quite the asshole. Never giving a rat’s ass what people thought about him until he met my momma.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I knew my old man loved me. I was his kid, his last born, his only son. Before I entered the world screaming like a banshee outta hell, he was stuck in a house filled with four women. My momma and my three older sisters.
Talk about PMS overload.
’Cuz of my sisters, I experienced the blessing and the curse that came with having boobs and a fruity tooty. A term my best friend Harley Jameson used to refer to her girly parts.
Yes, you read that correctly.
My best friend in the whole wide world was none other than a spitfire girly girl. One who always looked as if she got dressed in the dark every single day. It was one of my favorite things about her. She didn’t give a shit what people thought about her either.
She marched to the beat of my electric guitar, my number one fan. Always had been, always would be. Since the moment she was born, our mommas said we were two peas in a pod. Going everywhere and doing everything together.
Our families were inseparable, growing up together like we were related. They called us the good ol’ kids, stemming from the good ol’ boys, who were made up of Lucas Ryder, Jacob Foster, my old man, and Austin Taylor.
Harley’s cousin, Shiloh Foster, was another good ol’ kid who was our age. She was my girl too. I protected and loved both of them as if they were just another one of my sisters.
Shiloh’s daddy was Jacob, one of the top lawyers in the state of North Carolina. While her momma, Lily Foster, was a musician like me.
Although all the good ol’ boys were best friends, my father was tightest wit’ Austin, who owned the best tattoo parlor in Oak Island.
Each of them was like my uncle, teaching me how to fish, surf, and pick up chicks.
Never did I think it would be Austin who I’d eventually need the most.
Coming right in between me and my old man.
“Why must you fight me on everything, Cash?” Pops questioned, tugging me away from my thoughts. “Why is it so hard for you to listen to me?”
I shrugged. “Can’t hear you over my music, Pops.”
He shook his head with disappointment spreading all over his face like a blazing wildfire. An expression you’d think I’d be used to by now.
Nothing I did was ever good enough. His high expectations made it nearly impossible to please him. It didn’t help he was a man of the law. Everything, and I mean everything, in life was black and white for him.
I was the only gray area in his world of right or wrong.
He didn’t understand the first time I picked up a guitar, I came alive like I’d been dead my whole life. I knew it was a huge statement coming from a five-year-old little boy at the time, however it was the only explanation I had. The only way I could describe what I felt.
In that moment, in that second, I needed to know every last thing about the instrument I was holding.
It was actually the very first memory I could recall.
The scent of cedar in my nose.
The weight of the guitar’s neck and body in my hands.
The feel of the smooth, cold wood against my arm and torso.
Although, it wasn’t until my fingers strummed the first chord that I came to life. The strings vibrated through me from my head down to the tips of my toes. I felt it deep in my bones.
It was what I was born to do.
“Boy, I am sick and tired of your smartas—”
“Dylan!” Momma intervened, saving my ass. She did this often, having to come in between her husband and son.
The two men she loved more than anything constantly butted heads. Despite the rough relationship I had wit’ my father, it was the complete opposite with my mother. It never mattered how much trouble I got in, which was a lot, she always loved me wholeheartedly. She was patient with me. Something my father clearly didn’t have when it came to me.
Harley didn’t make it easy on me by any means. She was a rebel without a cause, dragging me down with her anytime we got into mischief together.
Most of the time it was ’cuz of Jackson Pierce.
Harley’s arch enemy became mine as well. I couldn’t stand the quarterback douchebag. He was a