A Whole Lot of Nothing (Before You Exit)

House of Blues and Bad Daddy Views

RILEY'S POV

"Peyton!" I called from the front seat of my car. She turned around, her nice, white bungalow styled house behind her. A total Kodak moment. I unclicked my seatbelt and leaned out the open window, "Listen, my- the band has a gig tomorrow. At the House of Blues."

I watched as her posture seemed to straighten a smudge and her eyebrows raised. I like Peyton. She's cute.

"I was wondering if you'd want to come. Meet the band and all. Actually see me sing." I said, smirking. Her arms crossed and her hip curved out.

"I thought you have been making up the band thing since day one," she said playfully. She continued with a grin, "Besides, would I have to buy a ticket? House of Blues is a huge milestone.

I leaned back into the car and popped the glove compartment open. Reaching in I grabbed one of the 4 laminated lanyards and leaned back out the window.

I waved the Backstage pass back and forward, watching her smile. I mirrored her reaction.

She jogged toward my car window and plucked the lanyard out of my hands. She examined it with a wide smile, flipping it back and forward, reading both sides.

She looked up, her nose crinkled slightly. She was totally jealous.

I chuckled and couldn't help but say, "How cool is that?"

She rolled her eyes and ruffled my hair, "Look at the pop star! Soooooo successful!" She teased, through a smile.

"I'll leave the pop to you, princess." I joked back, pushing her little hands away.

She scoffed at the nick name.

"Okay, not the point! I'll be expecting you to come. Preferably not in another one of your sweaters." She raised her clean eyebrow at me. "Fine. Only if its a nice sweater."

She laughed and hit my shoulder. "Idiot! I own dresses, thank you very much."

I smirked at the thought of Peyton in a dress. For the past week all I've seen her in are baggy sweaters, leggings, and boots of all kinds. I felt weird... Having a girl so casually around me. Kind of annoyed me actually. Not sure why... Maybe it's because it seems like Peyton doesn't consider me worth getting dressed up for. I get that we're friends but... Come on, Pey. I'm a guy.

"Ooookay, well. You can stay parked outside my house, staring off into space like a cat just told you it has a crush on your dog for as long as you'd like. Just make sure you have something to tell my mom when she starts to worry."

I snapped out of it and chuckled at Peyton's joke. I like Peyton. She's funny.

"See ya, Riley!" She called, as she walked up her driveway.

----

PEYTON'S POV

As I was lifting the last box up my stairs, the bottom seal of the box broke. I yelped slightly as a heap of books fell onto the light wood stairs. Awesome. I sighed, insanely frustrated about a few dumb books, and sat down on one of the books, deciding that taking a break wouldn't be that bad of an idea.

I looked around at the mess I had made and grinned as my eyes found a bright pink photo album. I reached down and grabbed it, feeling the roughed down edges of fabric on the corners. I grinned at pictures of my friends and family back home, my old house. When I got to the end of the album, I didn't even realize I was crying until a tear hit the laminated page.

On the last page was a picture of a tall attractive man with dark, mysterious eyes grinning, holding a little girl with matching light brown hair, thick, unkept bangs, and a toothy smile.

My dad and I.

The dad I haven't seen since my 8th birthday. The dad that would never come to my dance recitals. The dad who wouldn't listen to my tapes. The dad that would leave in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner with so much as a second glance.

For as long as I could remember, this was the dad I knew.

The dad that never really was a father to me.

"Peyton, honey..." I looked up, startled. My mom stood at the bottom on the staircase, a cup of tea in her hands, and a worried look on her face. "Honey, are you alright?" She asked lightly.

I quickly wiped my eyes, got up hastily, and turned my back to her as I pretended that a broken box could work just as well as it did before it had broken.

"Yeah, mom. I-I'm sorry. I'll get this cleaned up now. I-" I stopped when I felt her hand on my back. I looked over my shoulder and met her eyes. She saw the open album on the steps and picked it up, looking at the last page.

The tears came back as I quickly turned away. "Hey, mom?" I couldn't stop myself. I had to ask the question I have been wanting to have answered since I was a little girl. The question I've been to afraid to ask. "Why doesn't dad love me?"

I heard my mom take a quick breath. "Peyton-" I rolled my eyes and turned around, quickly snatching the photo album out of her hands. She grabbed my arm and made me look at her. "Peyton." She said tightly. "Your father is a man of many secrets-"

"My father is a quitter." I said, interrupting bitterly, my tears blurring my vision. My mother didn't fight the comment. I knew right then, I had figured it out all myself. My father may have loved me, but my father knew when and how to make an exit.

My mother grabbed my face in her hands and looked at me softly, our matching eyes no longer matching.

This is the woman who was patient enough to deal with a man like my father. This is the woman who stayed even after my eighth birthday.

This woman came to every dance recital, saved every tape, and made sure to be the one to serve me pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.

She pulled me into a tight hug. I knew since a little girl that I never needed my father. But I never knew as a child, or even now, how someone can quit loving something they made.

"I'm not a quitter." I muttered into my mom's shoulder.

"I know, Peyton. I've always known."