Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Were you writing music?” I turn to him in surprise.
He nods. “Couldn’t sleep. Stayed up all night working on a new song.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re unretiring.”
“Nah. I think I’ll record it, though. Give it to you for your birthday this weekend.”
My heart clenches. Damn it. Why does he have to say stuff like that? It makes it impossible to stay mad at him.
“You know when you first came to live with me, I used to sit and watch you sleep for hours?” Dad confesses. “Just fascinated that you were real. And terrified that I wouldn’t know how to keep you alive. How to keep you happy and safe…”
He drifts off for a moment, donning a faraway expression.
“I know it might not have felt like it when I was touring, when you were left alone with your nannies, but you were the most precious thing to me. I’d lie awake every night while I was on tour thinking about all the ways I could screw you up.”
“But you didn’t screw me up,” I point out.
“Because I made a conscious effort not to. Other parents, I’d see them let their twelve-year-old try a sip of wine. Drop their tweens off at the mall and let them roam around alone for hours. Let their teenagers get wasted, smoke pot. I thought they were nuts. Didn’t they realize what kids do in malls? When I was sixteen, I got a BJ from my bandmate’s sister in a goddamn dressing room.”
“Ew, Dad. Gross. Next-level TMI.” I’m cringing hard.
“I’m just saying, I knew all about trouble. I’ve seen girls your age strung out on God knows what, trying to sleep with anyone even remotely connected to some rock star or celebrity.”
I know we’re both thinking of my own mother when he says that. It’s no secret Nancy slept with a few of Dad’s roadies before she gained access to Gunner Bly. And although he’s never confirmed it, the tabloids claim my father had a paternity test done before gaining custody of me. Normally I don’t buy what they’re selling, but I’m inclined to believe that story is true.
“I refused to let you go down that path,” he says simply. “And I suppose that made me more protective than other parents.”
“You suppose?” I can’t stop the sarcastic snort that pops out.
“I was petrified when you got accepted to the Pembridge program,” he admits. “I didn’t know how to deal with the fear that I wouldn’t be there to protect you, and I guess I thought if I had a proxy over there, across the pond, it would save me some sleepless nights. It came from a good place, kid. Last night, you accused me of not having trust or faith in you. That’s not true at all. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust. Not you. Never you.”
“You have no idea how humiliating it is, what you did. I thought you were finally allowing me some independence, and instead you were checking up on me behind my back.”
“I’m sorry. It was wrong. What I did was wrong.”
“I’ve waited my whole life to start living.” My voice cracks. “Having my own stories and adventures, not just retelling yours.”
Guilt creases his rugged features.
“There isn’t much downside to being Gunner Bly’s daughter, but it is a little chilly in your shadow. All I’ve ever wanted was some space to be my own person.”
Dad curses under his breath. “Christ, kid. That one cuts deep. I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I don’t want you to feel bad. It’s not your fault that you are who you are.” I sigh. “But it’s time you allowed me to be who I am.”
“And I promise to do that going forward. I promise to stop filling your head with all my stories and leave some space there for your own. Loosen the reins if you will.”
“Thank you.”
Silence falls between us, but I’m no longer stewing in anger or resentment. It’s not possible to stay angry with my dad. Because I know he means it when he says it’s coming from a good place. It would be one thing if his controlling nature stemmed from a need for power, to exert authority over his child like some toxic parents do. Dad’s protectiveness comes from love and fear. How can I really hold that against him?
“Can you forgive me for going behind your back?” he asks hopefully.
“Of course I can. I don’t love what you did, but I understand why. So we’re good. We’re okay.” I search his still-anxious gaze. “Are we okay?”
“Baby girl.” He scoots closer and slings one arm around me. “We’re always okay. Yeah, I might be here right now because you wound up in the tabloids, but I don’t care about that. I’m just glad I get to spend time with my daughter. And gratified to know she’s happy and healthy and has good friends beside her. That’s all I want for you, Abbey. I’m not here to ruin your life.”