Page 90 of Under One Roof

She gasps. “Fucking brilliant!”

Already, the hamster is crawling its way back as an idea starts to crystallize. A kind of theme that’s reminiscent of a Spice Girls kick-you-in-the-face-don’t-mess-with-my-friends kind of thing. And I head inside with a smile.

Uther’s gonna hate it.

Chapter31

Griffin

The last two weeks without Andi have been miserable. My kids and I had been doing fine before she came into our lives.

We were fine.

Then she waltzed in with her sticker-covered guitar case and ceaseless goddamn sunshine, forcing the growth of flowers through all the cracks in our family. All the broken pieces I tried to glue together with sheer might, she gently pasted together with patience and a smile.

And now that we know what it’s like with her in our lives, the other option is living in black-and-white again. Sure, it’s my fault. I kept us there with my rules and schedules and order, but I’m man enough to admit I needed Andi to show me how much better it can be when I bend the rules, loosen the daily schedules, and let a little disorder into my life.

Hell, I bought a sparkly hanging disco ball planter yesterday just because.

I don’t even own plants. Nor do I particularly enjoy disco or shiny objects, but missing Andi Halton has fucked with my brain.

Logan has been pretending he doesn’t care she’s gone. Learning to compartmentalize from the master—me.

Problem is, I don’t compartmentalize as well as I used to anymore, and I don’t want my son to either. I want him to be able to talk and express himself. Life is better that way. Living out loud.

Last night, Andi called me so she could talk to Grace. Which I appreciated because my daughter needed a pep talk, and yet I could use one too. A little “Hey, how ya doing? I miss you.” Or maybe, “I wrote this song for you.” I’d even take “I saw a fire truck, and it reminded me of you.”

Something.

Anything.

Because I’m fucking pathetic and need to know she’s thinking of me as much as I’m thinking about her. That everything in her world reminds her of me. Because everything in my world reminds me of her.

From the songs on the radio to the photos she framed and hung on the walls of our house.

It’s actually nice to be away from the constant reminders and trapped here instead. In this elementary school auditorium while kids hyped up on sugar and pride perform “talents” for this end-of-the-year show.

Logan squirms beside me, his baseball cap pulled low, mumbling complaints every few minutes. I can’t blame him, sitting through this test of endurance, but we’re here for Grace.

She’s been a bundle of nerves all day, though god knows she practiced enough to do well tonight. Hours of practicing on the acoustic guitar I bought her after she proved to me she’d stick with it enough to have her own instead of borrowing Andi’s. Good thing, too. Otherwise, Grace would be going onstage tonight playing air guitar.

The thought makes me fidget, and I refold my arms across my chest after checking my watch again. Forty-five minutes in, and the group of girls onstage do some stupid dance to “Tootsee Roll,” but they’re barely moving. Nor do they look like they’re having any fun, with straight faces and baggy sweats. Next to me, Logan groans, and I elbow him.

He shoots me a look. “That’s Valentina.”

I bend down. “Which one?”

“Long black hair.”

I huff. She’s the only one smiling.

I don’t know what to say, so I merely grip his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Almost over.”

“Is it?” he asks hopefully, and I don’t know, but I nod anyway.

“Your sister said she’s number eleven, and these girls are ten, so she’s up next.”

He sighs and sinks farther down in his chair, and I don’t blame the guy.

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