“Chase. Hey. How are you doing?” she asked, relieved her voice sounded completely casual. She still felt anything but casual regarding Chase.
But everything that had happened had been her fault.
That had been years ago now. They had both gone on. But there had been a time when they had lamented being the daughter of one rock star and the grandson of another.
Not as bad for him as it had been for her, Chase had always told her. The lead vocalist was always the front man, the name and face people knew. Those who just listened on the radio or bought the music knew the name of a group if they loved it, and after that, the name of the lead singer, and not so much the other members of the band.
She wondered now if that was still true. There had been so much publicity when her father had died. The media had hopped on it, interviewing band members, fans, producers...
She had managed to hide away. Mostly. Once upon a time, she’d recorded with her father. And that recording had hit the airwaves big-time.
Chase was studying her. She wondered if he was reading her mind.
“So, cool,” she murmured. “I’m going to be my dad, and you’re going to be your grandfather.”
“And you are going to have to rehearse like hell,” Brandon said dryly, grinning. “I’ve only been asked to sit in on a few numbers and some backup vocals. You two... What is Skyhawk without the lead vocalist and a kick-ass drummer?”
“Well, here you go, Brandon. We grew up with these guys, with this music,” Sky told him.
“She’s right. I think I knew a lot of the Skyhawk lineup before I knew my ABCs,” Chase told him. “So today is—” He broke off, looking around the studio. It was meant for recording, but today, they would be putting together the fivesome playing the main frame of the performance, Joe Garcia still on keyboards, Mark Reynolds still on rhythm guitar and Chris Wiley on bass—except on a few numbers where he wanted Brandon to sit in. “Today, we’re just seeing how we do,” Chase finished.
“Yeah. My dad and Mark and Joe should be here any minute,” Brandon said. He looked at Sky. “Are you going to do your dad’s ballad?” he asked quietly. “My dad said that you’ve turned them down every time they’ve asked you on stage, even to do the ballad.”
Sky forced a smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. You mean ‘Grace,’ I take it. My dad wrote several ballads.”
“Yeah,” Brandon said. “That one. Come on, kid, that video of you and your dad years ago is still viral. It could make this whole thing for everyone!”
“Maybe,” she murmured.
“Hey,” Chase said. “If it hurts you to do it—don’t. But think about it. Maybe doing it in his memory will be good for...well, for you remembering the good times and...learning to go on despite what happened.”
“I am going on!” she protested. Though, in truth, telling her that to do or not do the song was her decision was Chase standing up for her. “My dad has been dead years now, and I am a normal, functioning human being,” she assured them both.
“Oh, yeah, of course!” Brandon said. “It’s just that music is something you always loved so much—”
“And then again, define normal!” Chase teased.
Sky found she was laughing—normally. Chase had a way of saying things that made uneasy moments easy. Teasing, gently. And yet, when she looked at him, she thought she remembered enough about him to see that behind his banter, he was worried about her.
She forced another sweet smile.
“Let’s face it, we’re the family members of rock stars. No one expects us to be normal,” she assured Chase. “And you! More than anyone. As amazing on the drums as your grandfather—and you stopped music to major in criminology. What? Have you decided to be a cop? May have to change your name for that, and unless you have major plastic surgery, you’ll never be able to go undercover.”
Chase shrugged. “I found out that I liked it, that it’s fascinating.”
“What? Ugh. Studying blood and guts?” Brandon asked.
“All kinds of cool stuff—not so much blood and guts,” Chase countered. He shrugged. “I already had my arts and music degree, but I realized I find fingerprints, shoeprints, fibers and especially the psychology of crime to be fascinating. It is really amazing what profilers can come up with.”
“And screw up with, too, right?”
“It’s an inexact science, but right more often than not. It’s not a be-all and end-all. It’s a tool like dozens of the machines out there that can pinpoint where certain soil particles might have come from and where fabrics were made... Trust me, it’s cool. Fun, intriguing,” Chase said. “Anyway...”
The door to their rehearsal area opened and closed. Joe Garcia and Mark Reynolds had arrived.
“Sky!” Mark exclaimed, stepping forward to encompass her in a great hug.
She’d communicated with him—and Joe, Hank and Chris—through the years, politely refusing every time they’d asked her to join them.
She’d even seen them a few times: her mother had remained friends with everyone, grateful for their support, she had told Sky.
She’d never understood Sky’s aversion to her father’s people. And Sky couldn’t explain to her mother that she just didn’t trust any of them.
A therapist would tell her that she just couldn’t accept the truth.
But that wouldn’t cut it. They would never understand. She couldn’t accept what she didn’t believe to be truth. Her mother had tried so hard to help her, and for her mother’s sake, she had pretended she was accepting her dad’s death and moving on.
And as far as her father’s band, well, it had been simpler just to go her own way.
But now...
“All right, then!” Joe Garcia announced, grinning. “Let’s start with some of our hard rockin’ tunes and go on from there. Everything is here: drums, keyboards, guitars and, most importantly, us! Let’s get to it. Sky of Skyhawk!”
She smiled. She had always loved Joe. He was a good guy. The youngest in the group at a mere sixty-seven, he could pass for a man twenty years his junior. He had a rich headful of snow-white hair, worked out daily, she was sure, and looked more like a rugged action star than a musician. He had a keen sense of humor and, more importantly, a solid grip on life, reality and the simple fact that fame meant nothing if you didn’t have your health and people to love. His wife, Josie, was one of Sky’s mom’s best friends. Joe and Josie had never had children of their own; instead, they had spent their time helping out at children’s hospitals and seeing that those in areas devastated by wars, famine, fires and storms found the care they needed.
She reminded herself she believed someone here was guilty of being involved in her father’s death.
But not Joe.
