Missing Dixie(78)

“Actually? uh, we don’t really have any plans at the moment as far as that’s concerned. We’re just kind of—”

“Moving forward,” Dixie breaks in, stepping between me and the reporter. “We won’t be doing any exposés on our past or our backstory because we’re focusing on our future.”

God, I love this woman, I think to myself while I watch her politely shield Liam and me from the remaining questions being thrown at us as we leave.

I have an amazing woman in my life and we have a son. And an internationally known award-winning band that is currently topping most of the music charts. Me, Captain Screwup, the guy who was once capable of nothing more than f*cking up the one-man parade known as his life. I have everything I ever dreamed of and then some.

I was raised, I was born and bred, in complete and total darkness. Yet somehow I found the light. The same way Liam gravitated toward her, so did I. We both still do.

She is a beacon, shining relentlessly and guiding us out of the dark.

We get a lot of questions about getting married, but neither of us cares much about that. What we have is deeper than a piece of paper. Dixie Leigh Lark is my soul mate and nothing will ever change that.

Dixie glances over her shoulder and I see blue eyes full of love gleaming up at me.

“Forever,” I mouth at her.

“And always,” she mouths back.

My Bluebird is right. We are focusing on our future.

And what a bright, beautiful future it is.





Epilogue | Liam

“DUDE. SERIOUSLY. YOU have the coolest parents.” Malcolm Hastings fist-bumps me as we take our spots backstage next to my cousin Denver and his grandma.

“Yeah, they’re okay. I guess.”

His already large eyes bulge behind the lenses of his glasses. “They’re okay? We’re backstage at the biggest musical festival of the year. This is freaking amazing!”

I laugh at him, no, no, with him. Definitely with him, because he’s laughing along at how laid-back I am about the whole famous-musicians-for-parents thing. Malcolm is a unique individual and a lot of people laugh at him because they don’t see the world the way he does. He actually does get laughed at a lot and he doesn’t like it. I take special care never to laugh at him.

We’re an odd pair. I’m a little on the stockier side in my typically solid black attire and Malcolm is tall but skinny with his suspenders and colorful bow ties. The bow ties belonged to his granddad and he gets really mad and kind of sad when people make fun of them.

He’s a good guy, the kind of guy who will wake you up at a sleepover if you’re having an embarrassing nightmare and will listen without laughing when you tell him what it’s about. He’s the kind of guy who keeps stuff to himself and my mom says it’s important to have friends you can trust. Even if they wear really strange bow ties.

He’s also supersmart, like, skipped two grades smart. So he’s smaller than most of us in eighth grade, which is where I come in.

I’m the muscle.

After a sleepover incident in sixth grade, I decided Malcolm was my friend for life. So when some of the guys on the football team decided to duct-tape Malcolm to a toilet seat naked in the locker room, I decided I didn’t like the idea too much and used my fists to express my dislike of this plan before Malcolm lost too much body hair to a roll of Kentucky Chrome.

My mom wasn’t thrilled.

I was grounded for two weeks, which actually kind of sucked.

But my dad . . . he kind of got it. My dad says loyalty is important and that I get this from my mom. He said sometimes, when you learn about the world a certain way, like me and him did, you sort of learn how to deal with your problems and emotions a certain way. Doesn’t mean it’s the best way, just means your instincts might not always be in line with the kind of behavior that is okay with like teachers and cops and stuff. He taught me about counting my heartbeats to calm down so I can think about the possible consequences of my decisions before I act.

I count my heartbeats a lot.

Sometimes I still make mistakes, but both my parents and my aunt Robyn and uncle Dallas say this is okay.

It used to not be okay. My biological dad didn’t think mistakes were okay. He punished me for them, even some that I didn’t make. The dad I have now, the one who taught me to play the drums, he says sometimes grown-ups make mistakes too and that the things my biological dad did were mistakes. He’s paying for them in prison, which is how I learned about consequences. And I guess how he did, too.

It took a long time for me to be okay with mistakes. Learning to play the violin with my mom and the drums with my dad taught me that sometimes something really kind of, well, beautiful and awesome can come from mistakes.

“Some of the best songs were written by accident,” my mom always says. “Or from something sad or really painful.”

Learning to find the good in all the bad and control yourself even when you can’t—my parents say that’s how you grow up and how you learn to make good decisions.

I’m working on it.

But at thirteen, I’m the only linebacker who plays violin and my best friend wears bow ties so I get a lot of practice trying to make good decisions.

It’s easier said than done, that’s for sure.

The music begins onstage and my heart beats in time with the drums. My dad is a pretty talented drummer and he’s on a lot of magazine covers. I grin back at Malcolm, because yeah, okay, so my parents are kind of cool. For parents, I guess. They look different than some parents because they have tattoos and stuff, but most of my friends seem to think that just makes them cooler.