Page 27 of Playing the Backbeat

Chapter twelve

Dylan

“It’s way too high, Dee Dee. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“I promise, it’ll be okay,” Dee says.

“Do I have to remind you about the Christmas cupcakes? They were so massive they couldn’t stand up. They kept tipping over.”

“It gave them character. Did your parents say something to you? That’s the last time we share our creations with them.”

A chorus of giggles echoes off the kitchen walls, forcing a grin to my lips.

I met Dee’s cousin and her husband, Morgan and Kai Arai, thirty minutes ago when they dropped their daughter, Emi, off. I’m trying not to intrude on what was deemed “Auntie-Niece Cupcake Chaos Day,” so I’m keeping quiet from my spot on the couch where I’m watching TV.

I glance at the kitchen, finding Dee stirring the batter with exaggerated flourish while Emi organizes tubes of colorful frosting and jars of glittering sprinkles along the counter.

“Are you going to help us, or just eat them?” Emi suddenly asks, peering over her shoulder at me, one eyebrow lifted in a look so similar to her aunt’s. I glance her way to find Dee watching her “niece” with pride.

“Well, your aunt and I have an agreement that all desserts aresharedin this apartment.” I point to the fridge where the bylaws are scribbled on some scrap paper in Dee’s handwriting and held up by aRuby’s Rage Retreatmagnet.

“Dee Dee,” Emi groans, disappointment thick in her voice. “How could you?”

“I’m sorry.” She laughs. “I forgot we had plans to bake this month. You can haveone, Brooks.”

“Works for me,” I say, hands up defensively as I throw a wink Dee’s way. She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be in my room. If the noise bothers you, let me know,” I say, and Dee nods like she always does when I offer the heads-up.

“What do you mean?” Emi asks. Based on the number of questions she’s asked Dee tonight, she’s at that age where the questions are endless.

I throw my thumb over my shoulder as I step backward toward my bedroom door. “I’m just going to mess around on my drum set for an hour or so. But if it interruptsCupcake Chaosin any way”—I slice a hand across my neck—“I’ll knock it off.”

“Ooooooo, a drum set? I want to see!” She flings herself off the stool and flies into my room before I can stop her.

“Shit, sorry,” Dee says, dropping the bowl of batter onto the counter then grabbing a dish towel, wiping her hands as she follows me to the bedroom door. “Emi, this is Dylan’s room for now? Remember? We talked about this.”

I throw Dee a look of confusion, and she answers my silent question. “Your room is technically Emi’s room. When we have sleepovers, this is where she stays, but we talked about”— she redirects her attention to Emi, who is seated on the stool in frontof my electronic drum set—“how until further notice, she’ll be staying with me, in my room, when she stays the night.”

“He said drum set. As if I wasevergonna let that go.” Emi picks up the sticks immediately, twirling one in the air with classic Dee bravado before it flies out of her grip and lands at my feet. “Oops,” she mumbles sheepishly, twisting both hands on the stick she has left in her hands.

“Emi—” Dee starts, but I interrupt her.Risky, I know.

“Do you play?” I ask Emi, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, and threading my fingers together.

“Ugh, no. My mom saidabsolutely fucking notlast time I asked.”

“She said the big one?” Dee asks, shocked.

“You bet. Dad didn’t even nag her about it, because he agrees. “The drums are too loud, or whatever,” Emi mimics. I have to hide my smile. She may only be nine, but she already has Dee’s fire. “I think there’s something wrong with your drums.” She gives an experimental tap on the snare, disappointed by the muted sound.

“Here,” I say, grabbing the headphones off my desk, handing them to Emi, and turning the system on. “Try now.”

She slides the headphones over her head. They’re huge on her, but she manages to keep them on while hitting everything within reach, a giant grin exploding on her face, growing bigger with every strike. “This is awesome!” she shouts.

I catch Dee smirking from the doorway. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She bites her lower lip. “I just can’t wait to watch you explain to Morgan why her daughter is suddenly asking for a full-ass drum set.”

“Is there something wrong with being loud, Deanna?” I give her a pointed look.