I was living in a world where nothing made sense. Darkness. Instability. Life on the verge of death. Then you came into my life and shined through the darkness, showing me that light did exist. And for a moment I walked the path, breathed for the first time in a long time. You gave me air and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Without you, I wouldn’t remember what it was like not to suffocate. Without you, I wouldn’t remember what the light felt like. And I’ll always love you for that, Raymond Daniels.

I stop reading and look down at Ella, checking her reaction. She looks like she’s going to cry again and then suddenly she sits up and moves out of my arms.

Before I can respond, she’s climbing out of bed and pulling a shirt over her head.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up.

She slips on a pair of jeans, shimmying them up to her hips, and then she fastens the button. “Going to talk to my dad.”

I’m puzzled, but I don’t want to press. She doesn’t look upset, only eager as she puts on her boots and reaches for her jacket hanging on the bedpost. Then she takes the journal from me, rips out the page I just read, and stuffs it into her pocket.

“I’m going to give this to my dad.” She leans across the bed and presses her lips to my mouth. “I’ll be right back,” she says, breathless with enthusiasm as she hurries to the door, leaving me alone in my room and a little stunned.

I wasn’t expecting her to be so enthusiastic about it, but I’m glad she is. I want her to be happy. I just hope I can keep doing that for her, make all the right decisions, keep her smiling, laughing, keep any pain away, just like my lyrics begged her to let me do.

Chapter 22

Ella

I run over to my house with a crazy amount of energy fueled by the piece of paper in my pocket. I’m not even sure if it is her vows. In fact, I think it’s not, but what I do know is that my dad deserves to read the words, deserves to know that at one time he made my mom happy when it seemed like it was impossible.

The Firebird is parked in the driveway, so I know my dad’s home. When I burst into the kitchen, I’m relieved to find he’s eating dinner at the table and he’s alone.

He still has on his work clothes, a stained white shirt and jeans that are specked with red paint and there’s some paint splattered on his hands. He has a plate with chicken, potatoes, and a roll on it and a cup of milk in front of him.