Chapter 82: (Even) Rock Stars Have to Listen to Dad Lectures

Okay, I know alot of people wanted to see Street, Matt's, Kat's POV, but I feel as though...we need to focus on Trace and Kat's POV before we spiral. In this chapter, we have the father and two sons and I think we definitely see what all three are thinking, although I'm sure Matt is feeling much more sadness than he's allowing to come through in the conversation.

I like the song above, mostly for the lyrical mood it creates, I imagine the dark, despairing edge to this song is what Trace feels, being locked in the bedroom for all these hours.  BTW, I don't really think it was twelve hours...just seemed like it to him because they took his phone...

Trace

I'm standing by the window, contemplating for the hundredth time a very risky escape out onto a very steep roof—but the problem is, this fucking mansion is several stories high and there's no way off the roof that I can see—when the door opens quietly and Matt walks in. I see him in the reflection of the glass.

He's coming towards me, but he stops as I turn to face him.

"Fucking hell, Trace." His voice is completely controlled. If he's angry, I can't tell. "I expected it to be bad, when I saw Street's fists, but...fuck." He strides forward more quickly, reaching out a hand to my face. I flinch before he makes contact, then brush his arm aside with a swift move.

"Look...don't...don't touch me, okay? I'm not...I'm not calm," I say, backing up, holding my hands up to him. "Just...keep your distance. Let the cops do what they gotta do and I'll do what I've gotta do, and shit will shake down how it shakes down."

"Cops?" Matt says blankly.

I hook a thumb. "I can see the fucking blue lights down there. Who the fuck is that guy out in the hall, anyway? Never saw him before he and Ben threw me in this damn room. Some kind of tail you have on Row?"

Matt's mouth has been hanging open since I said cops, but he closes it and rubs his jaw. "His name is Anthony. She's on a long leash, but she has a panic button," Matt gestures at his wrist, to indicate one of Row's bracelets. "She walked in on the fight you and Street were having and pressed the button. He was in a car outside. Good damn thing too," Matt grumbles, still looking at my face, his upper lip spreading in something that looks like disgust. "Jesus, Son, I think you're going to need a plastic surgeon," he tries to remove the ice I'm holding over my left eye but I move around him.

"Let's just fucking do this, okay? I don't want to go the hospital first, I want to go downtown if you're pressing charges. I will bounce right the fuck out, you know," I warn him.

Matt sighs and crosses his muscular arms over his black t-shirt. "Trace, nobody is going to jail. This is not a police matter. This is a family matter."

"Then why the fuck do you have your man keeping me here!?! Why did you bring the cops!?!?" I yell at him.

He holds up a hand to calm me. "The cops gave me an escort from the airport. So I could get to you and your brother as fast as I could, because I knew you'd be pissed, with Anthony keeping you here. Street, too...one of your guys is on him, thankfully. But I can't have you two walking away from this. You don't try to work it out now, you might never work it out. And this...this is on me. I haven't handled this right—the two of you. This is not about a girl."

"You're wrong, on my part," I tell him. "It's always been about the girl, for me. I got to get to her, now, do you understand? She got hurt, in the fight—I don't know how, I don't know where the fuck she is, how bad at is—"

Matt sighs. "Kat's at the hospital, with Riley and Leed."

My stomach turns over. "Hospital? Oh god...I couldn't see where she was hurt...how it happened...I swear to god, I didn't hit her, I know I didn't hit her..."

"No, you didn't. According to Leed, she tried to get in the middle and he pushed her back. She tripped backwards and put her hand through some glass accent table on the patio. Her hand was cut up all over, a lot of blood, but there's no nerve damage. She's getting a shit ton of stitches, but she's fine. Leed feels terrible. He won't leave her."

"I've got to go there. Tell Anthony to give me my shit back. My phone, my wallet."

"Fine, you need your face looked at, anyway and Street needs his hands straightened out. Christ, if I had known it was this bad, I would never have told them to keep you two here. I'll take you both to the hospital. Let's go," he gestures toward the door.

In the hallway, he gives the nod to security, and Street is allowed to leave his room. If I weren't so fucking pissed still, I might laugh at Matt, sending both his adult sons to timeout and having two-hundred and fifty pound security guards keep us there.

Street's left cheek is a little bruised, but that's pretty much the extent of his facial injuries. From the head up, it looks like he won the fight, but even in a rage-filled fight I'm no dumbshit. No fucking way was I going to break my moneymaker hands on Street's stupid fucking skull.

I made sure I hit him in the soft parts.

He glares at me, as he moves slowly, painfully.

Yeah, how do those kidneys feel, brother? You'll probably be pissing blood tomorrow. Make sure you think of me.

He gives his father the same icy stare he just gave me. "I just talked to Mom. She's still on the plane. I'll Uber there and you two can go do...rock star shit."

"Wait, he got his phone back? What the fuck?" I complain, and Matt sighs and cuts his eyes to Anthony who hands my shit over. "Street has his stuff because I already spoke to him, just like I came to you."

