Nope, definitely not what I expected.

I cross the room and pull back the drape. My gaze moves swiftly around the patio—Khloe! My dad is holding Khloe. My mom is sitting close next to him, smiling. My brothers and sister are huddled around Lourdes.

Graham’s words flitter through my memory. I can’t tell you where he is, but he’s definitely not doing anything you should blame yourself for. Your family is here and together. That’s more than most families are. Graham knew my mom had flown to Australia—that my dad disappeared to be with her—and he didn’t tell me.

A sense of betrayal rockets through me, but it’s quickly banked by relief. If my mom is here…

I stare. My family is together, it’s like none of the messed-up shit happened, and they look happy. What the fuck happened here last night?

It all looks so normal—well, our version of normal, like it used to before I smashed up my parents’ universe.

Maybe my parents are going to be OK. Maybe someday they will forgive me. Maybe things will get better between me and my dad eventually.

I lean my cheek against the cool metal doorframe and watch them, battling back the fast rising emotion inside me.

Maybe it’s all going to be OK.

“Kaley!”

I snap out of my fog to find my mom staring at me.

My cheeks burn.

Crap, why did I let them catch me wearing Graham’s t-shirt? Good one, Kaley.

Damn.

“Mom.”

I go out onto the terrace, avoiding my dad’s gaze, and sink down close to my mom. Chrissie takes me in a big, sloppy hug. She kisses my cheek and then pulls back, smiling at me.

“I missed you, baby girl.”

“I missed you, too, Mom. Are you staying or are you going back home?”

She makes a silly face at me. “Staying until we all can go home at the end of the tour together. I hope that’s all right with you.”

“Better than all right.”

I curl into her, letting her hold me. It feels really good to be held by my mother. We’ve been angry with each other too long. I don’t know how she does it. The anger never stays inside her. It melts away, and then we’re all good again.

I feel my dad watching me. I look over my shoulder at him. Black eyes lock on me. My scalp prickles and my body grows warm. Shit. Mom might be cheerfully rolling with everything today, but he’s not going to.

He’s angry.

I turn on the chair to face him directly. Better to get this over with quickly.

“About last night—”

“Consider it your one mulligan,” he interrupts. “Don’t do it again. Mrs. Barton was in a panic before Graham texted her that you were all right.”

My cheeks burn. “I’m sorry—”

The words clog in my throat.

The tears give way.

Fuck, not now, not when he can see.

His expression changes into something intense. He quickly hands Khloe to my mom and swivels around to face me. “Why are you crying, Kaley? What’s wrong? Did something happen last night? Graham said everything was fine with you.”

“Nothing happened,” I say quickly.

“Then why are you crying?”

I stare up at him. Snippets of my dream flash in my head. A strange feeling of déjà vu floods me.

“I’m just really glad Mom’s here.”

Fuck, those aren’t the words I want to say. When I started to say I’m sorry earlier it all surged upward in me, that I haven’t apologized, not once, for all the rotten things I’ve done to him.

I can’t meet his gaze any longer. I cover my face with my hands. The words push out of me.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry about what I did. The website. The videos. Your house. Even taking off last night. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. Just don’t hate me, OK? I can’t survive that. I don’t want you to hate me. I’m sorry.”

I stare at him, pleading with my eyes.

He looks confused and overwhelmed.

He brushes the hair back from my face and meets my gaze directly. “I could never hate you, Kaley. I have never hated you. You are my daughter. I love you. Nothing is ever going to change that. How could you think I could ever hate you?”

“Because I’m a terrible person. I hurt you. I hurt Mom. I hurt everyone.”

To my shock, he pulls me into his chest, holding me in a tight circle of his arms. His muscles quiver and I feel light kisses touched across my curls.

“You are not a terrible person, sweetheart. Look around you. We all love you. Forgive yourself, Kaley. Let go of the past. That’s what your mom and I have decided to do.”

He starts to rock me gently. Forgive yourself and let go of the past. It sounds like something Bobby would say.

An image of Bobby that last night before I left California rises in my head. The look in his eyes. You need to figure out, Kaley, if you want me because you love me or because you hate Alan.

I pull back and look up at him. Alan is my father. I need to forgive both him and myself for all our sakes. I love my  dad. It’s time to let go of the past. If I don’t, things will never be completely right with my family or with Bobby ever again.

“Everything is going to be OK, Kaley,” he says reassuringly.

I nod, brushing at my dripping nose with the back of my hand. “I’m glad you finally made up with Mom and asked her to come here. You’re doing all right as a dad—that talk was really good—but there are times a girl just needs her mother. And Mom is a great mom.”

My dad stares at me, unsure how to react, but Chrissie is laughing so hard it looks like she can hardly breathe. She drops a kiss on my head and then one on my dad’s cheek.

“That, Alan, is what I wish we had on film.”

CHAPTER 30

Toronto, Canada, three months later

I sit on a stadium chair, listening to my dad doing a sound check on stage and waiting for Graham Carson to finish watching the final cut of my documentary about the tour.

I can’t tell by his face if he thinks it’s good or bad. Shit, why did I show him this? I didn’t realize how much the film mattered to me until I hit play. I also didn’t realize how much it mattered to me what Graham would think of it.

It was, after all, his suggestion. Filming our months on the road. His voice rises in my memory—the camera doesn’t lie. Not if you don’t let it. Film everything and you might learn something about your father.

Fifty-nine minutes of torture and still counting. Fuck, throw me a bone here. Anything to tell me what you think. His eyes have been locked on the screen, his expression agonizingly neutral, and he hasn’t pulled out the earbuds once so I can ask him what he thinks of what he’s seen so far.

I curl my legs up in front of me and turn until I’m facing him. Oh well. No need to panic over it now. It’s done. I don’t know what to do with the film now. Showing Alan seems too daunting a thing just yet. Graham’s right. The camera doesn’t lie if you don’t let it.

He makes a low whistle, pulls out the earbuds and sits back in his chair. “Jesus Christ.”

My eyes go wide. “Is that good or bad?”

He studies me, shaking his head. “How old are you, kid?”

“Eighteen. I was eighteen when you met me. Eighteen when we started this today and even though you took forever to watch my documentary”—I make a silly face—“I’m still eighteen.”

“You have one hell of an eye, Kaley.” He clicks closed the laptop. “It’s an amazing film. Long and Hard: My Journey With my Father. When the title came up on screen, my heart stopped and I got chills. I couldn’t tear my eyes away until it was finished.”

A beaming smile fills my face before I can stop it. “Really? You think it’s good?”

His gaze softens, approving. “Best documentary I’ve ever seen about your dad, hands down, and I’ve seen them all. You captured the real Alan Manzone brilliantly—the still pictures cut into the film at times gave me goosebumps. You capture the man and that’s something every other cinematographer has failed to do completely.”