“She showed up at a time that I felt extremely alone.”

“I believe that,” Dad said with a nod; then he clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. “Which brings me to my next point, a point I want to make really clear to you. It wasn’t your fault, son.”

“What?”

“What happened to Alex. It wasn’t your fault.”

I went to respond, but Dad shook his head and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know you, son. I know how you work. And I know you’ve placed that blame on yourself. I know the media spun that story, and it probably came back to you more than it ever should’ve, but I’m here to tell you it’s not your fault.”

I clasped my hands together and looked down. “I know that’s true. It’s been hard. I don’t know how to explain it. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been in that car.”

“You can’t think like that. The fault of the accident were those idiots speeding down the road like psychopaths. I blame them for what happened to your brother, not you.”

“You don’t blame me?”

Dad sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never. I’m here to say that thought never for a second crossed our minds. Also, you have to reach out to us when you’re struggling, Oliver. You are never a burden to your mother and me. We are always here for you, through the shitty days especially. It’s easy to have people who ride for you during the peaks, but we want you to know that we are here during the valleys. Especially during the valleys.”

I clasped my hands together again and stared down at them, my mind connecting the dots to exactly what my father was saying. “It wasn’t my fault?” I asked with a hoarse tone splitting through my words.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

A relief that I didn’t think I deserved hit me. I slowly began to let go of the guilt that I’d been hanging on to since the day Alex left my side.

I wiped my hand beneath my nose and cleared my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Welcome. Now, play me some of your new music, and let me make it better.”

It was a long time ago, almost ten years, since my dad had helped me with the music in my studio, but I’d never forgotten that he was the man who’d made Alex and me fall in love with music. He introduced me to the greatest artists of all time when we were children, making sure every classic was in our lives, from Sam Cooke to Frank Sinatra. Our house was always lit up with the sounds of the greats.

Dad worked in the music industry for a while as a technician, and he was the one who’d built Alex and me our first studio when we were teenagers.

Without his guidance, none of our dreams would’ve come true.

I played the tracks for him, and he listened with an attentive ear. He usually didn’t give me feedback until a song had finished, and then he’d sit back, purse his mouth, and nod. “It’s good. It’s good.”

“But?”

He didn’t go into the buts at first—he never did. Dad wasn’t one to criticize a piece of music before pointing out all the good within it. That went for any and every song. He said every piece of art held ounces of beauty.

I was thankful for that. I needed some good feedback. “But . . . ?” I said again, after the compliments had come in.

“What if we tried this?” he asked, standing up and tweaking with the equipment. We stayed in there for hours, creating. We took pieces we’d made, broke them apart, and stitched them back together. We had . . . fun.

When we finished a song, once it had turned into something that made me feel proud, we stood in silence for a minute, almost in shock.

Dad patted me on the back and grinned. “Alex would love this.”

I smiled, because I knew he was right.

“Play it again,” Dad told me. “It’s too good not to hear again.” So I did as he said.

“Mr. Mith! Mr. Mith!” Reese chanted, racing into the studio to get my attention. She was out of breath as she waved me over. “Come on! Hurry!”

“Hurry for what?” I questioned.

“The fireworks, duh.”

We headed outside to the backyard, where the display of fireworks could be seen over our houses. Everyone was sitting on the ground around the pool, looking up at the colorful sky in complete awe at the beauty. The three kids were jumping up and down with excitement screaming oohs and aahs, giggling with one another at how big, bright, and loud the fireworks were.

I took a seat on the ground beside Emery, and it didn’t take Kelly long to give me a stupid smirk about that fact. I tried my best to ignore it. Emery turned toward me with her knees bent and her arms wrapped around them. Then she looked back up to the sky.