When It's Real

“Oakley! Are you and your father speaking again?”


“How was the family reunion?”

“What does Dusty think of your new girlfriend?”

“I love her,” a male voice booms, and suddenly Dustin himself appears behind us.

I almost jump three feet in the air when his muscular arm wraps around my shoulder. Oak’s dad squeezes me tight and then plants a loud kiss on my cheek. More flashbulbs go off. More shouts pierce the night air.

“Dusty! How was the party?”

“Are you giving Vaughn the Ford stamp of approval?”

“Will you be appearing at any of Oakley’s tour stops, Dusty?”

It’s chaos. The questions keep coming and coming and coming, and Oakley’s face gets darker and darker and darker. Dustin, however, is reveling in it all. He eats up the attention, smiling for the cameras and answering questions, all the while keeping his arm around me like we’re father and daughter and he couldn’t be happier that I’m dating his son.

“Vaughn! Is this the first time you’ve met Dusty?”

“Vaughn! How does it feel to be welcomed into such a distinguished family?”

“Bitch! Get your hands off my man!”

The last shout doesn’t just catch me off guard—it also brings a stunned silence to the paparazzi. I don’t know who the screamer is, but she’s not just content with screaming. Before I can blink, something smashes into the side of my head. Moisture drips down my face and splashes into my mouth. It’s bitter and gross and—an egg. Someone threw an egg at me!

I’m too stunned to move. Fortunately, Oak takes control, dragging me away from the back door and elbowing his way through the crowd until we clear the alley.

Ty and the Escalade wait at the curb, and we throw ourselves into the backseat. Oak slams the door and the SUV speeds off, while I sit there in horror, egg yolk sliding down my neck and into my shirt.

“Are you okay?” Oak finally asks. His voice sounds like gravel.

I manage a weak nod. “I’m...fine.”

Out of nowhere, he produces a pack of tissues. Neither of us says a word as he gently wipes the egg off my face. Or at least he tries to, but he can’t get it all off. My skin is sticky and there’s a gooey trail running between my breasts.

I don’t even know why she egged me. “Did April ever get treated like this?”

“No eggs that I can remember,” he says softly.

“So I’m special, huh?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. This night was a disaster. A total disaster. I wanted so desperately to do something nice for Oak, and it backfired in a way I never, ever expected.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“For getting egged?” he says tightly. “That’s not your fault. Some fans can be insane. Don’t take it personally.”

“No.” I take a breath. “I’m sorry I invited your dad. I thought... I thought it would be nice if your whole family was there for your party.”

His face tense, Oak tosses the wet napkins on the floor. “So you could see what a shit show my childhood was?”

“No. Because I thought you could reconnect.” I struggle to explain. “I did this for you.”

His head swings toward the window as if he needs to hide his expression from me, and his voice is brutal and harsh when he answers. “No. You did it for yourself. You weren’t thinking of me. You were thinking about how you’d like your parents back, but my parents aren’t like yours, Vaughn. My dad’s a self-righteous prick. And my mom might be okay half the time, but I was raised by nannies.”

“Your mom thought—”

“Oh, my mom? Of course she did. She probably wants to get screwed by Ol’ Dusty again. She’s feeling her age because I’m getting older so she needs to be reminded she’s still young and beautiful.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “When your mom called to invite him, he agreed to come right away. He seemed excited about it, so I thought...” I bite my lip. It doesn’t matter what I thought, because I thought wrong.

Dustin Ford clearly doesn’t give a crap about his son. He burst into the party like a thundercloud, darkened the room, poured rain all over the celebration and then left.

“My dad came because he had an agenda,” Oakley says flatly. “He always has one. Everyone in my life does.” Bitterness washes over his handsome face. “He doesn’t give a damn about me. He couldn’t take it when my first album went platinum. When I made my first million. When I won a Grammy. And then the label offered me the kind of deal every musician dreams of, and the old man ordered me not to sign it. He kept saying it didn’t make sense business-wise and how I would be indebted to the label forever. But Jim went over that contract with a fine-tooth comb. If anything, I was coming out ahead. The deal was that good. And Dad didn’t want me to sign. Not because he was looking out for me, but because he was jealous.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Gosh, that’s so sad. I don’t even know how to respond to it.

I swallow hard, remembering the hesitation on Katrina’s face when I mentioned inviting Dusty. But I’d ignored the warning signs. The distance between Oak and his mother had been the result of a stupid misunderstanding, and I was hoping it was the same for him and his father.

“I didn’t know it was that bad between you two,” I say weakly.

“I told you I don’t get along with him. Did you think it was for no reason? Just me being a spoiled, stubborn brat?”

I stare at my hands. I don’t like being on the receiving end of that thunderous expression.

“God.” Oak runs both hands through his hair. “I’m so sick of everyone’s agendas. And I’m so tired of everyone wanting a piece of me. You know, if I was stranded in the middle of the desert about to take my dying breath, and a bunch of fans came up and found me? I honestly don’t think they’d save me. They’d just be scrambling to get scraps of my clothing, locks of my hair, something to show their friends later—look, I got Oakley Ford’s shirt right before he died!”

My worried gaze meets Ty’s in the rearview mirror. The deep furrow in his forehead tells me he’s concerned, too, but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. I simply reach for Oak’s hand and squeeze it.

“It’s all about what I can give people,” he’s mumbling. “A shot at getting a record deal, a chance in the spotlight, money. Everyone here is fake. It’s a plastic, made-up world full of people who only want one thing...”