Yeah, but he went to Street first. That shouldn't bother me. Of course he did. Street is his real son. He'll always come first. I know that. I'm cool with that. I just don't like it rubbed in my nose. Street's still protesting going to the hospital like a little bitch.

"I told you already," Matt says calmly, grabbing Street's wrist. "We gotta see about your hands, Son." Matt inspects Streets hand again, Street stoically tolerating it. Matt probes as gently as if Street were no older than Lane. Something twists in my gut to see that. If Matt grabbed my wrist like that right now, I'd probably be hard pressed to hold back from decking him. As angry as Street is with me, as easy as it was for him to throw down with me, it's not in him to fight against his father.

They love each other.

I watch with dispassion as Matt inspects one massively swollen finger and another that is definitely a little twisted. "I think you've got one, maybe two fingers that have to be set."

"That's gonna hurt like a bitch," I say cheerfully.

"Worth it," Street says and flips me off with his broken finger.

Matt sighs and gestures for me to lead the way downstairs.

It's surreal, sitting in the back of the limo with the dude I wanted to end this morning sitting opposite from me. We say nothing as we glide through dark and sedate streets of the Vineyard toward the small hospital on the island.

After a few minutes, Matt instructs the driver to pull over into an empty cul-de-sac.

"Fuck no, I'm not doing this," I say, knowing exactly what Matt is planning, one of his my-way-or-the-high-way-interventions like he just pulled on Adam. "I told you I've got to get to Kat." I try to get out of the car, but the driver has applied the safety locks, and I am once again my father's prisoner.

"Fuck!" I say, kicking the bottom of my seat with my heels. "Let me out, Matt. I'm fucking serious."

Icy eyes regard me. "No. You don't have to say shit, but I have some things I need to say to both of you," He leans forward, hands on knees, looking at the floor.

He puts a hand on Street's knee, beside him. "Street, I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry I didn't see how angry you are with me. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to get you to talk to me about all of this, when we found out about Trace. I'm sorry that your brother coming into our lives has changed the way you see yourself, but I promise you, it doesn't change the way I see you at all."

He raises his eyes to Street and smiles. "I love you, Son. I have loved you since the day I knew you existed. The day you born, changed me. Put me on the path to becoming the man I am, because I loved you so much, I knew I had to be what you needed. It's true that I have fucked that up so many times. Just like you've fucked this up today. But I have always tried to be what you needed—a good father, a good role model, a friend. I love you so much, Street. Enough to tell you the truth. I'm disappointed in you. You threw the first punch in this fight long before today—you see that, right? Christ, Street, you got drunk and painted Kat naked, really? Did you mess with Kat on purpose, to fuck with Trace? Are you that angry with me?"

Street closes his eyes, leans them back against the seat. "No. Jesus, no. I didn't even want to hang around with her at first. To be honest, I'd rather not think about you all the time, Brother," he opens his eyes and looks at me. "But Kat is persistent."

I nod. "She is. She wanted to get to know you. She thought it would help me and you, since we can't seem to get there on our own."

"Yeah, I guess we fucked that up with those tats," he says bitterly. "Look, the tats really were...a mistake. It wasn't...maybe like you think, anyway. She had her bathing suit top on for most of it, and hell, I was so drunk I don't even remember much past painting her shoulder. I never even touched her, except with a paint brush. I wanted to be the one to tell you, but she wouldn't hear of it. She was afraid of exactly what happened. She knows you, apparently."

"You threw the first punch, asshole," I snap.

"You threw me against the fucking brick twice, fucker," he swipes back.

"You got my girl drunk, and you got her naked and spent hours painting her body! Christ I know we don't fucking know each other but that's a douche move for somebody that you share DNA with!"

"I told you it was a fucking mistake. Just like—" he stops himself, bites down hard on his lip, shakes his head.

I grin. "So now we are gettin' to it. I'm a mistake, is that what you were going to say? A big fucking wrinkle in your perfect world? Poor Street. I am so sorry that I exist. How inconvenient for you."

"That is not what I was going to say. Look, I know you've got the shit end of the childhood stick. I'm sorry about that. To be completely fucking honest, I'm not at all surprised about your existence. My father is a fucking rock star—old school rock star. If you're the only kid of his out there...that might be more surprising. No. What I was going to say...the mistake I always make...is trying to be the exact opposite of him."

Street looks at Matt. "You want to know what I'm angry about? That somewhere along the way, I became the kid that has to do all this shit you didn't do—make good grades, stay out of trouble, be sensible about who I date, go to college and get a degree to save the goddamn world. I mean shit, I like the ocean, but why does that mean I have to be an environmental scientist for you to be proud of me?"

Matt looks bewildered. He cracks his neck, runs a hand through his graying hair. "I thought you wanted all that. Street, we never made you do anything of the things you've done."

Street's longish hair shakes as he tilts his head back and laughs. "I wanted to prove I could do something that you didn't have a hand in helping with. I wanted make you proud. Now," he slings a hand at me, "I know maybe it's petty, but all that shit I didn't even want, means even less, because you're proud of him for just existing."

