CODY
My palms were like double-sided tape on my steering wheel as I parked in Skylar’s driveway. I prayed the four layers of deodorant I put on would actually work. I was about to meet my girlfriend’s dad. My girlfriend’s highly protective dad. My girlfriend’s top-50-greatest-artist-of-all-time dad.
Gripping the wheel, I forced the air in and out of my lungs until my heart rate settled to a manageable flurry. Her front door swung open and soon the reason for all my anxiety walked out on the porch. It baffled me that she could evoke such conflicting physical responses. Tingly, hot fire and relaxing peace, all with one smile.
I opened my door, stepping out to meet her as she crossed the grass to me. Now close, I could see worry in the set of her brow. Her hands twitched, touching her locket, then her hair, then her locket again. She was nervous.
“Hey.” I reached out, her skin the only cure for the drum line in my chest.
She stopped without folding into my arms—our usual greeting.
“You okay?”
She fiddled with her hair again, moving it into a ponytail and then releasing it down her back. “Yeah, I just need to talk to you before you go in there.”
Lacing our fingers, I lifted her hand up for a light kiss, pulling her closer in the process. “What’s up?” She waited, watching me, deciding, I guess, what to say. I didn’t like it. “Skylar, what’s going on?”
“My dad won’t look like you expect. He’s sick. He’s been sick for a while. That’s my secret. It’s why I’ve waited so long for you to meet him.” Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she tried unsuccessfully to pull her hand from mine.
Instead, I tugged her closer and lifted her chin to look at me. “How sick?”
Tears flooded those crystal clear eyes. “Nothing we can’t handle, but sick enough that you’ll see a difference.” The last word no more than a breath.
My heart ached, a twisting pain that settled to a dull throb. I knew what this meant for her. I wrapped my arms around her rigid body and enclosed her in the warmth of my embrace. An embrace meant to show that she could lean on me, rely on me, let go with me.
“I wish you had told me sooner. I could have been there for you all this time.” I ran my hand down the back of her head, her crimson curls soft under my fingers.
“I wanted to. But telling you makes it more…real. And I don’t want to talk about his illness or focus on it. I just want you to come in and act like everything is normal.”
Skylar’s favorite word and one I’d come to loathe. Giving Skylar “normal” was like taking a crowbar to my head over and over. It meant backing off when I wanted to smother. It meant letting her sit with Blake two days a week so she could hang out with Zoe. And now, when I wanted to hold her and help her through her pain, it meant pretending it wasn’t there.
“So, should I be worried about coming out of this in one piece? I mean, is your dad going to strangle me with his guitar cords?” I asked, reluctantly following her tugging.
She stopped, her hand resting on the door that would carry me into her world. “I have no idea. I haven’t brought anyone home in seven years. Not even girlfriends.”
“I’m honored then.”
Her head tilted, that playful look I loved magnified by a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You should be.”
She swung the door open, and we stepped into what I guess could be called a foyer. High ceilings, huge chandelier, marble floors. Every inch was immaculate. My mom could probably rattle off the names of every item, but my mind summed it up into one cold reality—I was about to meet Donnie Wyld.
My hand tightened in hers.
“Don’t be nervous,” she whispered.
I leveled a stare. “Are you kidding me?”
She giggled, and we walked into a living room. The large leather couches and huge T.V. were almost enough to make the room seem ordinary, except for the black and silver guitar placed on its stand in the corner. The red “W” with one edge an eagle’s wing meant this was Donnie Wyld’s signature piece. That guitar posed in every picture, went on every tour, and now I was within two feet of touching the iconic instrument. My hands itched, the fan in me fighting every instinct to reach out.
I looked at Skylar, trying to see the fun girl at the park or the girlfriend I’d kissed dozens of times. But all I could see was Donnie Wyld’s daughter.
“Skylar?” A voice called from the distance.
“In here, Dad.”
I dropped her hand and put at least three feet between us while my eyes watched the door in terrified anticipation. Then he appeared and sucked all the air out of the room.
I scanned the man who filled the doorway, the surrounding halo of light a perfect fit for the introduction of a rock legend. Skylar was right. He was thin, his face slightly more pale than I expected. But nothing about this man in front of me seemed weak.
My pulse raced faster than the band’s Grammy winner, “Road to Oblivion.”
