Page 202 of The Comedown

“Think your coach would let me come down to the field next game?” I ask him, and he gives me an unamused look like I wouldn’t actually.

I give him one back that says, Um, yes, the fuck I would.

Did he forget the last time I was invited to The Mousais? The scene I caused? Shit, nobody else has.

Fine, he knows I wouldn’t post up on a bunch of teens, but I would beat up their dads at the very least, which he also knows to be true because I’ve already done it. A couple times. Okay, a few. I’ve got a short fuse when it comes to people fucking with my family.

Ending our stare-off, I tell him, “Eighteen minutes now, smartass.”

He laughs, walking away.

“He finished the whole bottle,” Mary says, switching Cannon up to her shoulder to burp him.

“He did?” I ask, impressed. He’s picky with bottles. The boy only likes certain nipples and nothing compares to his mother’s. He’s already got taste for quality.

I put Lyric down, telling her to go find her headphones, then take Cannon off Mary. Heading out to my studio, I hold him against my chest with one hand while rubbing his back with my other. This stay-at-home-dad gig is like juggling a book of matches, a lit cigarette, and a can of gasoline, but I wouldn’t trade this shit for the world. There’ve been days when I’ve had all three kids in my studio with me, and I still managed to record fucking bangers.

Music is something I want to share with my kids. It runs in their veins as much as it does mine, so of course Imma make this a family affair. Holter’s got a good ear when I can snag his attention long enough, and Lyric belts like her mom even though she has a very limited vocabulary still. Cannon…Cannon’s an infant. He eats, shits, and sleeps, then sleeps some more. But maybe when he’s a little older, I’ll teach him how to play the triangle in his great-grandma’s memory. She’d love that.

I listen to my messages while getting one big burp along with a handful of gas-smiles out of Cannon that I like to pretend I provoked with just my voice alone, then I return to the main house. Artists from all over come to my home studio to record their songs. I pull crazy hours, but they’re hours that I get to choose. So I can go out there and work from two in the morning until six when Holter’s getting ready for school, come in to see him off, then head right back out ’til Collette and the little ones wake up, no problem.

During the week, Collette’s here kicking ass as a full-time mom, then on the weekends, she’s back to raising the bar as America’s favorite popstar. She doesn’t tour at all anymore, and I don’t think she ever will. Neither of us will. We got too much to stay home for.

Mary hands me Cannon’s diaper bag with his headphones sticking out the top. We moved Mary out to Vegas once Lyric was born, and she helps out any time we need her, which is mostly on the weekends, nothing like the hours she was pulling with Holter. She actually has her own life now, with a boyfriend and everything.

Lyric dances into the kitchen already wearing her headphones and almost busts her face on the handle of a drawer during an intense-as-shit spin.

Jesus Christ. And I used to think mosh pits were dangerous.

“Holter! You better be ready!”

“Can Andy come with us?” he asks, jogging around the corner, a towel around the back of his neck.

“Andy, your fullback?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because motherfucker’s crushin’ on my wife.”

“Language.”

“She’s wearing headphones, Mary. She can’t hear me. Right, Lyric?”

Lyric gives me a thumbs-up with a smile I know she learned from her mom.

Holter and I look at each other, then laugh.

“Get your sister,” I tell him, letting Mary know what time we’ll be home.

Cannon’s passed out in my arms, and Lyric’s replaced the towel, sitting on her big brother’s shoulders. We’re standing backstage, waiting for Collette as she wraps up her third and final act. I’ve seen this show dozens of times, but it still feels like the first time, every time. I never get tired of watching her perform.

Finished, she runs over to us, and since I already know what she’s gonna ask, I hold out Cannon to her, but she doesn’t grab him like she usually does. She kisses his forehead, then asks Holter to put Lyric down to hold him for a minute.

Before he can, one of her dancers passes by and offers to take Cannon instead. She’s been with Collette for as long as Holter’s been alive. I think she’s his godmother actually. Uncle Axel and Aunt Irelynn are Lyric’s, and David and Kim-ly are Cannon’s. Technically David could be all of ours since he’s helped us out so much, especially me. He played a huge role in helping me make the transition into the producing world.