"That's not exactly true, or fair, Street," Matt says, looking at me. "I'm proud of Trace for surviving, and thriving, and growing up to be a good man despite a shitty situation. Just like I'm proud of you, for being your own man, for going your own way in your life."

Street grimaces as he tries to make a fist with his broken hand. "Well, actually I think it's time I do that, for real. I've been thinking about changing my major to art, and maybe doing a year studying in Europe."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," I interject. "Bon Voyage, Douchebag."

He looks at me with extreme dislike "Damn, I fucked your face up. You're gonna look great on TV at the AMA's, your ugly fucker."

"Both of you stop with the goddamn name-calling," Matt growls.

"Street, are you seriously thinking about taking up your art again?" Matt asks and I see a look of hopefulness in his eyes.

"Yeah, I think so. Since I've been hanging out with Kat, I've been working with Seb again, and it's what makes me happy. Creating. Not balancing organic chemistry equations."

"I feel you," Matt says softly. "If that's truly what you want, I think it sounds like a great idea."

Street and Matt exchange a wordless look in which things are said, and Matt squeezes Street's shoulder, and Street looks out the window.

"So are you going to be leaving LA soon, I hope?" I ask him sarcastically.

"Cocksucker," he mutters.

"Dickwad." Yep, he's definitely the new Dickwad in Kat's life.

"Okay, so you two don't like each other right now, I get it," Matt groans, kicking a cowboy booted foot atop his knee. "That's my fault. I treat you different, there's no question," Matt looks at me. "The truth is, I treat Street like a son, and I treat you like a protege, and you're both jealous as fuck of the relationship I have with the other." He rubs a weary hand over his face. "And the truth is...I honestly don't know how to fix that. Yet. Cause, Street, you don't want to be a musician, and music is all I know, so we don't share that world. And Trace, I don't know how to be the father you need yet, because you can't take me the way I am, with the other kids. It's like...I've got too much love for you, and you feel like you are under siege."

I sigh, and shrug helplessly. "What do you want me to do about it, man? I'm trying. I'm really fucking trying. I'm seeing a counselor, I call you, I do the family shit you ask...I'm trying."

"I know, Son. I just really hate that you have to try so hard," Matt says with a small, sad smile.

"Believe me, you aren't the only one," I mutter. "But I can't...I can't do the heart to heart thing. Not with you, not with him," I hook a thumb at Street. "Not right now..." I look down at my hands, still clinched tight in fists, on my knees, one of which is bouncing with pent-up frustration.

Matt looks at my fist and knee, too. "I know that, Chief. I know."

We sit in silence for a moment, finally Matt sighs. "So here we are. Three imperfect dudes fucking up. But we're family. We're blood. I swear to Christ I feel that with both of you, and I'm never giving up trying to get you two to the place where you feel for each other."

He unlocks the doors. "So go, for now, if you want to. You're both adults. It was dumb to think I could bend you to my will, that I would come and force forgiveness on you in this limo. Go, but know...I love you both and I won't quit on either one of you. And your sisters won't either. Neither will your mother," he looks at me, "your stepmother, because she loves you, too. And I doubt Kat is going to give up trying to get you to act like brothers, either. We are all a family—even Soundcrush is merging into us. So fight all the fuck you want, but remember that the people you'll be hurting the most, aren't the ones taking the punches."

He gestures to the door. Neither Street nor I move to exit the limo.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, fuckers," Matt's smile hitches up on the left. He raps on the privacy window and tells the driver to resume the route, and we ride in silence.

Finally Street says, "He's really annoying, when he gives righteous speeches."

"Mmmmm. Especially when they ring true," I agree.

"You can both suck it, I give the best dad speeches and I know it," Matt grins, throwing his arms back over the seat, apparently very fucking pleased with himself that he managed to keep us both in the car and no more brawling is occurring between us.

Baby steps, I guess.

I really don't have much more emotion to spend on Street anyway. I'm more worried about what's going to happen between me and Kat at the hospital. The thought of her hurt makes my gut clench, the thought of her tats makes me nauseous, but the memory of the way she looked at me so coldly and told her secret...that's the worst feeling.

She wanted to hurt me, like I had hurt her by marrying Ashlynn.

Well, she fucking got her way. I get it now, how she feels.

I feel beyond betrayed. I keep imagining Street with his hands on her naked body, and the two of them laughing and sharing secrets, the same way Kat struggles with knowing that Ashlynn and I had a domestic relationship when she lived with me. But it's not even the tats that are the worst part.

The worst part is the way she saw her opportunity for revenge, and she took it. I told her I wished I could feel her pain, so she made sure I did.

I can't lay down the shock and the sting of that, and there aren't any Matt del Marco speeches that are going to soothe those feelings right now.

Thoughts on this father-son-son dynamic? I think it might take some time for Trace and Street to bond, if they ever do! I hope for Matt's sake, they do...

Next chapter is Kat's POV. Spoiler: Leed is holding her hand while she gets stitched up! I'm sure their conversation will be interesting as always!