Kyra POV

I swing off the back of the motorcycle and drag my fingers through my shoulder-length hair, working out the knots the wind left behind. Two minutes on that bike and my hair turns into something you'd find rolling across a desert highway. He grabs my waist and tugs me in, pressing a flat, dusty kiss to my mouth that tastes like asphalt and disappointment.

"Kyra!" The voice booms down from the top of the driveway like a thunderclap, startling us both straight. "You get on the back of that bike one more time, we're gonna have a serious goddamn problem."

Jason yanks his hands back like he's touched a hot stove hand that had been slowly migrating south. "Jesus," he mutters. "Is that your old man?"

I exhale slowly. My father doesn't do driveway confrontations. He saves the volume for concert stages, not suburban cobblestone. "No. That's my uncle."

Jason narrows his eyes up the driveway, then looks back at me. "Wait, doesn't he run that motorcycle shop over on Route 9? I think I actually bought my bike from him."

"Probably. He's not technically my uncle, though. He's been my dad's best friend since forever."

Tor is already halfway down the driveway, boots hitting stone with deliberate weight, his eyes locked on Jason like a heat-seeking missile. The ink crawling up his forearms flexes as he points a finger in Jason's direction. "You hear what I said? She doesn't get on that bike again."

"Yes, sir." Jason's voice comes out smaller than I've ever heard it.

"I should go in before he actually combusts," I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Have a good time at the party tonight."

Jason tilts his head, eyebrow raised, that practiced smirk doing what he thinks is heavy lifting. "You could always come with me, you know." The implication hangs in the air between us like smoke. And honestly? A month ago I might have cared. But that was before I discovered he kisses like he's never quite sure what mouths are for and runs out of things to say somewhere around sentence three. I'd genuinely rather sit around a backyard fire with my dad's bandmates than spend two hours trying to manufacture chemistry that isn't there.

"I can't tonight, really." *Truly not sorry.* "I'll text you."

I don't wait for his response. I start up the driveway, cutting a look at Toren sharp enough to leave a mark.

He falls into step beside me the second Jason peels off down the street. "Listen to me for a second. That kid has had his license for what three months? He rides like he's still figuring out how the whole thing works. You wipe out going forty miles an hour, Kenz, it's not a scraped knee situation. You ride with me, you ride with your dad, you ride with one of your uncles. Not some teenager is still getting comfortable with the clutch."

"It was six miles. I wasn't crossing state lines." I keep walking. "And stop yelling. You're not my father."

"I'm the next closest thing, so keep moving." He cuts ahead as we reach the back of the house, taking the deck stairs two at a time and pulling open the French doors before I even get there. Inside, the kitchen looks like a grocery store went through a minor explosion. Bags lined up across the granite island, everything waiting to be sorted. Tor does this twice a month, hauls over food and drinks, sets the whole thing up before my dad's friends and band roll in for the backyard nights. Bonfire, pool, music bleeding out from whatever somebody picks up. It's become one of those rhythms the house runs on.

I know I should help unpack. I'm aware of that. But my mood is sitting somewhere under the floorboards, and the thing I need most right now is a door between me and everyone else.

I duck down the hallway, take the stairs, and close myself inside my room. Shoes off, flat on my back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. One more month. Thirty-something days until graduation and I'm done with the social performances, the drunken weekend replays, the boys who confuse persistence with charm.

What comes after that? Genuinely no idea. The only thing I know is it involves distance from this particular building and the people inside it.

I've never really clicked with any of them, my classmates, I mean. My parents were fifteen when I was born. Fifteen. Still sitting in the same hallways I walk through now, some of the same teachers watching from the same doorways. There's something quietly strange about knowing my mother was pregnant with me in rooms I now take exams in. I used to joke that I got a head start in high school. Maybe that's actually true.

I came into the world already surrounded by people who made careers out of being known. My grandfather seventies rock royalty, the kind of songwriter people still cover at open mics. My grandmother cranked out over a hundred romance novels, a chunk of them turned into those cable movies people watch on rainy Sunday afternoons. My parents formed a band at seventeen and somehow turned it into a real life. My dad's group, Ashes & Elaras, is him plus his brothers and two cousins. By the time I was ten, tour buses and backstage chaos were just Tuesday to me.

None of it made me reckless. If anything it made me quieter careful in ways most kids my age haven't needed to be yet. I was loved completely; nobody hid me from anything. My parents brought me along because they wanted me there, not because they were careless. But absorbing all of that, the realness of it, the mess and the beauty before I had the language for it meant I grew up somewhere slightly ahead of where I should've been. And now I sit in classrooms with people my age and feel like I'm watching them through glass.

