Sky found she was enjoying herself. Skyhawk songs, mostly written by her dad, perhaps didn’t comprise the most brilliant lyrics known to man, but with the music that was catchy and almost magical, the pieces stood the rigors of time.
“Sky, ready?” Joe Garcia asked her.
She was startled. The ballad. They wanted her to do her father’s ballad.
“Intro is the keyboard,” she said. No way to put it off. And it was ridiculous. But it was the one song she had done at home with her father, sitting in the living room, talking about life. He wanted her to live her dreams, never his or her mother’s, but her dreams. They didn’t have to be musical dreams.
And she had assured him she didn’t know what she wanted out of life—except to have a family as beautiful as the one he and her mom had created for her.
He’d hugged her. She’d asked him about his favorite song.
The ballad. “Dreams.”
Keyboards, a gentle guitar entry, then the lyrics...
“Like the falcon soars to the skies
My heart is lifted with a magic like their wings,
For in the depth and beauty of your eyes
All that is me, deep in my soul, rises high
And sings.
There is magic, magic, in this thing I feel,
Magic, magic, my heart on fire
And I know that it is real.”
Chase joined in on the chorus, his voice deep and rich. She was pleased at how wonderful he sounded and that it was oddly good while it hurt at the same time. She turned to glance at him as she sang. He was looking at her.
And she wasn’t sure of what she saw in his eyes. Empathy? Strangely...worry.
“There is magic, oh so real, beauty in this thing I feel, my heart rises to skies,
For the magic in your eyes. Magic...magic...”
She almost missed the first beat of the second verse, but in the end, she finished the song—again with the chorus.
Again, with Chase McCoy.
She was stunned when the rest of the group applauded energetically. She turned to see Joe heading over to her, taking her into his arms in a warm hug.
“Oh, Sky, your dad would be so proud!” he exclaimed.
Mark said softly, “Tears in heaven, that was so... beautiful. You did him proud, kid.”
Brandon and Chris Wiley echoed their congratulations.
“Skyhawk is going to soar!” Brandon added excitedly.
She thanked them all.
Only Chase hadn’t spoken. He was still at his drum set. Watching her, that strange mix of empathy and concern in his eyes.
“Okay. So much for flattering ourselves!” Mark said. “Tomorrow afternoon at the arena, and the night after—showtime.”
“And remember, we’ve been in a studio rehearsal space—next will be at the arena, and we all know that we have to adjust to the size of a location,” Mark said.
“We’ll have the crew there, too,” Joe reminded him. “Setting up the amps for sound—”
He broke off awkwardly. There was silence.
“Guys, it’s okay,” Sky said. “The world will always be filled with amps. I can hear the word.”
“Right, just sorry, sorry!” Joe said.
“We’re all sorry,” Chris Wiley said. “We’ll miss your dad ’til the day we die ourselves, Sky. He wasn’t just a bandmate and a friend, he was one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
“Thank you. And it’s okay. Seriously,” Sky said. She looked around.
And she thought of the years and years her dad had played with Skyhawk. Like Chris had said, these guys weren’t just workmates, they had been Jake’s friends, dear friends, more family than anything else.
How could she possibly believe one of them may have wanted him dead?
“Okay, I have date night with the old ball and chain,” Mark said. “Ouch! Did I say that? I meant my beloved wife. Hmm. No wonder your dad wrote the best ballads, Sky. I’m a jerk. I love Susie, been with her thirty years, so...”
