“Pretty good.” Chris grinned, looking up at him. “He’s gonna be the next fucking Jimi Hendrix.”
“Is that so?” the bassist mocked.
Theo glared at him. “You think I can’t get shit done?”
“Oh, no, you’re capable of doing anything you want, but just like this idiot here”—Marc gestured with a palm, pointing at Chris—“your attention span is like that of a puppy.” He flashed him a smug grin.
Theo’s lips pressed into a tight line and his face turned slightly red, but he didn’t retort. Marc was fucking proud of him.
His first response to whatever his broken heart perceived as an attack or a threat was getting defensive. Normally, that would be a good thing, but the kid used to curse and throw fists at everyone when he jumped into that state. And while neither the bassist nor Chris had a problem with foul-mouthed people, they were trying to raise a decent human being. They hoped for him to heal and learn to be better than the ones who had hurt him. Besides, his attitude alone was enough—loud and snarky, like the guitarist. He didn’t need to go around knocking everyone out to make his point.
Also, yeah, they were parents. The wildest thing to date they’d done.
“I’m kidding.” Marc handed Chris his bass and crouched down between them, ruffling Theo’s messy brown hair.
If he wanted to, he could become a legend in the industry, and they would be there every step of the way. But they wouldn’t force him down this path just because they were musicians.
Theo was fourteen years old and Chris had only been teaching him to play the guitar for the last few weeks. Perhaps he would get bored of it in a couple of months, or he’d want to try a different instrument, or even grow to be the best car dealer in the world. They didn’t care as long as he was happy.
But one thing was certain, he was a natural and learned fast. The way he picked up the notes, the melodies, and the rhythms without having studied music in school was ridiculous. Though Marc had the impression he might enjoy playing drums even more.
“I think you have a pretty good ear for music. You like black metal over deathcore, that’s proof of it.”
“Say that again, you pagan church burner son of Satan,” Chris retorted.
Marc laughed. They’d gotten used to and learned to appreciate each other’s favorite genres, but that didn’t stop what would be their eternal banter.
“We asked him, and he chose the better one.” He lifted a shoulder.
“He’s a kid and knows nothing.”
“I’m not a kid,” Theo countered.
“Pubescent whiny boy, whatever.” Chris waved a hand dismissively.
“I could kick your ass, you know.”
“Keep dreaming, punk.”
“Now you’re gonna get it.” Placing the guitar carefully on the ground, Theo got up and walked behind Chris to deliver some Krav Maga shit on him, wrapping an arm around his neck as he bit his head.
With the music and the crowd in the background, and these two idiots he adored bickering, Marc’s heart filled with joy.
He loved his silence and peace, something that was impossible to find when living in the same house as them. But, as irritating as it got sometimes, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Officially, Theo had joined them seven months prior. But they’d known each other for a little longer.
The boy came from a broken home, with a runaway mom and a drunkard dad that beat him day in and day out. The situation was so bad the kid had preferred to wander the streets alone at ungodly hours rather than be at his house. And who could blame him? Every time Marc had crossed paths with him, he had a new bruise. On top of that, his asshole of a father hadn’t even noticed when the kid wasn’t around.
He still remembered the first time he’d seen him at a convenience store two years before. He was stealing a sandwich and some chips. How sad was that?
The second time happened on a day that it was pouring rain. He was alone, sitting in the doorway of a building near the bassist’s shop, soaked to the bone. They’d had a chat that evening, before he reluctantly dropped Theo at his house. After that night, the kid would come almost daily to visit Marc. He’d let him listen to whatever albums he wanted and mess around with an old guitar he kept in the lounge room.
The bassist had always had a soft spot for kids, and hated the idea of this boy alone in the streets, where anything could happen to him. At least there, even when he was touring, and the second in charge took over, he was safe and not getting into fights, doing drugs, or God knows what else.
However, Marc’s favorite moments were when Chris was there too. Their bickering and laughter would get so loud some days, it even rose above the music in the store. It was amazing seeing how despite all the harm that had been done to him, Theo could be himself.
It wasn’t until half a year later that things took a sharp turn. Theo hadn’t shown up for two weeks straight, and when Marc and Chris went to his house, well… the guitarist lost his shit. The boy had been badly injured after what had been a horrible beating, and Chris returned the favor to his father while the bassist took Theo outside. When the police finally arrived, they called it self-defense—he was protecting the kid—so he got away with it. Thank fuck.
