Mind Games

“That had to be so hard for her.”

“Yeah, she loved him. No question there.” Absently, his fingers tapped the guitar strings as he spoke. “She didn’t get the six. She had a hospice volunteer write me when she died, four months after she brought Bray to me.”

“She knew you. She knew you’d look after him, love him, give him a home. She did what mothers do, the best she could for her child.”

“I would’ve helped her. It still sits raw. She didn’t have to die alone.”

“She knew you,” Thea repeated. “She knew that, and made a choice.”

“We didn’t love each other, not even close. But we made Bray.”

“And there you were, all at once, with a toddler.”

“Oh yeah.” His fingers tapped the guitar strings again. “Those were some wild days. Wilder nights. I didn’t know shit about taking care of a kid. The only thing I knew, absolutely, was I wouldn’t expose him to the press, the bullshit stories they’d write about him. But changing diapers, figuring out how to get him to eat—and Jesus, cleaning him up after that? Why’s he crying now, what’s he trying to tell me, why won’t he just go the fuck to sleep?”

She heard it in his voice, felt it from him. “You loved him, right from the start.”

“I never knew you could love like that, like everything that ever mattered, ever would, was right there in this little human with a shitty diaper and mashed potatoes in his hair.”

“How did your family react?”

“Shock, mixed with this is what you get for living that life.”

“You mean the life of a highly respected, award-winning, globally renowned musician?”

“Thanks for that, Code Red groupie.”

“Just a minute.” She shot a finger at him. “Code Red earned that respect, those awards and renown by working hard and creating damn good music, giving damn good performances. And since you’ve gone out on your own, the music you’ve written just glows, whether it rocks hard or flows into ballads. Don’t diminish that, or my admiration of it.”

He strummed a couple chords. “Well, that ego boost didn’t hurt one bit. I don’t mean to diminish my family either. They love Bray. Then again, bias aside, he’s pretty hard not to love.”

“I’d say impossible.”

That earned a smile. “We’re not like your family, just not woven together that tight. But they helped when I really needed it. They were right there for both of us. I was supposed to be a doctor or lawyer, or some kind of suit-and-tie guy, and I let them down there. That’s the way it is,” he said before Thea could object. “I ditch college for a guitar, take off to do exactly what I wanted. But they helped when I needed it.

“And here we are.”

“Can I ask how they feel about where you are?”

“Ambivalent. My parents feel I’ll get tired of living here just like—because they never understood what I did or what it took to do it—I got tired of recording, performing. Then I’ll come back, put Bray in a good private school, get properly married, and get a respectable career started.”

Her smile was both sympathetic and bolstering. “You’re going to let them down again.”

“Yeah, I am. Can I ask you how Lucy felt when you started game design?”

“When Milken leased the rights to Endon, she brought out the champagne she’d bought in hopes and we popped the cork.”

“And there you go. Woven together tight. I want that with Bray.”

“Oh, Tyler, you have that. You have that with Bray.”

“You’re good for me.”

“Friends should be good for each other.”

He looked over, met her gaze, held it until her stomach fluttered, wild butterflies, all the way up to her throat.

She saw the follow-through coming, leaned in to meet it.