The wounds to scar and invade.
But we loved her with everything. Held her through her hurt. Filled her with our love and our belief.
I’d sat her down a couple months after and told her I was there for her, no matter what. She could think of me however she wanted to. As a friend or a protector or a parent. Told her she could call me anything she wanted. Well, except for Mr. Godwin, of course.
She’d asked if it was okay if she called me Dad. She said dads were just like moms. They were supposed to be our favorite people in the world. They were supposed to take care of you. And she said that was what I did.
And I was never going to stop—proving that devotion to her. To her mom. To her brothers.
“Aren’t you all tired of hearing me play yet?”
They’d been following Carolina George around as much as they could since Carson was old enough to travel, watching from backstage in the places they were allowed, waiting for me at whatever hotel we were staying at if they couldn’t.
At my side, the same as I would forever be for them.
Knew they couldn’t always do it.
But we made it work.
Just like Mia and I promised we would.
But had to admit, I loved it when I was home, out in our backyard in the outskirts of Savannah where we could gaze up at the stars.
Penny giggled. “Never.”
Mia looked at me with those eyes, mouthed, “Never.”
I grumbled, but I really didn’t mind, taking Carson with me as I stood to grab my guitar where it sat on a chair next to our snuffed-out fire.
We’d done marshmallows and hot dogs earlier.
A campout two steps from our quaint, perfect house.
I set Carson back on his bottom, and he clapped when I sat down and situated the guitar on my lap.
Was proud to play the drums with Carolina George as they shot into fame. My extended family who I was crazy proud of. Drumsticks one of my closest friends.
But I didn’t complain all that much when I strummed a guitar.
The medium didn’t matter. I just relished in the expression.
To me, that was what music was.
Beautiful. Brutal.
Everything you couldn’t really say.
I strummed the chords and I let the lyrics spin into the cool breeze of the night.
I sang to my family, playing through the chords, the memories of the way I’d felt then.
Terrified.
Learning to hope again.
Remembering what it meant.
Penny rocked and gazed at the sky, while Greyson curled up at my side.
The song trailed off, and I was looking at Mia.
Lustdrunk.
Lovestruck.
My angel in the attic.
A savior I thought the devil could never keep.
But Mia?
She had found the good in me.
THE END