Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

“She can finish it on tour. Kids do online learning all the time now.”

“What about college, Nova?”

“I can just attend local shows and just sing there. It’s not like I’m a vital member,” Nova explained.

I scoffed. “Yeah, right. Look at these comments,” I said, handing my phone over to Gloria before turning back to Nova. “You’re more than vital to this band. Did we not already go over Oren and Brogan needing you to keep them from getting arrested?”

“That’s a fair point,” Dad threw in. “It will be a miracle if they make it to twenty-one without at least seeing a holding cell,” he joked.

“There are a lot of men commenting on things other than your voice,” Gloria grumbled. “My god. Some of these make me want to lock you away forever.”

“It’s the internet,” Nova rebuked. “Those comments are nothing worse than the random guys who try to contact me asking if I’m looking for a sugar daddy.”

“I just…” Gloria sighed, her shoulders drooping. “I just don’t know what to think of all this.”

The deeper Gloria’s frown grew, the more it stole the light from our moment, and I wasn’t ready for that just yet. “Either way, it’s all nothing more than an off chance. A song going viral may mean nothing. No matter what happens, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. We’re all just so excited about what may be.”

“Besides,” Dad tagged on, refilling Gloria’s glass and luring her into placidity with the red liquid. “Parker will take care of her. He’s like her bother, and he’ll watch out for her.”

It took all I had not to flinch at the punch to the gut. I just barely managed a smile. “Yeah. I’d take care of her.”

Gloria accepted the glass, shrugging. “You always did want a brother,” she said to Nova.

“It all works out,” my dad said, looking adoringly at Gloria.

I wanted to backtrack to before Gloria got upset. I wanted to go back to my dad patting me on the back and Oren running victory laps around the gym. I wanted to go back out in the hallway and kiss Nova before I was doused with the reminder of what I was expected to be.

“All right, Glor,” my dad said. “How about we take our wine and head to bed. I’m fucking beat after that dinner.” They walked past, stopping to pat me on the back with one last congratulations.

“I should head to bed, too,” Nova said, some of the shine she came in with gone.

“Yeah, me too.”

Because what else was left to say?

I managed to stay in bed for all of thirty minutes, listening to the murmur of our parents before everything went silent. I tried to focus on the dark, center my mind to a new tune that eluded me. Almost like an itch that went away as soon as you scratched it.

I turned this way and that, but nothing helped.

“Fuck it.”

I threw off my covers and eased open the door, waiting for someone to make a noise, letting me know they were awake. When nothing came, I made my trip down the hall. I knew it would take only seven steps—five if I made them bigger. I knew one floorboard creaked when you hit it just at the right angle and how to avoid it on step three. I knew I had to lift up on the handle to avoid the door getting caught in the humid summers but didn’t have to worry about it in the winter.

I knew to take a wide berth around the dresser along the wall to make it to her bed because she liked to change right in front and drop shit where she stood. I’d tripped over more than one pair of shoes and pants before.

I knew she slept on the right side of the bed, so I looked for the corner and used it to make my way to the left. I knew just the sound of her breathing and when she was awake because it grew a little quicker the closer I got.

We’d done this more than once a week, and it was like under the cover of night, we could pretend it didn’t matter. We never kissed. We never talked about why I was there. We just let it be. Sometimes we’d hold hands and talk until we fell asleep, only to wake up curled into each other. Some nights we didn’t bother waiting until we fell asleep and curled up right away.

Tonight was one of those nights. As soon as I eased in the bed, she rolled into my chest, the soft puffs of air heating my already too hot skin.

“I’m sorry my mom was such a Debbie downer.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s just concerned for you.”

“Yeah,” she answered a little too quickly.

“Is it something else?”

I swallowed down my groan when I felt the tickle of her fingers tracing my pecks. “I don’t talk about my dad.”

“No, you don’t.”

“He, uh … he was a musician.”

“Huh.” The word didn’t convey even an ounce of my shock. I started to worry my eyes would pop out of my head if they bugged out anymore.

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “He wasn’t anything big. But he wanted to be, and so he left us when I was young to chase it. Sometimes he would come back if he thought having a family would benefit him. He’d tried more than once to use the fact that he had a young daughter to get noticed or move ahead. My mom hated it—I hated it. Eventually, she had enough and kicked him out.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal. My mom, just kind of, has a thing about it.”

“It’s understandable.”

“I guess it’s why I always avoided the spotlight. I didn’t want to be like that.”

A thought struck me then, hitting me harder than the brother comment. “Do you think I’m like that?”

Her head tipped back against my arm