asked.
“Eight,” Dylan said, his voice breaking. Eight years old. It wasn’t fair. An eight-year-old little girl might not live to see her ninth birthday, yet assholes like him and Snake got to make one terrible decision after another, seemingly without consequence. Every time he thought about Emma, who struggled just to breathe at times, he got mad. He was mad at himself for being so far away from the only family he cared about; he was mad at the doctors, for having no answers; and he was mad at God, for being so heartless.
“Show her the mouse picture,” Tank said, moving to the couch to sit on Melody’s other side. Rip, too, got up and leaned over the back of the couch.
“What’s everybody looking at?” Jesper asked as he entered the room with a large cardboard box tucked under one arm.
“Emma at Disneyland,” Rip said.
“She’s not doing well,” Tank added. “Power of positive thought.”
“Right on,” Jesper said, joining Rip behind the couch.
Dylan pulled up his picture folder and opened the album from Disneyland. Emma had been seven, and it had been her, Grace, and the band at the Magic Kingdom. Emma’s father hadn’t been able to handle the illness, and had taken off when she had turned four. Grace said she was grateful he’d left when he did, because Emma had been too young to remember him properly. He’d tried to make contact once after that, but had run scared again, leaving Grace in tears and Emma confused. Dylan and Jesper had tracked him down after that, and they had made sure the scumbag knew never to wander back into their lives again.
The first picture was a group shot in front of the Magic Castle. Even Snake was grinning, unable to resist Emma’s infectious enthusiasm. Her smile was lopsided, missing a couple teeth, but to Dylan, it looked perfect. He glanced at Melody and tried to imagine what she saw: a little girl, too small for her age, with her Minnie Mouse-ears hat and her yellow princess dress, surrounded by a bunch of rockers sporting unshaven faces, long hair, and doting expressions.
He swiped his finger, and the second picture in the album appeared, this one depicting Emma getting a hug from Cinderella. Next, Grace and Emma on the Teacups, Emma’s face split in a huge grin. Emma sandwiched between Rip and Tank on Pirates of the Caribbean; Dylan holding Emma on his shoulders, her hands covering his eyes as he staggered around dramatically, just so he could hear her laugh.
Dylan chanced a look at Melody again. There was a mixture of emotions on her face. Joy, because the images truly were magical; amusement, because by the end of the day, all the band members had donned novelty Disney hats; and sorrow, because she knew that the little girl who seemed so happy in those pictures was suffering now.
“She looks really happy,” Melody said softly, looking up at Dylan with a new expression, one he couldn’t quite read.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, putting his phone back into his pocket. “It was a fun day.”
“It was awesome,” Tank agreed. “We took her on the Matterhorn and she almost threw up.”
“I thought Grace was gonna skin you guys alive,” Rip laughed.
“She somehow managed to bruise up my arm with her tiny fist,” Jesper said with a fond smile.
Dylan had to stop thinking about Emma before he got on stage tonight, or the fans wouldn’t get the wild, outrageous show they were expecting; they’d get three hours of emo rock songs.
“What’s in the box?” he asked Jesper, in an attempt to distract himself.
Jesper smiled. “We’ve got Mom Cookies.”
Tank gasped—actually gasped— and dove over the back of the couch. “Gimme.”
Melody looked amused and a little uncertain. “‘Mom Cookies?’” she asked.
“Jesper’s mom is pretty much our number one fan,” Dylan said, absently rubbing the back of his neck. “When we were starting out, she had band shirts printed up for us, gave us the garage for rehearsal space, and baked
“Eight,” Dylan said, his voice breaking. Eight years old. It wasn’t fair. An eight-year-old little girl might not live to see her ninth birthday, yet assholes like him and Snake got to make one terrible decision after another, seemingly without consequence. Every time he thought about Emma, who struggled just to breathe at times, he got mad. He was mad at himself for being so far away from the only family he cared about; he was mad at the doctors, for having no answers; and he was mad at God, for being so heartless.
“Show her the mouse picture,” Tank said, moving to the couch to sit on Melody’s other side. Rip, too, got up and leaned over the back of the couch.
“What’s everybody looking at?” Jesper asked as he entered the room with a large cardboard box tucked under one arm.
“Emma at Disneyland,” Rip said.
“She’s not doing well,” Tank added. “Power of positive thought.”
“Right on,” Jesper said, joining Rip behind the couch.
Dylan pulled up his picture folder and opened the album from Disneyland. Emma had been seven, and it had been her, Grace, and the band at the Magic Kingdom. Emma’s father hadn’t been able to handle the illness, and had taken off when she had turned four. Grace said she was grateful he’d left when he did, because Emma had been too young to remember him properly. He’d tried to make contact once after that, but had run scared again, leaving Grace in tears and Emma confused. Dylan and Jesper had tracked him down after that, and they had made sure the scumbag knew never to wander back into their lives again.
The first picture was a group shot in front of the Magic Castle. Even Snake was grinning, unable to resist Emma’s infectious enthusiasm. Her smile was lopsided, missing a couple teeth, but to Dylan, it looked perfect. He glanced at Melody and tried to imagine what she saw: a little girl, too small for her age, with her Minnie Mouse-ears hat and her yellow princess dress, surrounded by a bunch of rockers sporting unshaven faces, long hair, and doting expressions.
He swiped his finger, and the second picture in the album appeared, this one depicting Emma getting a hug from Cinderella. Next, Grace and Emma on the Teacups, Emma’s face split in a huge grin. Emma sandwiched between Rip and Tank on Pirates of the Caribbean; Dylan holding Emma on his shoulders, her hands covering his eyes as he staggered around dramatically, just so he could hear her laugh.
Dylan chanced a look at Melody again. There was a mixture of emotions on her face. Joy, because the images truly were magical; amusement, because by the end of the day, all the band members had donned novelty Disney hats; and sorrow, because she knew that the little girl who seemed so happy in those pictures was suffering now.
“She looks really happy,” Melody said softly, looking up at Dylan with a new expression, one he couldn’t quite read.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, putting his phone back into his pocket. “It was a fun day.”
“It was awesome,” Tank agreed. “We took her on the Matterhorn and she almost threw up.”
“I thought Grace was gonna skin you guys alive,” Rip laughed.
“She somehow managed to bruise up my arm with her tiny fist,” Jesper said with a fond smile.
Dylan had to stop thinking about Emma before he got on stage tonight, or the fans wouldn’t get the wild, outrageous show they were expecting; they’d get three hours of emo rock songs.
“What’s in the box?” he asked Jesper, in an attempt to distract himself.
Jesper smiled. “We’ve got Mom Cookies.”
Tank gasped—actually gasped— and dove over the back of the couch. “Gimme.”
Melody looked amused and a little uncertain. “‘Mom Cookies?’” she asked.
“Jesper’s mom is pretty much our number one fan,” Dylan said, absently rubbing the back of his neck. “When we were starting out, she had band shirts printed up for us, gave us the garage for rehearsal space, and baked
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