at the cost of my own privacy. Now you’ve come into our home, insulted my mum, and taken advantage of my dad. I’m not interested in plugging your club. Furthermore, I will most assuredly be plugging competing clubs every chance I get. And I wouldn’t be so sure the Loud Lizard is going down so easy. Things are really rolling for their fund-raiser concert, and the talent they’ve booked is out of this world. (Not) Warren? Ever heard of them? Behind the Music predicted them to be the next big thing.”
By their stony expressions, they have, and it sends a thrill of pride through me that Vada got to them first. Genius girl.
I turn to my dad. “I’m sorry, Dad. This isn’t about you or your club. I’m just not here for exploitation.”
I turn on my heel, grab my board, and leave.
* * *
The following morning, I find my dad sitting at the table, drinking his coffee. The rest of the house is quiet. My mum is probably on her run, and Cullen’s in bed. Of the two of us, I’m the early riser.
“Morning,” I say.
My dad holds out his mug, and I top him off before pouring myself a cup. I’m a weekend coffee drinker, with the rare exception. I like it enough when I’m sitting with my parents, reading the paper, and I can drink it superhot. To me, coffee is only any good if it’s burning my tongue.
Plus, my slurping annoys the shit out of Cullen. It’s a twofer in that way.
I sit across from my dad. “Look, Dad, I’m really sorry about last night.”
He sips his coffee, raising his brows over the rim of his mug. Then he places it down in front of him. “Are you apologizing for saying no or for losing your temper like a child?”
I grimace. “Um, the second part.”
He waves me away, exhaling with loaded patience. “Luke, you are a child, and Steven and Clyde are first-rate pricks.”
I smile at his cussing. His habit of swearing at the breakfast table is probably the most punk rock thing about my dad these days. “Then why’re you working for them?”
“I’m working with them, not for them, and after last night, I’m not even sure if I’m doing that.”
“Are they mad at you?”
“Mad? This is business, son. No one gets mad. That’s where you went wrong last night. You gave in to your emotions. Not that I blame you. I was ready to dump your mother’s glass of wine on their heads. She’s a saint, she is. I owe her a million and a half back rubs after that disaster.”
“Okay, well, did I mess things up for you?”
He’s already shaking his head, his eyes crinkling in the early-morning sun that streams into our kitchen. “No. I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who let them ask you. I knew you were going to say no, but I was so tired of their harping. Figured it was best to show them, once and for all.”
“I think I did that,” I say.
He belts out a laugh. “Sure as shit, you did.”
“Are you going to have to deal with what I did?”
“If I do, it’s fine. It’s my job as your dad. Speaking of, we need to talk about your song.”
I groan. “Dad, I told you—”
“I know, I know. But Steven’s remark made me think. Your song is out there on the internet, and anyone can steal it. You need to copyright the lyrics.”
“Oh.”
My dad grins. “Yeah. Oh. Unless you don’t care if other people steal your grand gesture.”
“I don’t—wait. Grand gesture?”
He rolls his eyes. “You still pretending that wasn’t about a girl?”
“Oh, he’s admitting it now. I got it out of him,” Cullen says, groggily slumping into the chair across from us and stealing my coffee.
My dad leans back, narrowing his eyes. “Hm, who could it be about? Ginger?”
Cullen snorts into the mug.
“Dad,” I start. The screen door slams, and my mum comes in, panting, heading straight for the sink to fill a tall glass with water. She turns and rests against the counter, facing us.
“What’d I miss?”
“Luke’s grand gesture,” Cullen says. “Dad’s trying to guess who the lucky girl is.”
My mum smiles. “Oh, I know.”
“You do not,” I insist.
“Redhead?” she asks.
I huff and steal my coffee back, sloshing a little on my brother. “You deserve that,” I say.
“I’m so daft,” my dad says. “It’s that Vada bird he’s always going on about, isn’t it?”
“I’m not always going on about her,” I say. Waspish.
My