Page 21 of Sing Your Secrets

“Miles!” My dad beams at me from across the lawn. With one more quick push to my giggly niece, he maneuvers around the swing and hustles to me. “My God,” he mumbles as he yanks me into a hug. He smells faintly of cigarettes and cleaner like he smoked half a cig and then tried to hide the odor with fresh air and Lysol. Mom would kill him if she knew he was still sneaking cigarettes. It’s a habit Dad and my brothers keep from their wives. Not that I have anyone to hide it from, but my voice was far too important. I was never tempted to pick up smoking.

“Hey, Dad. Good to see you.”

“How long has it been?” he asks as he repetitively slams his bear paw of a hand against my back.

“Three months since we’ve talked on the phone. Two years since I’ve seen you?” I couldn’t afford to come home for the holidays the past two Christmases and I was far too embarrassed to tell my parents that. Instead, I lied and told them I’d booked a couple of shows that were amazing opportunities I couldn’t get out of. That particular lie was just the tip of the bullshit iceberg I’ve been floating on.

He tsks his tongue as he grabs my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length. Our eyes are level, our heights are almost identical. “Too long, son. That’s far too long to be away from home.”

He examines me from head to toe, a wide grin on his face. “What?” I ask as I study his peculiar expression.

“There’s something about seeing your youngest all grown up.” He shakes his head. “Makes me feel incredibly old.”

“You are incredibly old,” I tease.

“I could still probably kick your ass,” he says with a smirk.

“Probably.”

Dad nods to the cooler on the patio. “You want a beer?”

We settle into the old patio set my parents have had since I was maybe five years old. The cushions are worn and tattered. The ugly floral pattern is outdated, but to this day, Mom is frugal. If it’s still working, she won’t replace it. If it’s not working, Dad will find a way to fix it himself. Reason number one hundred thousand I wanted to find a way to treat my family to the finer things in life.

Dad hands me a beer that’s dripping from the icy bath of the cooler. I nearly rip the flesh of my hand around the bottlecap before I realize it’s not a twist-off. “What the fuck is this?” I stare at the blue label. “Hard cider?”

“Your mother has been getting adventurous with her beer runs.” He laughs. “Your brothers cleaned out the Coors before you got here.” He fishes out a Leatherman utility tool from his pocket, then extends the hook that doubles as a beer bottle opener.

“Thanks,” I say over the hiss of the beer bottle opening. I take a reluctant swig. “Dammit.”

Dad widens his eyes, his bushy dark eyebrows raising as he lowers his voice. “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

“Hate to admit it, but yeah.”

“Don’t tell your mother.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’”

Ha.“Noted.” I guzzle down the cider, enjoying the tang of the sour apple. It’s really not that far off from the kombucha mom taught me how to make, but it’s better. It’s sweeter and a buzz is guaranteed.

“So, what’s this about you and Law getting into business together?”

“We’re not in business together. I needed a job and Law needed some help with a renovation.”

“Weren’t you working in L.A.?”

I fix my gaze forward even though I feel his eyes on me. “Bartending wasn’t paying the bills and my music is still in that costs-me-more-than-it-makes-me phase.”

“If you needed help, why didn’t you come to me?”

I sink a little lower into my seat. He’s trying to sound casual, but I can tell he’s wounded. From my peripherals, I see his jeans are a little dusty. Dad’s a workhorse. No doubt he logged a few hours this morning before the obligatory family get-together.

“Because I’m a grown-ass man and I shouldn’t be your burden.”

He holds up his palms before popping open his cider. “I get it. But I’m sorry you see it that way. You’re going to keep staying with Law and Sienna?”

I tip the bottom of the bottle into the air before I set my empty drink on the glass patio table. With my eyes fixed on the back section of the fence, I say, “Possibly.” My sigh matches my energy—completely exhausted. “I have to be where I can be seen if I want anything to come of my music. I was thinking about trying Atlanta for a while. I think I can find a cheaper place to stay or find a few roommates or something.” Preferably one that doesn’t deal drugs this time.

“Okay.”

“I know what you’re going to say.” I shrug my shoulders.