He glanced between us before putting out a hand. I stared at it. That hand could do things on a guitar that weren’t human. I’d been reduced to a blubbering fan, my own hand trembling as it met his firm shake.
“Donnie Wyld. Nice to meet you, Cody.” His tone matched the hard set of his eyes.
I willed my mind to work. “Yes, sir,” I croaked. “I’m your biggest fan. I have all your music. Your guitar riff in “Sanctuary” was so insane, I wanted to cry.” Did I really just say that? “I mean, if I was the type to cry that is.”
He stared at my hand, still gripped in his, and I released, mentally kicking myself for sounding like a teenage girl at a Taylor Swift concert.
“Thank you. I heard you’re quite a fan of my daughter’s, too.”
I suddenly remembered Skylar, my head jerking in her direction. Her shoulders were shaking, her teeth practically biting a hole in her bottom lip as she tried to hold back her laughter. I shot her a desperate look, but she didn’t come to my rescue. She seemed to be enjoying this moment.
“Yes, sir.” What else was I supposed to say? Tell him I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? That when I kissed her, my body exploded in a way I only thought possible in movies? That her smile not only lit up the room, but changed my entire outlook on the day? Yeah, that would go over like a brick wall.
Donnie leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made the laugh she was holding come out with a snort. Her hand flew to her mouth as her cheeks flushed, and she pushed her dad away with a warning look.
I could only imagine what he said to her in that moment, but I was sure it wasn’t flattering to me. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I tried to think of anything to say that wasn’t idiotic.
Suddenly Skylar’s arm was around my waist and, by instinct, I pulled her in, leaning over to smell her herbal shampoo that she had told me was called Jasmine. Whatever the name, I didn’t care. As if on cue, my heartbeat slowed, my unease spun away like a musical note in a windstorm.
“Cody’s one of the few people at my school who still appreciates quality music. He’s like Wikipedia. Give him a title, and he can name the album and the band.” Her proud, affectionate words came with a squeeze.
Donnie crossed his arms. “Good to know. We’re working on a new cut. It would be nice to get an opinion from someone your age. Especially if you have an ear for music.”
My mouth dropped open as if a genie had just granted me one wish. “I’d be honored, sir. Really, wow. That would be…wow.”
Skylar nudged me, a clear sign I was sounding star-struck again. “We should go eat,” she said.
Pulling myself together, I let her lead me to the food. We passed a grand dining room that could easily seat an army, but ended up at a small round kitchen table.
The smell of roasted chicken and potatoes filled the air as Skylar poured each of us a glass of lemonade. If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d be starving, but the rocks that lined my stomach like a retaining wall pretty much killed my appetite.
“So, Skylar tells me you’re the captain of the wrestling team.” The statement was an invitation to tell him about myself. He took a bite of his chicken, carefully chewing as he waited for a response.
I rubbed my sweating hands on my jeans. “Yes, sir.”
“Cody won state last year,” Skylar volunteered, sending me a proud look.
Her dad raised an impressed brow. “Really. You must be pretty good then. Have you been doing it for a long time?”
“No, sir. Just a couple of years. During the spring of my sophomore year, I started training with Matt Holloway. He’s a genius in the ring. I walked on last year just hoping to make the team. I had no idea we’d go to state.”
He finished chewing and took a drink. “How is this year going? Will there be a repeat?”
Immediately, my shoulders fell, my mood following them. “Not sure yet. We’re not the same team we were last year.” That was the understatement of the century. My position as captain was a joke. The team had turned on me, making practices strained and unproductive. Even Coach was losing faith in me.
I glanced at Skylar, my lone cheerleader. “My first competition is this weekend. It’s in Greensboro. I’d really like Skylar to come if that’s okay with you.”
He took a bite, continuing to chew slowly and watched me like a man preparing for a western showdown.
“I’d be with my coach, so we wouldn’t be alone.” Nor would I disrespect him like that. “She could ride with Zoe, so she didn’t have to take the trip by herself. A lot of kids from school reserve a hotel room together.”
His muscles tensed, his eyes darting to his daughter who watched in anticipation.
I went in for the final push. “This tournament is critical if I want to wrestle in college. It would really mean a lot if she could be there to support me. You have my word, I won’t do anything to disrespect her or you.”
He paused. I held my breath. And the moment of anticipation that followed stretched on like a road to nowhere.