night air reminded me how happy I was to be away from that bonfire. But by the looks of it, he was taking me deeper into the city. "Where are we going?"

"I know a great restaurant that's opened."

Places were still open at one in the morning? Thankfully, he hadn't taken me too far from home. Minutes later, we pulled into an empty restaurant.

He got out and walked with ease. As I trailed behind him, I created a new list.

Reasons NOT to Trust Wren Wade:

1. He took me to a deserted restaurant past one in the morning.

The Greta's sign was out, and only the security lights kept us company. "Wren? I think it's closed."

"Not for long." Pushing back the welcome rug, he dug for the key and dismantled the locks.

Reasons NOT to Trust Wren Wade:

2. He trying to get me arrested.

"Um, this is a break-in," I said. A security camera hung at the top of the door. I tumbled back into a decorative bush until I was completely hidden.

"I have the key."

"Well, I'm black, so this is a break-in."

A stifled laugh zipped past his clenched teeth as he practically broke the door open. And the alarm sounded. It blared into the night, and I fell flat onto the ground. Fear capsized me, but the wail stopped short when he entered the passcode.

"Relax. I used to work here. I asked my boss if I could make something after the show, and she was cool with it."

Sticking my head out, my bones rattled against my skin. "How I know you not lying?"

"I have proof." He swayed at the door seal. "But you gotta come inside to see."

"This sounds like a setup."

He tumbled into the restaurant, running around the dining area. "Come on, Songbird. Don't make me beg."

When I pushed myself back onto the sidewalk, he pummeled through the door and pulled me in. Waving a note in my face, he relinquished it before bustling to the kitchen.

Lock up when you're finished. I hope you have a great show and impress this girl. If she thinks your cooking's crap, you didn't learn from me.!

Love ya!

I laughed.

Reasons to Trust Wren Wade:

4. He was Greta approved.

Greta's restaurant reminded me of ours, but hers was nicer. You could tell she valued family and gave her customers an authentic experience. I walked the floors until I met the bar tools overlooking the kitchen.

A frame of Greta and Wren sat near the register, his elaborate signature at the bottom. "Greta told me when I get my first Grammy, she's selling that picture for cash." His eyes let up at the memory as he heated a pot of water.

"Smart woman." I admired the photo. She was stout. Loose brown curls framed her face. She hugged a considerably younger Wren with all her might. "Is that something you want? A Grammy?" I asked.

"It'd be cool," he sighed. "But I worked hard for my title as Elk Rose's resident heartthrob."

"You could make more money if you were signed. And more people would hear your music too," I said.

"It's not about the money." Flecks of light sparkled in his eyes as he whisked a bowl of egg yolk. "It would be cool if the whole world knew my music. It's just—"

"Being judged on a global scale isn't worth it?"

"Exactly."

But could he do this for the rest of his life? Playing in the same places and with the crowds. Eventually, he'd want more or something different.

"I mean, Ronnie's a terrible uncle, but he's great within his business. He could set you up with a great label and stuff."

He pointed at me from the kitchen. "He put you up to this, didn't he?"

I laughed and put our conversation to the side. The smell of creamy sauce made my stomach grumble, so I munched on mints to keep my hunger at bay. Soon enough, he left a pan of carbonara to cool. We sat in a booth near the window. "What's your dream, Nora?"

I grunted. He wouldn't let this go. "I don't have a dream."

"Sure, let's go with that for now." Leaning back into the booth, he pulled his hair from his face. "At least tell me a small one."

I ripped a napkin into pieces, but my mind went blank. Am I really this pitiful I can't think of an insignificant dream to tell him?

"Flowers?" he called out.

"Huh?"

"Receiving flowers could be a small dream."

He was trying to help, but it didn't work. I remembered the bouquet my mother gave me when I graduated middle school. They died within three days.

"What?" He pointed at my frown. "I thought every woman loved receiving flowers."

"They smell like dirt. I prefer money."

He laughed and the more he did, the more I wanted to keep making him.

"I'd love to receive a pile of roses," he said.

"Noted."

We were silent again as he brought two plates of steaming pasta to the table. I swirled my fork around the creamy noodles and took a bite. The heat scorched my tongue, but it was worth it as the savory flavor coated my tastebuds. He watched eagerly, and I stuck out my thumb.

Releasing a breath, he dug in, but I knew he still waited for my answer. Part of me wanted to make up something. Otherwise, he'd think I have no life. And he'd be right.

"Nothing?" he asked. "You won't give me anything?"

"Okay, um." I pushed myself through an onslaught of memories, but the answer laid in plain sight. "I did it tonight. I got to go to a show. I've never been to one before."

"Really?" His eyes glistened as he tapped his chest. "I was your first show? Fuck, I hope I wasn't bad."

"You were great." He looked so worried, I wanted to give him a hug. Another weapon of charm was revealed. He was easy to worry about. "You just want me to gas you up," I joked.

"No, seriously. Certain stuff you remember forever and your first show is one of them."

"What was yours?"

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips and he looked down at his hands. "Technically, I was too young to remember, but I have a gnarly video of seeing my dad perform when I was three, and it was pretty awesome."

