Page 63 of Crimson Desires

“Jack, I swear to god-,” before Ava could curse me out further, I removed my in-ear and tucked it into my pocket.

“You want to hear it? Make some noise if you do!” I shouted.

The screams were rapturous. I tossed a glance at Kane. He gave me a satisfied nod in return.

“I can’t fucking hear you!” I goaded.

The audience screamed even louder. I grinned like a madman, surveying the crowd of hungry fans. It was almost ironic—with Aster working the merch table, she was going to be one of the only people at the concert who wouldn’t hear the song that I’d written for her.

Axel strummed his guitar, prompting me into the first verse.

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Then, I sang.

***

As soon as the show ended, the guys and I headed back to the green room.

Kane clapped my back. “Dude. That was awesome.”

“I’m sure we’ll see how awesome it really was when Ava gets her hands on me.”

“She can’t be that fucking mad,” Damien said, spinning his drumsticks between his fingers. “Not after how well that went.”

That was true enough. Our encore of After Aster had gone off infinitely better than any of us had hoped that it would. The crowd had loved every second of the song. And even though we’d only practiced it as a band a few times, we had somehow managed to stay perfectly in-sync throughout the entire track.

When we walked into the green room, Dad was waiting for us.

Dad wore a dress shirt and a pair of slacks. The look was simultaneously too casual and too stuffy.

Next to him, Ava fidgeted with her tablet. She glared daggers at me as I entered the room, but she didn’t say anything. Even Ava wouldn’t dare chew me out in the presence of my dad.

“Jack, that song wasn’t approved for this tour,” Dad said. His voice and expression were equally unreadable.

“I know. But it worked out,” I said.

Dad made me feel like a coward. One look at him, and I felt the urge to blurt out that performing After Aster as an impromptu encore hadn’t been my idea. The only thing keeping my mouth shut was the fact that I didn’t want to throw Kane under the bus.

“You can’t just sing unreleased songs, Jack. There needs to be planning. Marketing.”

“You’re telling me a surprise song reveal isn’t good marketing? I know that music is a business, Dad, but isn’t a little spontaneity good for us?”

“Not for your bottom line.” Dad tucked his hands into his pockets. “Also, your singing was flat.”

“But did you like the show, Mr. Maverick?” Axel asked. “Disregarding the encore. And Jack’s singing.”

Dad’s expression softened. Of all my friends, Dad liked Axel the most. Dad had a soft spot for Axel because, in his words, “The kid reminds me of my first dog.”

“The show was good. And according to Ava, you sold out the venue. I’m eager to see how the remainder of your tour progresses,” Dad said. It was probably the highest level of praise that we’d get from him.

Dad stepped up to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. His smile was pleasant, but his eyes told a different story. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’d like to get a drink with my son.”

***

Wanting to be like your dad is supposedly a guaranteed byproduct of being a little boy. But as far as I can remember, I never wanted to be like James Maverick.

I didn’t like how much my dad worked. I didn’t like that he brought his laptop and his work phone to my baseball games. I didn’t like that I only ever saw his and my mom’s relationship in old pictures.

Dads were supposed to be tough. They were supposed to be fun.