I figured out early that proximity to my family meant something to people. Kids who wanted floor seats. Boys who thought I could hand-deliver their demo to my father's manager. Girls who'd smile at me all week on the off chance they'd end up at a party and maybe run into one of my uncles or worse, develop some inexplicable thing for my actual dad. You learn to read it fast. The angle behind the friendliness.

So mostly I keep to a small orbit. Chloe, who's been my person since elementary school and never once asked me for anything. Rayne, my dad's younger sister, who's more like a slightly chaotic older cousin than an aunt. And the band's whole extended circle are the people who've been around long enough that they stopped trying to impress anyone years ago. Those are my people. Everyone else has a question I'm not sure how to answer yet.

Kyra POV

My pocket vibrates and I pull out my phone to read a text message.

Chloe: Jason said you're not coming tonight?

Me: No, I'm not in the mood for a party.

Chloe: Come on! It's Friday night! :) Jason really likes you.

Me: Eh...

Chloe: Don't mess this up! You can totally lose your V-card with him! He's hot as fark!

I don't know what the heck "fark" is and why Chloe can't just text the word "fuck." But whatever. I accept her because I love her. We initially attached ourselves to each other in third grade, when she was dropped off on the first day of school by her two moms and I was dropped off by my father who was already covered in tattoos and had hair almost to his waist. And he still does. Chloe and I bonded in our mutual outsiderness while the other kids avoided us like we were circus freaks.

Me: Stop with the V-card. You're obsessed.

Chloe: Fine. Come to the party. I'll be there. It will be fun. You can't sit home all the time.

Me: I'm really not into it tonight.

Chloe: Every single girl at the party is going to try to hookup with Jason.

Me: We've only been seeing each other for two weeks. I don't care what or who he does.

Chloe: You should and you will! I'll text you later. Love ya, girl!

Me: Love ya 2.

I have zero interest in joining the race to lose my virginity before graduation and I definitely don't want to be a notch on some guy's belt before he goes off to college, either. So far, Jason's kisses haven't made me feel any feelings. For now, I'm happy enough living through the romance books my Grandmother sends to my e-reader, but it's pretty sad that the kisses in the books are way more exciting than the ones in real life. At least for me.

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:

Me: 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 back deck leading to our back yard. 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 on stage. 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 if I 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 mental 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 says I 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 over 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 over.

"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. "Do you feel okay?" His face takes on that I-have-no-idea-what-to-do-with-a-female-teenager-who-might-not-feel-good-or-might-be-in-a-mood expression.

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 not with Toren. 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 his shit. 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 cell phone access. It's easier that way.

"Okay. No more bikes, Dad. I promise." I don't mind calming his over-protectiveness 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 where women will actually stop and stare at him, 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 just see his beauty, you can feel it, 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. So lazy.

"What's up, Finn?" I shake the ice off the bottle.

He tips his drink at me in reply. "Kensington."

"Are you guarding the beer?" I tease.

"I might be. You're not drinking that, are ya?" He eyes me suspiciously. "Last time I checked you weren't twenty-one, little girl."

"No, it's for Toren."

A smirk crosses his lips. "Well, if you're playing waitress, I'll take a steak, rare, with some fries."

"Nice try, Finn."

He laughs and throws a potato chip at me as I walk away.

Kyra POV

Toren is still sitting on the ground staring into the pool when I sit next to him, tucking my legs beneath me. The pool is heated, but no one's gone in yet. It's still early spring, so the air is a bit too cold for most people to want to swim. A few stray leaves are floating along the surface, and I like how peaceful they look, not going under the water, and not blowing away either. Just floating, weightless and effortless. I want to be a leaf.

I hand Tor the cold bottle and he takes it from me, using his keychain to pop the cap off.

"I thought you were mad at me." He takes a long drink before glancing sideways at me.

I can see why Jason was scared of him. On the outside, Tor looks like a badass. He's a beast of a man, not an ounce of fat on him, broad and hard as a rock with ink covering both arms from neck to knuckle. Wavy brown hair falls to the tops of his shoulders.

It’s usually tied back in a short ponytail to keep it out of his face when he's working and from tangling up when he's riding. He notoriously wears dark sunglasses to shade his even darker eyes, and his ride of choice is an old custom Harley that roars down the road so loud that you can barely hear yourself think if he's near. But on the inside, he's quiet. Thoughtful. Amazingly caring and giving.

Unlike my dad, he's good looking in a rugged, almost scary way. Chloe has nicknamed him the walking orgasm. I think she's way too fixated on sex lately.

I put my bowl of fruit off to the side.

"You know me better than that."

"I shouldn't have embarrassed you in front of your boyfriend."

