Page 4 of Torn

Music, laughter, and voices rouse me from the nap I slipped into after I texted with Chloe—almost four hours ago. I’m surprised my father didn’t wake me when he came out of the studio, but I guess he’s finally learning to respect my closed door.

Sitting up, I glance at my phone and see I have another text message that came through an hour ago.

Jason

I’m at the party. Want me to come get you? In the car, of course. ;) It’ll be fun.

I type a quick reply:

Thanks but I’m good. Kinda tired tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Jason

;-( K. You better call ;-)

I’m not sure why I’m going out of my way to avoid him and can’t just attempt to have fun with him. He’s cute and mostly nice. He’s popular. Everyone likes him. I don’t think he’s using me for concert tickets, which is a big plus. Whether he’s trying to make me a notch or really likes me is still a mystery to me. His kisses are hella boring, but he could get better at that in time, I suppose. Maybe he’s just nervous?

Or maybe it’s me.

After slipping my sneakers on, I head downstairs, through the kitchen, and out the French doors to the deck leading to our backyard. The sun has set, but the yard is lit up with various lights hidden in the landscaping, scattered tiki torches, the fire pit that’s blazing, and the cool blue glow from the in-ground pool.

It’s no secret my father has a lot of money because his band is super successful, and it’s well deserved. I’ve never once been embarrassed by my father or how he acts onstage. He doesn’t drink, do drugs, or screw around. My uncles in the band have had their moments of crazy over the years, but not my dad. He’s all business.

Am I spoiled? Not really. My father won’t even buy me a car until after I graduate—ifI maintain my good grades until graduation and work to pay for my own gas and insurance. I have a gold card with a limit that would probably allow me to buy a small island, but I don’t abuse it. I respect my dad and the trust he puts in me to not go crazy at the mall and buy five thousand dollars’ worth of makeup and shoes. I believe trust is a gift from someone, just like love is. Trusting and loving someone saysI have faith in you. And I appreciate the depth of that way more than I do material things. I’ll take faith over shoes any day of the week.

There are about twenty people mingling around our yard—some by the bonfire, others at the tables on the deck, some sitting in the gazebo playing acoustic instruments and singing. I find my dad standing at the monstrous grill built into the stone patio, turning steaks and hamburgers.

“Hey, kiddo, you hungry?” he asks when he sees me.

“Nah, maybe later.”

“There’s salad.” He gestures over to the table where assorted fruits and salads are spread out in serving bowls.

“I’ll grab some later. I’m not really hungry.”

He blinks at me for a few seconds. “You feel okay?” His facetakes on thatI have no idea what to do with a female teenager who might not feel good or might be in a moodexpression.

Smiling, I touch his arm and lean close to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine, Daddy. I had ice cream on the way home from school.”

He backs away from the heat of the grill and pushes his long wavy brown hair out of his face. “With that kid Jason? On a motorcycle?”

Damn Toren and his big mouth. “Yeah. It was just from school, though. It’s not that far. And what the hell? Tor has to tell you everything I do?”

“No, only the dumb things.” He grins at me. “He’s right, though. Stay off the bike. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

We. I’m being raised by everyone and no one.

My dad’s notwithToren. He’s one million percent committed and in love with his wife. My mother—his teen sweetheart. But she’s gone now, and my father is a thirty-two-year-old rock star with a seventeen-year-old daughter trying to act like he’s not broken and lost and on the verge of losing the very definition of hisshit. But I know better. He’s afraid something’s going to happen to me, too. That I’ll be here one moment and gone the next. And I don’t blame him for feeling that way at all because I feel it, too.

Once you’ve lost someone you love with no explanation, no closure, no end—you’re stuck in a torturous limbo. You don’t know if you should hang on to that ray of hope that they might come back or give in to your grief and accept that they’re gone. So you teeter between both until you slowly go insane.

I let out a breath. I can’t think or talk about my mom much without having a meltdown myself, so I put myself in denial and don’t face any of it.She’s just away. Like a long vacation with no mobile phone access.It’s easier that way.

“Okay. No more bikes, Dad. I promise.” I don’t mind calminghis overprotectiveness because he doesn’t deserve to have any more stress in his life.

His broad shoulders relax again and he gives me a smile that lights up his face and softens his eyes. It’s the smile that’s reserved for me and my mother, and it makes my heart melt. My father is an incredibly beautiful man, possessing the kind of good looks that women will actually stop and stare at, eyes wide, mouth parted, heart pitter-pattering. Some even ask to touch his long hair or his tattooed arms, while others just want him to look at them so they can catch a glimpse of his soulful eyes. You don’t justseehis beauty; you canfeelit, like a warm breeze that caresses your soul. At least that’s how a journalist described him after doing an interview with him.

I fill a small dish with fruit to make him happy and then spy Tor sitting on the edge of the pool by himself. I cross the yard, stopping at one of the coolers to grab a beer on the way. One of the guitarists from another local band is sitting on a lawn chair right next to the cooler. Probably so he doesn’t have to get up to get another drink.