one that feels like“I’mma ‘bout to fuck him up,”
but looks like“hi, sweetheart.”
Nico’s wide eyes are ping-ponging between me and Neon. “Corey?” he asks. “Corey who?”
“Her dad,” Neon says, obvious, then he stretches out—“Taylor.”
Nico squints, not getting it.
So Neon drops it harder?—
“Corey Taylor, bro. Saints of the Sun? You serious right now?”
Andrew freezes when he hears it.
The clipboard in his hand lowers slow.
His eyes lift to me.
Neon glances at me next, deadpan,
jabbing a thumb toward Nico?—
“Tell me you just met him. Like, tonight. Please.” Then without waiting—“Lemme put you on,” Neon says, a hand between him and Nico, about to lay it down. “Her pops? Built Soundwave from nothin’ but a voice and a fuck-you. Changed the whole game.” He glances back at me, mouth tugging. “Ain’t that right, Allie? Gave ‘em the playbook, now they out here actin’ like they wrote it.” He raises his glass. “Left Taylor out of the credits.”
Nico’s eyes go wide.
“Nah, wait, like… for real.”
His eyes bounce from me, back to Neon.
“Don’t play with me. NotthatCorey Taylor.”
But Neon’s words are still echoing down my throat:Left Taylor out of the credits.
Raymond’s not only been erasing me.
This whole time? He’s been erasingDadtoo.
Off the walls. Off the books. Out of the story.
As if Soundwave was born from nowhere.
I don’t hear the rest of what Neon says.
I’m not here anymore.
I’m sixteen,
fists on a lawyer’s desk,
in the middle of shouting matches
and Raymond saying, “It’s better this way.”
By the time I blink, Neon's gone.
Nico’s grinning, turning to the booth.