He passes the bottle to me and I take a sip. I don't like the taste of beer at all but I take sips every now and then, thinking maybe someday that will change and I'll enjoy it like everyone else. Nope. It still tastes gross.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Really? You were pretty excited about him a few weeks ago. I distinctly remElara a bunch of squealing and a happy dance when he asked you out."

Sighing with slight embarrassment over that colorful flashback, I hand the beer back to him, our fingers touching against the cold, damp bottle.

"I was, until I got to know him. There's nothing there. I don't feel anything. There's nothing interesting about him. He's just... blah." I feign a shudder.

He laughs and shakes his head.

"That shit must be contagious then. That's exactly what Lisa said to me a few days ago."

"You guys broke up?"

"We weren't really together, Kenz. Just kinda seeing where it was gonna go. Testing the waters."

I pick a big, juicy strawberry off my plate and bite it in half.

"What did she say?"

He looks up at the sky for a moment before answering.

"Well, let's see. She had a whole list, actually. She said I don't give enough. I don't communicate enough. I'm too cold and closed off. I'm too quiet. I work too much. I don't smile enough. I don't dress nice enough." He shrugs. "I've heard it all before."

"You're not cold, Uncle Tor. Not at all. You're just not the type to talk for the sake of talking. You talk when you have something to say. And maybe she's just mad because you're not saying what she wants to hear."

"Apparently I never have much to say, and it's never what they want to hear. She said pretty much the same things to me," he raises his chin and nods across the yard, his eyes zeroing in on Sydni, who's talking to my dad, her long fire-engine-red hair cascading down her back like a mermaid.

Aunt Sydni is the bass player in my mom's band, and is my mom’s best friend. She's also been Toren's on-again-off-again girlfriend for the past twelve years or so. Mostly off.

But lately, I see her as the woman who's in love with my dad, and she isn't very good at hiding it.

Yes, welcome to the soap opera that is my life.

"Sydni said that too?" I ask.

"Sydni's said a lot of things over the years, but we both know what it all comes down to. I'm not him. I don't smile like him, I don't talk like him, I don't make her laugh like him, I'm not rich like him. I'll never be as good as him. Blah, blah, blah. To her I'm just a dirty mechanic who chases animals around."

He gulps down his beer and I wish I hadn't given it to him.

"He doesn't want her, Uncle Tor," I say softly, trying to diffuse him. "He has zero interest in her other than as a friend."

"I know that. Fuck, everyone knows that. But it doesn't change how she feels."

"Maybe you two can work it out? It's been a few months since you broke up, maybe she feels different now. Sometimes you hafta lose something to appreciate it, ya know? She knows you were seeing Lisa. Maybe that made her open her eyes a little. Jealousy can be a great motivator."

A grin spreads across his face.

"You're pretty smart, Kenz. But that ship has sailed and sunk. I don't want someone who's in love with someone else. Fuck that."

Agreed.

"I don't blame you. You deserve way better than that. She's stupid."

It's hard to love so many people, want to see them happy, but also not like them for the things they do. My mom would be disappointed in Sydni for chasing after my dad and for making Tor feel like he's not good enough.

I want to see my dad happy again, and while I admire him for staying committed to my mom, I wonder how long he'll torture himself by not letting himself move on. I don't want him to move on with Sydni, though. Not because I don't like her, I do. But because it's just too twisted. She's his wife's best friend and his best friend’s ex.

I live in a deep, dark, perplexing sea of people. Some might be starfish, and some might be sharks. I just bob along on my little raft, watching and learning.

Rubbing my bare arms, I pull my knees up to my chest and watch as my father walks away from Sydni and takes his acoustic guitar to the gazebo to join the others playing some old rock songs. She doesn't follow him. Good.

"Are you cold?"

"A little," I answered. "Just when the breeze blows it's kinda chilly."

He pulls off the gray hoodie he's wearing over his t-shirt and hands it to me.

"Here, put this on."

I hesitate before accepting.

"Then you'll be cold."

He frowns, like he's too cool to feel the chill.

"I'm fine. Put it on."

Taking it from him, I slip it over my head, and shiver, but not from the cold. The heat from his body is still in the fabric of the sweatshirt, and it warms me like a hug. I push my hands through the sleeves that are way too long for me and roll up the cuffs.

"It's huge. But thank you."

"You look cute. Keep it. Add it to your growing collection."

Laughing, I lean against his shoulder and he rests his head against mine for a few seconds before pulling away to finish off his beer.

I've been hoarding Tor's things since I was a little girl. Mostly shirts, mugs, his old lighters, his faded denim jacket he wore in high school, a switchblade, some baseball caps, a leather belt, and other random stuff. I've taken all sorts of odd things that I fixated on and wanted to have, just because they were his. And he always let me have them.

He's been collecting parts of me, too. I just didn't know it yet.