Page 22 of Perfect Composition

It’s not her fault that despite my falling pregnant at seventeen, he never acknowledged his daughter. Ever.

It’s not her fault her father made it his life’s mission to appear on the cover of every tabloid once he “made it” in the music industry. Unable to know myself what was truth or fiction, I chose to shield her from it all.

But tonight, I’m not going to let Beckett Miller ruin my baby’s life just by showing up at the same club. He had a chance to be a father. He’s had nineteen years to show up.

Tonight is not the chance he gets to pick up the instrument and determine if he can play it. Not when it’s my daughter who wrote the lyrics to the tune when she first cried after she came out of my body.

I’ll be damned if I let him.

BECKETT

CHAPTER NINE

Not nice at all, @PRyanPOfficial! Remember those tix to Brendan Blake? At least the line’s moving (Taps foot impatiently). But, OMG! Beckett Miller just strolled up! And I got a photo! Suck it, Ryan!

—@CuTEandRich3

I’m swarmed by people all vying for my attention the moment I step across the threshold. I’m just grateful Louie came in with me as well as Kane. “Thanks, guys,” I tell them both gratefully as they lead me to the VIP section.

Kane nods before heading out the side door to watch the stairs that lead to the dance floor.

“You know, it would be helpful if you called in advance, Becks. Then I could plan for the…”

“Handsome motherfucker about to grace your presence?” I offer.

“No, the onslaught of screeching,” Louie grumbles even as he moves around to the bar to pour us each a vodka on the rocks.

I chuckle as our glasses make that distinctive ping that fine crystal does. I’ve learned that over the years since I left Texas. I’ve learned so many things about money I never would have learned if I stayed.

Including the simple matter of having it.

After taking a large glug of my drink, I wipe the back of my mouth on my hand. “So, tell me about this DJ. Decent?”

“She makes me want to stop listening to the crap you put out.”

My eyebrow quirks. “Seriously?” Since Louie’s always backstage at the shows whenever I’m in town, I don’t take the comment seriously, but there’s an underlying compliment there he rarely uses.

“Oh yeah. For such a tiny thing, she’s got some massive talent.”

I flick my eyes upward. “Lou, bud, in comparison to you, I’m tiny.”

His gold tooth flashes. “That’s true. But this little girl’s only up to about here.” He aims for a place on his chest that puts her at about five foot six.

“Okay. She is small next to you,” I concede.

He just pours himself another drink, ignoring me. I grin. It’s rare to be treated just like one of the guys, but when you used to have sweat pouring down your back at music festivals next to someone sweating under the summer sun moving around someone else’s drum kit, a bond forms.

And close to twenty years ago, that’s what happened when my life first intersected with Louie Scott’s, after I hitched a ride out to get away from Kensington and my heinous family. He was a beast on that first summer tour, hauling speakers around like they weighed nothing more than a shoe box. He never cut me any slack, giving me the chance to regain some of my pride. But when we parted, he stopped me to say, “I live in New York. When you’re done running, come find me.”

I found him working at Club, an exclusive hot spot long before Redemption existed. Even though with my advertising earnings I could have sought him out much sooner, it wasn’t until much later I actually did. With Mick and Carly by my side, we hit up the trendy club. Through Wildcard, my music was landing me on charts all over the world. I wanted to see if Louie wanted to be a part of it, but he had a different dream. And together with Marco, they built it.

Louie refills my glass, this time with club soda. “I’m just sayin’ last night was one of the best nights we’ve had. And Marco’s take is this little girl might push tonight into being the best night we’ve had in club history.”

I pause in lifting my drink to my lips. “No shit.”

“None at all.”

“Well, damn.” I wander to the front of the VIP area and concentrate not on my old friend but on the music.