Page 13 of Perfect Composition

Dawn smiles in sympathy. “I’m here when you need me.”

“Remember that bottle of tequila I gave you?” One night a few years ago when my dad was watching Austyn, I had a girls’ night with Dawn. I handed her a bottle with a note attached that said,Open when P tells A.

“Of course I do. It’s the bottle of booze Jess brought you from Mexico. Dumbass.”

“Keep it handy,” I prepare her before ducking into my office to drop off my coat and grab my bag. When I come out, she’s disappeared, so I head out the back door, calling out a goodbye.

Once I reach my Rover, I sit for a few moments, letting it cool. Dawn’s words stir up the same questions I’ve been wrestling with since Austyn turned eighteen. How do I tell her the boy I fell in love with, who I gave myself to out of that love, who gaveherher brilliant blue eyes and her desperate love of music, is none other than the media spectacle Beckett Miller?

Cringing, I put the car in gear and drive west in the direction of my home. I’ve spent too many sleepless nights lately wondering what her reaction will be. And I put all thoughts of Beau—no, Beckett, damnit—out of my head while I do so.

PAIGE

CHAPTER FIVE

Who has plans with their outlaws for Thanksgiving? Can’t wait to remind them, yes, I get paid to write this blog. I like my tattoos fine—why would I want laser removal? Maybe I’ll lock myself in hubby’s old bedroom and binge-watchPlanes, Trains, and AutomobilesandWoodchipper Massacre.

—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger

“Paigey.” My father stands to greet me as soon as I step into the kitchen. He immediately opens his arms, and I move into them sure with the knowledge I’ve had from the moment I was born, that unlike so many others in this world, I am loved.

From within my father’s embrace, I spy the kitchen table where we spent many hours as a family eating as not. I was a lonely little girl, so I clung to my family in my early years. I built a false sense of security within my family bosom. Timidly courageous, cautiously fearless. A constant paradox, perhaps because I didn’t have my mother as a steady influence, not that she left by choice. The infection she caught when she sliced her leg on a rusty piece of fencing did that. And because she thought her tetanus shot was further along and rejected her booster since she was pregnant with me, we both almost died.

When Austyn was old enough and I was going to college at the University of Texas, I debated going into obstetrics instead of otolaryngology. But it would have been an homage instead of a passion. And by then, I was already a parent who had faced the infant years of worry about too many ear infections impacting hearing loss. It left different scars than the ones on my heart. I remember rushing Austyn to the emergency room with high fevers and recall her being diagnosed withotitis media. As well the well-meaning doctors cautioning me about too many infections causing potential hearing loss.

And so my course in life was set.

“How was work today, honey?” my father asks. He pulls back, giving me an unobstructed look at his handsome face. In his mid-sixties, he is still incredibly handsome. The unattainable prince locked in the tower, I recall thinking in my perfectly plush bedroom growing up. Now, I wish there was someone who had caught his eye so his heart wasn’t so lonely. Then again, I can’t exactly throw stones at my father’s choices.

“It was good, Daddy. Cutest little girl. Reminded me a lot of Austyn at that age.”

“In looks?”

“No, with her intelligence. And then how sweet she was.”

His hands squeeze my shoulders before he lets me go. He drops into his seat at our table and motions for me to join him. Kicking off my heels, I do with a happy sigh. “So many memories around this table.”

“Good ones, I hope.” I’d have to be absolutely deaf not to catch the anxiety in my father’s voice.

I extend a hand toward him. “Wonderful ones.”

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you, Paigey. And sometimes I forget to tell you, but I’m proud of the woman you are.”

Immediately, I sit up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His lips twitch from side to side—a sure tell.

“You’re fibbing.”

“And you’re my daughter. You’re not supposed to notice these things.”

“Please. How do you think I won that $100 off you in the poker game during the Founders Day tournament?”

“I raised children who have no respect for their elders,” he declares.

“No, you raised three smart children who appreciated getting extra allowances when they were kids. Now the stakes are higher. Spill it. What are you keeping from me?”

“Sheriff Lewis came around today. Asked about you.”