Page 51 of Out of the Shadow

He stiffens next to me. “Yeah?”

“Want to come out with us during the encore?”

Under his breath, he mutters, “And do what? Stand there like a dumbass?” He shakes his head. “Nah, you go do your thing.”

Braxton gives him a thumbs up and Hunte returns to the stage.

I turn to King. “That was nice of him.”

King’s biceps flex. “Whatever. He wanted to show off to the world that he has a son. Hard pass.”

That’s not how I heard it. Now that I’ve seen them together, I suspect King’s father actually loves him—only he’s not sure how to show it. They don’t know how to be together, but that’s something they can learn. Still, it’s not the time to say so. I return my attention to the stage and enjoy the rest of the performance. The audience screams as Hunte leaves the stage after their encore. They’re ushered through a back exit.

“That was a great concert,” I say, glancing up at King to see his reaction. “Their songs are timeless.”

“Yeah.”

I nudge him. “Come on, you must’ve enjoyed some of it.”

He shrugs. Maybe it’s the Italian in me, but I need to help clear the air between him and his father. Family is important, and I want King to have what I have.

Knowing we’re still being filmed, I say, “Let’s go to the afterparty.” Kaitlyn arranged for us to attend.

King’s cheeks hollow. He’s not happy about this, but I know—deep down—he wants a connection with his father. Not letting him stew any longer, I grab his hand and head toward the same door that Hunte disappeared through. Somewhere around the one-minute mark, I realize I’m holding King’s hand and drop it. He follows me anyway.

We enter the backroom. Food and drinks are set up along the sides, and people—mostly over fifty but some of them our age or younger—mill around. The band’s across the way.

I search for some hook to reel King in. “Have you talked to your dad about doing the show?”

“No.”

“He’ll be so proud.”

“Doubt it.”

Braxton really has done a number on his son. I want to give the man a swift kick in the butt. Both of them, actually. These two need to talk it out. King remains in place, but his chest moves faster with each intake of breath.

The band’s bassist walks over to us, giving King another hug. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good, Uncle Colton. You sounded great up there.”

“Thanks.” He turns his intense gaze on me and I melt just a little bit. Wow. He’s got this whole rockstar thing going on, but the kindness in his eyes reminds me of my uncles. “And who did you bring with you?”

Next to me, King jumps. “This is my colleague, Angie Russo. Angie, this is Colton Frontage, the best bassist ever.”

I offer my hand, but he pulls me in for a hug. Stage sweat is real, but he’s the genuine article. And gives good hugs.

Colton pulls back and addresses King. “So, I want to know all about your show.”

Before either one of us can respond, Braxton walks over. He’s much shorter than both Colton and King. His son stands straighter, as if to prove something with his height.

Colton nods at me. “King just introduced Angie here.”

All of their attention focuses on me for a moment. “Hi, I’m Angie Russo, King’s co-star,” I offer, extending my hand.

Unlike his bandmate, Braxton settles for a handshake, although his eyes skewer King in place. It strikes me that their eyes are exactly the same. Neither one of them breaks their silent stand-off. Shit. Maybe I was wrong about them.

“Yeah, about that. You didn’t tell me you were working on a reality television show.” The word reality has a derisive undertone. “I had to find out from the execs.”

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