"Your dad's a musician too?" Why am I not surprised? "I bet your mother loves that."

"Yeah." His smile dimmed, no longer reaching his eyes. "My first show was his last. He died a week later."

"Oh my God, Wren. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize—"

"No, don't apologize." Crawling his fingers over the table, he held my hand. "I don't really remember him that much, but at least I kinda picked up where he left off when it comes to music."

"What...happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

He nodded. "He was mugged. They were after his guitar."

He was murdered? "Jesus, Wren. I'm sorry I asked. I don't know why—I know you're making him proud."

I hated when people asked about my mother. When I'd tell them about her condition, they'd apologize, and I never understood why. It wasn't their fault. It always ended up feeling like pity, like they were sorry my life turned out this way. It was empty, so I stopped myself. He needed to hear what I wanted to hear. "You following your dreams, I get it. Your father would have wanted you to be happy, to not limit yourself. I think he'd be really proud of the person you've become."

Falling back into his seat, he looked me over with glossy eyes. I wanted to tell him about my mother, but something about the moment felt wrong. I didn't want to overshadow his problems with my own. He didn't have to know about mine. Too many people already did.

"Thank you, Nora. It really does mean a lot."

"I guess I forget sometimes," I whispered.

He pushed his plate aside. I had his full attention. I liked that when I talked to him, I never had to doubt he was listening. "Forget what?"

"That pursuing your dreams doesn't always have to be selfish."

He thought it over, staring up at the ceiling. "And when is it?"

"When it harms the people you love, and you continue to do it."

By the way his body jerked, I knew we were in for a longer discussion. "Harm in what way? Because sometimes people can mean well, but really just want you to follow the rules and be obedient. Never letting you live out those dreams because they believe it won't happen. But they never think of the dreamer and what he has to give up."

"What he has to give up?" Gripping the table, I tried not to take his words personally. This is a conversation, Nora. Not an argument. "He'll give up nothing if he thinks his dreams are his entire life because he'll stop at nothing to achieve them."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Yes."

"How?" he bellowed. "Achieving your dreams isn't a selfish act if achieving them means making your loved one's lives better."

"But never taking into account the impact it can have on your loved ones isn't an act of altruism," I said.

"And living your life for other people isn't an act of it either."

He made a good point, but I felt like I was talking to my father. They clutched their dreams so tightly, they couldn't hear anything else. Your dreams shouldn't swallow the lives of the people around you.

"He acts as though it is," I said. "But he has never once acted on behalf of my mother or anyone. He expects us to bend to his dreams because he believes they will change our lives for the better. And then, it did the opposite." I would've rather had my mother than the restaurant.

Wren opened his mouth to challenge me but went silent. Reflecting, his voice came out softer. "This is about your dad."

I pushed my plate away and looked out the window. "Forget I said anything."

"No, hold on." He cupped my hands, gaining my attention. "You just said a lot, and I feel like you're about to pack it all in before you even look at it. You think your dad's selfish."

The statement thrown back at me made me feel dirty. I was a horrible excuse for a daughter. I should've just kept my mouth shut. "I don't. I don't think he's selfish."

"You know it's okay if you do, right? I think my mom's selfish. All she cares about is getting me as far away from music as possible. She wants me to see it's not a livable lifestyle. I need to get a good-paying job, settle down, and make investments. She doesn't care about what I want. She just doesn't want me to end up like my dad."

"Sounds like we should swap parents." The joke landed bitterly on my tongue. "My father would love you."

"So that's it? Why you don't dream? Because of your dad."

I nodded. I blamed my father for every problem we faced as a family. For every problem I've faced. "He just gets so short-sighted. Everything is bigger than life with him. When he believes in something there's no stopping him. At all. And he can't see what's happening around him." My words rushed out as if they'd never have the chance again. "I just wish he wasn't like that. I wish he'd stop coloring outside the lines."

"But that's the best part." He smiled, and I felt left out. Though I didn't agree with either of them, I knew Wren and my father would experience something I'd never touch in my life. And it was the closest thing to flying.

"Have you ever told him how you feel?" he asked.

"Hell no. He'd probably pop a blood vessel. He still thinks I'm on his side."

"Well, in every practical way, you are. As long as you never do anything to show you're against him." He tapped on my hand when I didn't respond. "Don't you just want to tell him off one time? Get it out of your system?"

The idea sounded tempting, but when I looked into my father's eyes, I knew we shared the same weight. "That wouldn't be fair. He's hurting too."

"So his pain is more important than yours?" he asked.

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you believe if you've never told him how you feel."

That wasn't a fair statement. "He knows. Just like I know his feelings."

"But knowing and hearing them out loud makes it a lot harder to ignore."

"He's not ignoring my feelings."

"I wasn't talking about him."

I could feel a stream of tears push against my eyes. This was the closest I'd ever get to being honest with myself. Wren didn't know me, but the way he questioned how I navigated my life made me feel ashamed. All this time, I thought my father lived a selfish life, but so did I. How could I be angry at him for not acknowledging my feelings when I wasn't either.

