He put his hand on mine. It was cool, with rough, callused fingers. So different from Luka’s, but it made my heart flutter just the same.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, too. Thinking about my old man.”
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“More than okay,” he said. “He’s on yet another world tour. I don’t know how many comeback tours he’s going to have after supposedly retiring, but this might be the third already.”
“I guess you’ve got to do what you can while you’re still alive and feeling it, right?”
“Sure, something like that.” he muttered darkly. He flicked his eyes back down to his notebook of scribbles.
“Riot.” I moved my hand to his jaw, tilting his head up and holding him gently. I didn’t stop to think how it might look. One of my boys was troubled, and I wanted to help. “You can tell me anything.”
“I don’t want to worry you,” he said. “It’s nothing new, nothing life-threatening.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I said. “But whatever it is, you don’t have to deal with it alone. You can talk to me.”
He met my eyes. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Riot’s usual expression was closed-off and guarded by default, but this look, this downcast, dejected frown, made me ache for him. I wanted to wrap him up in a blanket of comfort and tell him it would be all okay.
“I love music,” Riot said. “I love playing guitar and singing. I know how lucky I was to have gotten to live in the spotlight, even for a minute. But I feel like I’m letting him down.”
“Your father?” I asked. “He’s a famous musician, too, right?”
“He hates my music,” Riot said bluntly. “He can’t stand that shrieking, whining, emo bullshit, as he puts it.” Riot growled and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “My music isn’t even emo, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered darkly.
“I’m sorry, Riot,” I said. “It’s hard not being able to get your parent’s approval.”
“I just don’t think I’m ever going to get the chance to prove myself to him and do something that will finally make him proud of me. I was close, once, I thought, but…”
“But what?”
“I had my band, and we got big for a while,” he said. “But then a whole bunch of shit went down, and I had to leave.”
Riot went quiet. I could feel the tension simmering through him.
“What happened?” I asked carefully. “With your band?”
“It’s nothing,” he said shortly. “Old news. In the past. I’m over it.”
I opened my mouth, desperate to push the subject, but thought better of it. Riot was still adjusting to opening up to me, still trying his best, but taking it slow. I needed to respect that.
Legacy seemed to come up a lot with these boys. I felt bad for them. The pressure they no doubt felt weighed on their shoulders just as heavily as it weighed on mine.
All I could do was be there for them. So I sat quietly, my hand on his leg, hoping my touch would be enough.
