Page 45 of Out of the Shadow

“Don’t worry,” I reply to him as we vacate the stage area for the next singers.

Leo steps away to join some of his cousins, while I return to my seat. Angie wiggles her index finger at me. “You didn’t tell me you have an amazing voice, King.”

Her words land directly in my gut like a physical blow. “My voice is barely passable.” They’re the exact words my father used to describe my rendition of one of his hits on what would turn out to be my last trip to his Chicago house. I was twelve.

“No, you’re really good.”

Shaking my head, I pick up my bourbon, intending to drown out the harsh reality Braxton Hunte poured on me all those years ago. Some of Angie’s cousins offer the same praise, but none of them can convince me he was wrong. He’s Braxton Hunte. He would know.

For the rest of the evening, I smile when it’s required and make appropriate comments to the Romano clan, but my mind keeps drifting back to Chicago. Maybe that trip had been doomed from the start. My mother had drilled it into my head that my father wouldn’t want anything to do with me after he married Sara. That Sara would ensure there was no place for me in his new life. Oh, Sara tried to include me, but I continued to feel more and more isolated. Just like I feel now.

“What’s on your mind, King? I’ve been told I can be a pretty good listener.”

I blink and turn my head to see Angie sitting next to me. The others are gathering their stuff together.

I tap my finger on my empty glass. How did that happen? “Nothing.”

Marlene and her husband wave their good-byes. Leo crosses the room to hug his sister, and surprises me when he pulls out his phone and asks for my number. When I give it to him, he texts me, saying he’ll be in touch about catching a game together. If I weren’t so wrapped up in my own head, his offer of friendship would’ve sent adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Now, it’s just Angie and me on the sofa. I go to stand, but she places her hand on my arm to stop me.

“Talk to me.”

I smile at her, the type of smile that always gets me out of tight spots. In response, she crosses her arms and leans back against the sofa. Guess it doesn’t work with her.

Feeling trapped, I snap, “It’s nothing to worry your head over. Don’t you have a big Open House to prepare for?”

She crosses her leg and her foot taps in time with the song being sung by the group in the next stage area. “We still have a couple of days to prepare.” She leans forward. “Let me in, King.” Her foot sways with the music and her head dips. “You already saw me at my lowest point.”

Watching her puke her guts up on the beach where she married her teenaged husband qualifies as her low point, I guess. But that was a totally different situation. She was in love with the guy who stole her heart forever. I was just a dumb kid who smartened up. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Then tell me.”

I reach out for my Pappy, only to remember my glass is empty. “It’s nothing. I don’t sing often. If ever.”

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. Your voice is wonderful. I’m surprised you’re not out on tour with your father.”

A harsh sound escapes my lips. “As if.”

She cocks her head. “Has he ever heard you sing? I would think he’d be excited to add his son to his band.”

“No and no. Well, yes and no.”

“Which is it?”

I run my hand over my stubble, finding solace in the tiny pricks of pain. “I sang one of his hits when we were on a family vacation. I’d practiced it for months. He didn’t find my voice to be very, shall we say, endearing.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“Oh my God! You hadn’t even hit puberty yet!”

No one ever stands up for me. Her righteous indignation for me widens the little crack in my heart that she opened that day on the beach—the one next to Diego’s spot.

“Thanks, but my father knows real talent when he hears it.”

“I’m going to give him a big piece of my mind on Sunday.”

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