𝙇𝙚𝙩 𝙈𝙚 𝙄𝙣.

Free Punches.

"Yes, it is."

"I can't accept this."

After his A.A meeting, Paul passed by the local music store on his way home and had seen a pristine electric guitar displayed on the window. It was a 2008 Gibson SG Standard with a shiny black finish, and was the exact replica of the one he had destroyed, save for the different color. It was over a thousand dollars, but definitely worth it.

He didn't buy the guitar because he wanted to bribe West into forgiving him, though. He may have been drunk out of his mind when he first heard West sing, but that delicate voice of his stayed burned onto his mind like a brand. He wanted to hear him sing again, he wanted to see that carefree expression that he had on his face when his fingers glided on the fretboard without any difficulty. He wanted to make West happy for once.

"It's the least I can do after I smashed your last one to pieces. That was wrong and incredibly selfish of me. Weston, you're extremely talented, and I heard it in your voice, saw it on your face that you truly loved music. I'm sorry that I tainted that love. Please accept this gift. You don't have to hide from me or anyone anymore. I want you to feel free to sing your heart out, I promise I won't complain. The neighbors might, though. But I'd punch every single one of them in the face before they get the chance to. I want you... to be happy. And If there's one thing I'm sure of, is that music makes you happy."

West felt his heart flutter, he'd never seen this side of his dad before. Maybe he really was trying to make things right. And even though he was probably joking, the punching would have to stop.

"Please don't punch anyone in the face."

"Oh... right... sorry. I meant it in a--"

"Thanks, Dad." West smiled. He picked up the guitar from it's square case and brushed his fingers along the smooth surface. It truly was a beauty, and he couldn't wait to play it. He glanced up at his dad who was staring at the guitar longingly.

"You used to play... Before I was born. Why did you stop?"

Paul winced, but his expression quickly closed up when West looked at him curiously. "How do you know that?"

"You stashed away Mom's things in the basement. Including the photo albums."

"Oh. I played... in a rock band. But it was just something to pass the time."

West could tell Paul was lying. It probably meant more to him than he let on. He felt a wave of guilt when he realized Paul must've stopped playing to take care of him. A child that wasn't even his. Was it Paul's dream to become a rock singer or a guitarist? West couldn't imagine having to give up everything to take care of a baby at 17. The people that did it were truly the strongest.

"Oh... So judging from the photos, Dennis played the drums, the guy on the bass was..."

"Jake. Jake Graham. He actually owns the construction company I'm working at."

West nodded, "Play something."

"What?"

"Play something. If you were in a band then you must've been good."

"I wasn't that--"

"Catch."

West threw the guitar in his dad's direction which caused him to automatically catch in in his arms.

Darn reflexes.

"What should I play?"

West squinted his eyes as he tried to think of a song with an awesome guitar solo. His mind drew blanks so he just shrugged his shoulders.