Page 13 of More Than Scars

“You wanna talk dumb,” I growled. “What you just said to your son, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard and a dick way to treat someone you’re supposed to love. What the fuck gives you the right to talk to him that way, you fucking asshole? You’ve got a hell of a lot to learn about being a dad!”

With that I tugged him the rest of the way out the door, wishing I trusted myself behind the wheel enough to drive us out of there, because I didn’t want us sitting out in front of his old man’s house when he was already bellowing for me to get the fuck out of there. The last thing we needed was for him to decide to follow us outside and hurl more abuse at him. In the car, Tony punched the steering wheel and probably would have done it again if I hadn’t grabbed his hand.

“Not worth it, man,” I murmured, keeping my voice low in the hopes that would help him settle his sporadic breathing down. “So not worth it. You put that shit out of your head right now. Masterson wouldn’t have signed you as the singer if they didn’t believe you could handle it. Remember what Joey said, he’s gonna work with you and make sure you’re ready by the time we hit the stage. A guy like that isn’t going to offer to be a mentor if he doesn’t have complete faith in you. You’re gonna go out there, and you’re going to make that son of a bitch inside the house eat his words, understood?”

He sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, then a second, slightly less shaky one. By the third inhale, I could feel the tension in his hand lessening, and I slowly began to ease the hold I had on it.

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, finally sticking the key in the ignition. “Understood.”

The engine came to life with a rumble, then we were off and headed away from the bastard who, as far as I was concerned, had no right to call himself a parent.

“Let’s grab a bottle of something and some food on the way home, kick back, and play some Twisted Metal before we crash, if we crash,” I said. “We might be hungover, bleary-eyed messes by the time Pressley comes to load us up, but you deserve a chance to unwind after that bullshit, and I know you, you won’t sleep with his words tumbling through your head.”

“I wish I could hate him,” Tony muttered, in a voice that just sounded defeated. “It would be easier if I could just hate him.”

“I know, buddy. Since you can’t, I’ll spring for tequila and subs tonight. I’ll even throw in a sundae with all the brownie bits you can eat.”

“You sure?”

“Hundred percent positive. My treat. You get as many scoops as you want on it.”

He flashed me the ghost of a smile as we pulled up to a stoplight and nodded. “Thanks for getting me out of there and for believing I can handle being the singer for the band.”

“Anytime, you know that. I’ll always have your back, the same way you have mine.”

“Always, brutha,” he said, heaving one last heavy breath and perking up a bit as traffic got moving. “Always.”

Chapter Six

Pressley

I woke before the alarm to the phone ringing, surprised to see his name across the screen. “Wolf? Everything okay?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Sorry, didn’t pay attention to the time. Was just wondering if you needed an extra set of hands moving the boys today?”

It took a minute for his words to sink in with my brain still on the groggy side. “The boys? Oh,you mean Bowie and Tony.”

“Yeah.”

“You bored?”

“Something like that.”

It was too early for this. My brain wasn’t functioning and was in dire need of gallons of coffee before I even attempted to decipher his cryptic responses. “Sure. I’m in Bothell, aren’t you south?”

“Tacoma.”

“Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up on the way.”

“Thanks, see ya soon.”

Had I made a new friend? If so, that’s great given how closely Wolf and I will be working together. This would surely make the roundtrip drive less daunting. I bet Wolf has some great stories to share. Most roadies did, though Wolf was far more than that to Masterson.

After a quick shower, I filled a travel mug with the elixir of life, then fired off a text to Wolf and Bowie to let them know I was on the way.

This early on a Saturday morning it wasn’t too bad of a drive to get to Tacoma. Thank the travel gods for small miracles.

“Morning, Wolf.” He hopped in the truck, mug of coffee in hand. I held mine up. “Cheers, my friend!”