Page 5 of Fractured Destiny

Linus shifts on the couch, buried in his phone. He’s tall, dark-bearded, and stoic with a Belfast accent he hasn’t softened in the years he’s been in the States. Founded Isis Management in Europe and became a legend when his band, Sidewalk Riot, received Grammy nominations out of nowhere eighteen months later. A few years ago, Isis expanded to the US when Linus signed Fireball, his husband and wife’s band.

“Lake.” Linus commands my attention.

“Yeah?”

“Before you go out there.” He leans over with his forearms on his knees. “I’m not gonna make you sweat through your set tonight. I wanna sign you to Isis.”

The anxiety I’ve been chewing on immediately dissipates. “Linus, man. You sure?”

“Aye.” His mouth quirks into a smile. “Welcome to Isis. We’ll do paperwork next week. Tonight you go out there knowin’ I’ve got your back from now on.”

I drag my hand down the side of my face before the wetness in my eyes turns into something Linus can see. I quit crying at a young age. Killed the urge before most kids lose their baby teeth, and my emotions usually stay contained. Tonight, I’m struggling.

Linus sees me trying. Doesn’t comment. Stands up. Grips the back of my neck briefly, the way an older brother would. “Ty’s backstage. I’ll go tell him the news. He’ll want to be first to know.”

“Is this for real?” I swallow down a lump.

“Aye.” Linus steps through the door. “He was right about you. We’re gonna make you famous.”

Then he’s gone.

The hallway from the green room to the stage is approximately twelve feet of black-painted concrete. The opener, a woman playing an acoustic guitar, finishes her last song. She’s good. I don’t catch her name, but I owe her a drink.

A quick set change later, I push through the curtain into a white spotlight.

Eight hundred people chose, out of every possible way to spend an evening to be here to see me. I’m going to show them how much I appreciate it.

“You picked a hell of a way to spend a Friday.” I strum a few notes on my guitar. “Let’s not waste it.”

Intro completed, I wail the note of my first song into the mic.

The impact of the crowd’s roar pierces my sternum and lights something inside I didn’t know had a switch. For the first time there’s a real future with my name on it and I’m not wasting the opportunity. Evan’s bass climbs up through the soles of my feet like the floor’s telling me it’s all real.

I stop thinking. My fingers know the songs and I’m now just along for the ride. From the angry anthem I wrote at sixteen to a quiet ballad about growing up lonely, the audience is fully with me.

By the eighth song I’m not a person, I’m a gateway held open and everything I’ve kept shut away moves through me into the room. I’ve spent my whole life filling silences before they could be used against me, and tonight I’m able to let things breathe.

Quiet interludes allow me to fill every last crevasse with my heart.

When the final note dies after the encore, the crowd surges toward me. I manage to make it off stage and Linus catches me on my way back to the dressing room.

He grips my shoulder. “Aye.”

That’s it. Aye.

His blessing. With it, he turns and walks out the back door.

Now, it’s time to celebrate. I drop off my guitar and push out into the bar.

Diego is waiting at the side door and folds me into a hug, lifting me half an inch off the floor. He’s the closest thing to family I’ve had since I was thirteen. We bunked three feet apart in our last placement before he aged out. He’s the one who paid for my bus ticket so I could follow him north to Seattle. Gave me a couch to crash on when he was first dating Vanessa.

When he pulls back his eyes are red. “Brother.”

“Yeah.”

He presses his forehead to mine for one beat. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, man.”