As the night drew to a close, he took me home. I liked him. It felt silly to say, but I did. I was now a part of the population who had a crush on Wren Wade. He was attentive and never afraid to ask questions when he didn't understand. He challenged the way I thought and processed the world around me. In my family, we had the same conversation, asked the same questions, and challenged each other in the same ways.

When you're used to doing the same thing all the time, it takes someone else to show you it's not the only way. Their way may even be better, but as much as I wanted to stay with him a little longer, it was time to go home.

As his car rumbled to a stop, he draped his arm over my seat. "This was fun."

I silently agreed, pushing myself out. As I made it to the door, he sat on the window of his car. "Why do I feel like I'll never see you again?" he asked.

"We had a good night. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Leaning onto the roof, he rubbed the inside of his arm. "I can't make you sing, Songbird. Only you can."

"Well, I hope you enjoy disappointment."

His mouth fell open, and he threw his fist into his chest. "Cullen? You ended me with a Twilight line?"

"This is supposed to be a love story, right?"

"Well then, I don't think I have the strength to stay away from you anymore."

He pulled the line off well. I knew he was joking, but I wished he wasn't. "But what if I really am the bad guy?" I asked.

He looked over my features as if finding the exact moment my mood shifted. "Since I'm going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I doubled back on my feet, falling into Ace in Sound's front doors. "You read the book?"

Leaving me with no response, he pulled back into his car and shouted out the window. "It's past three in the morning, Songbird. You ever been out this late?!"

I turned on my heels to hide my blush. Why he gotta do me like that? "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Nora," he sang at the top of his lungs. I whirled around in a fit to quiet him, and he cackled with energy.

His concert high came back around. Running up the steps, I pushed myself inside and watched as he sped away.

"Who was that?" My father's voice boomed out of the darkness. What the hell?

Flipping on the lights, he sat at the piano. Why was he here?

"Just a friend." I took a seat on a stool across the room.

"He the reason you home so late?"

Flashbacks from my conversation with Wren played over in my mind, but I was no longer in front of him. I was with my father, and when in his company, it was hard to feel like my words mattered at all. "I just went out for a few hours. Needed to get away."

Judging by the way he hesitated, I knew he wanted to poke at my last sentence. He was probably pissed I said I needed a break. They didn't exist in his world. He was convinced my mother and I dreamed of living under his pressure.

"The repair company coming in the morning. Someone gotta be there," he said.

"Okay, so are you—"

"I got errands to run tomorrow. I need you to be there."

So, he wasn't asking me. I thought I could at least enjoy my week with Wren. Looks like my life never really stopped "Okay."

"You got plans?"

Now he asks. "No."

"Okay, so why you poking your lip out like that?" He smiled to lighten the mood, but I've been his daughter long enough to measure his tone. I know what it means, and what it doesn't.

"I'm not. I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"What you and Doctor Simmons talk about in the hallway?"

"What?" He really came all the way over here, waited for I don't know how long, just to start a fight with me. I didn't even have the energy to respond.

"Don't let her get to you." He wagged his finger, reprimanding me.

"She's helping us, Dad."

He smacked his lips. "Someone trying to get you to pull the plug on yo Ma' ain't helping you."

"She's already gone."

He rammed his fist into the piano. Thank God Mrs. Davidson wasn't here, or she'd cuss him out. The clunky notes rang out until he managed his temper, but his voice came out softer than he looked. "She still alive, Nora. Giving up on her when she hasn't given up on herself ain't the way we do things. Family comes first. Always."

"How do you know she hasn't given up? Maybe she's at peace and is ready to go."

He twisted at the waist, avoiding my eyes. There was no doubt in my mind, he thought about this too, but his hope wouldn't allow him to go any further than thought. "I know yo Ma', and she a warrior."

The only thing I could do was be a reminder that sometimes things didn't work out. Life wouldn't give him everything he wanted. "The machine is the only one keeping her here."

"She not done yet." He pulled away from the piano and came to me. Kneeling on the ground, he took my hands. "We not done yet. I still got promises I need to fulfill for her."

So, in the end, this was still all about him? "Even if she's already fulfilled her own," I asked.

"She hasn't."

"But—"

"See?" he flung to his feet and paced the floors. "It's this doctor talking to you that got you like this. You won't acting this way a few months ago. Where the girl who was so worried about her Ma' she ain't take no for an answer? You save her life, Nora. Don't end it now."

He would blame me. They all would. If we pulled the plug now, it would be because of me. But I hated this. I was so scared of him and his hope. It had already done so much damage. Living a life believing only good things would happen was foolish. My mother was dragged into his dreams until she stopped looking after herself, and now after everything, she was expected to pull through. To be resilient because we couldn't lose her. When all she needed was to rest.

"I'm going to bed." Before I could make it upstairs, he stretched his arms wide and hugged me.

"I hope you had a nice night. Sometimes I forget you not my lil girl no more. You deserve everything you want out of life."

It killed me how he could say just about anything to show he cared but never utter the words 'I'm sorry.'.

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