Forever {Dennis Wilson}

Devoted to You

A/N: At this point, I'm a little unsure where this story is going LOL.
I wrote this chapter with some of my own life experience in mind. My father was quite the control freak—still is. He was often very displeased with my decisions, especially as I have gotten older. Warren is an exaggerated version of my dad.
Please enjoy Chapter 3.
xoxo KC

Dennis

My hold on the bouquet of roses tightened—nearing the point of breaking the stems—as I looked at that familiar brunette. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

There had to be hundreds, maybe even thousands, of Grace Adams' in Los Angeles. Sarah mentioned that she had a sister named Grace, but I never would've guessed that it was Grace from the Christmas concert.

If there's a God, He's definitely fucking with me.

"You two...," Sarah furrowed her brows, pointing between her sister and myself. "Know each other?"

"No, not really," Grace said abruptly. I noticed that she swallowed hard, looking over to her father. He had his arms crossed, accompanied by a raised brow. The tension could easily be cut with a knife, it was so fucking thick.

Looking to Liz, I wasted no time in handing her the yellow roses. "Here, Mrs. Adams. These are for you."

"Well thank you, Dennis. These are lovely." Liz reminded me a bit of my own mom. She had a certain warmth to her.

Everyone sat down for dinner, and I took the seat next to Sarah. I also happened to be sitting across from Grace, and snuck a glance at her while she kept her face down; probably to hide the discomfort of the situation.

"So," Warren, the Adams patriarch, began. "Dennis, my daughter tells me you're a musician."

"Well, yes sir I am," I said, then cleared my throat.

"Are you going to pursue music as a profession?," he asked as he cut into a piece of pot roast.

He must not listen to a lot of pop or rock music. Somehow it didn't surprise me. I wonder what his reaction was to that Elvis Presley performance on The Milton Berle Show.

"Actually, Mr. Adams, I already have. I play drums for The Beach Boys," I nodded.

Warren could only muster a head nod and raised eyebrows in response as he chewed his food. It wasn't clear to me if he was impressed.

"Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that you're the Dennis Wilson of The Beach Boys?," Liz smiled brightly, then sipped on a glass of water.

"Yes ma'am," I nodded once more.

"Wow! Well if I knew we had a celebrity coming to eat with us, I would've made a much fancier meal," she smiled.

"It's quite alright. I'm just the drummer. It's nothing, really," I shrugged, moving the peas around on my plate mindlessly with the fork.

"It's not nothing," Grace blurted.

Suddenly the family turned their heads to focus their attention on the brunette. The clanking of forks and knives had abruptly stopped.

In that moment, the look on Grace's face suggested that she wanted to be invisible. Brown paper bag over her head and all. I didn't expect what would come next in response.

"Grace Elizabeth Adams," Warren said sternly, then slapped his hand down onto the dinner table. It caused everyone around, myself included, to quiver. "What have I told you?"

I furrowed my brows as I turned to look at Warren. Why did this interaction feel so familiar?

Grace sighed softly as she kept her eyes hyper focused on each small helping of food that sat on her plate.