Krystal nodded. “Like I said, I wanted to hear you sing. I’d heard good things—they were all right.”
“Course they were.” Tig was back, not in the least deterred. “I know talent when I hear it.”
“I’ll see you later?” Pretending he didn’t exist was Krystal’s only option. Otherwise, she’d have to talk to him or look at him and neither of those seemed like productive options at this point. She was holding it together, no point pushing it. “See ya.” With a wave Becca’s way, she walked—not speed-walked or ran—away from Tig and toward the seats where her family and Jace had been sitting.
“Emmy and Heather went to look at T-shirts.” Jace smiled. “If she buys a shirt for all the bands she likes, you might not have to take her shopping after all.”
She forced a smil
e, taking Jace’s hand in both of hers. It helped. It always did. But a quick survey left her chilled to the bone. “Where’s Daddy?”
Travis nodded toward the stage. She’d run up the far aisle, away from Tig. Her father had headed down the other aisle, to get to her.
“Shit,” she whispered.
“I’m guessing this is bad?” Travis asked, pushing up out of his chair. “I’ll go.” He trotted along, smiling,making sure the whole world knew there was nothing worth noticing up front. Not one tiny little thing.
She watched—in slow motion—as Tiger Whitman turned to lock eyes with her father. Her easygoing father was strung tighter than a guitar string about to snap. Even from this distance, she could see the muscle clenched tight in his jaw.
“Don’t do it.” She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. “Don’t.”
Jace’s hand tightened around hers.
Tig Whitman was fearless. Or clueless. Or both. He was heading for her father, smiling his best smile like they were still the friends they’d once been.
“He’s got him.” Jace’s hands held her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms. “Travis is there.”
She nodded, breathing easier when her brother nudged her father. Even aisles away, she could hear Travis carrying on about them being late to a meeting and how the car was waiting out front. For a split second, she saw her daddy’s face and it scared her. Not of her father, but of what the twisted, raw fury on his face could lead to.
Because of her.
Head down, Hank walked back up the aisle and out of the amphitheater, Travis wise enough to trail a few feet behind.
Jace didn’t say a word until they were out of the amphitheater. Even then, he seemed to be considering all the possible explanations for what the hell he’d just witnessed.
“Heather and I think we need food before we do more shopping.” Emmy Lou held out a large plastic bag.
“What did you buy?” Travis asked. “What’s even open yet?”
The festival wouldn’t officially kick off until that night.
“I guess vendors see Emmy and are like, ‘Oh my gosh, I’m going to sell a shirt to Emmy Lou King,’ so they open. And wind up selling a shirt to Jace Black’s sister.” Heather giggled. “It was pretty awesome.”
“Food?” Her daddy sounded gruff. “I could eat.”
“Me too.” Travis nodded. “Someplace with cake.”
“Donuts for breakfast and cake for lunch? Well, okay.” Heather nodded.
“Eat like a King.” Travis winked.
Heather thought it was hilarious, but the rest of them groaned. Except their father—he surprised everyone by chuckling.
“I could go for some cake, too,” he agreed, casting a glance her way. “What do you think, Krystal?”
She nodded, leaving Jace to slip her arm around her father’s waist. “That sounds perfect.”
“I know a place.” Sawyer nodded.