Epilogue
Kellan
Three months later, and we've been through so much shit with the label and breaking away.
The legal battles dragged on for weeks, depositions and court filings and lawyers arguing over contract minutiae.
Tom fought us every step of the way, trying to claim we owed massive penalties or that we'd stolen intellectual property.
But the contract clause held up under scrutiny, and eventually the label had to concede that we'd followed the termination process correctly.
Fans weren't sure which side to choose at first. Social media split into factions, some supporting our decision to leave and praising our honesty, others staying loyal to Tom and the label.
The hate was intense for a while, death threats and doxxing attempts and people trying to cancel us before we could even start over.
But gradually, as more details came out about Tom's manipulation, the tide shifted in our favor.
Despite all of that chaos and uncertainty, I've never felt better as part of the band we renamed simply Ransom.
Dropping the "Lunar" felt symbolic somehow, shedding the identity Tom crafted for us and claiming something simpler and more direct.
We're still working on trademarking it and making sure the label can't challenge us legally, but so far it's holding.
Tom's been pissed and still runs our names through the mud on social media whenever he gets the chance.
He posts cryptic messages about betrayal and ingratitude, shares old photos of us with captions about how we've forgotten where we came from.
His followers eat it up, keeping the drama alive.
But aside from that annoyance, life has been absolute bliss living with Micah.
I've watched him heal over these three months, his body recovering from injuries that could have ended his career permanently.
The physical therapy was brutal at first, painful sessions that left him exhausted and frustrated.
But gradually his strength came back, the muscles rebuilding and the range of motion improving.
Last week his doctor cleared him to return to light construction work, with restrictions but enough freedom to start feeling like himself again.
Derek got arrested about a month ago, spouting shit about how Colt died and insisting it wasn't natural causes. He went on a rant to anyone who would listen about serial killers and conspiracy theories and cover-ups. Nobody believes him, of course.
The investigation into Colt's death is technically ongoing, but everyone thinks it was just an unfortunate accident.
Go figure—the same dismissal Derek and Colt got when they hurt Micah, now applied to one of them.
There's probably some poetic justice in that, though I try not to think about it too much.
Derek's arrest came from a bar fight he started, assault charges that finally stuck when there were multiple witnesses and video footage.
He violated his bail conditions from Micah's case, so now he's sitting in county jail waiting for trial.
Micah can finally breathe easy in his own town, can go to the grocery store or the hardware store without looking over his shoulder.
Everything has been chaotic between figuring out new places to practice, getting all our belongings from the company, waiting for our final payouts, and finding ourselves again as a band.
We rented a small warehouse space on the outskirts of the city, nothing fancy but it's ours.
No label oversight, no Tom scheduling our sessions, no PR managers lurking to capture content.
Just four guys making music in a room that smells like old concrete and possibility.
Getting our belongings from the company was its own nightmare.
Tom dragged out the process as long as possible, claiming certain items belonged to the label or had been destroyed or mysteriously gone missing.
We lost some instruments and equipment we'd been attached to, but we replaced them with gear we actually chose instead of what sponsors provided.
The final payouts came through two weeks ago, smaller than expected after legal fees and various deductions Tom's team claimed were justified.
But it was enough to keep us stable while we figure out our next moves, enough to fund this independent venture without having to immediately sign with another label just to survive.
Finding ourselves again as a band has been the best part.
We've been writing new music, the kind of stuff we always wanted to make but Tom said wouldn't sell.
Complex rhythms that challenge us, lyrics that actually mean something, experimental sounds that might fail but are worth trying.
Jordan's been writing from the heart instead of crafting marketable hooks.
Liam's guitar work is more intricate, showing off his technical skill instead of dumbing it down for radio play.
Rex is exploring different bass styles, adding funk and jazz influences that sound incredible.
And me? I'm playing guitar again. Not exclusively—I still love drums and take over on percussion for some songs. But having my guitar in my hands, singing lead vocals on tracks I wrote, it feels like coming home after years of being lost.
But this, right now, is officially our first show as Ransom.
Not a huge venue, just a mid-sized club that holds about five hundred people.
We could have aimed bigger, leveraged our existing fanbase and name recognition to book something more impressive.
But we wanted intimate, wanted to connect with the audience instead of performing for a distant crowd.
I stand backstage, my hands shaking slightly as I tune my guitar.
The nerves are worse than they've been for any show with Lunar Ransom, probably because this actually matters.
This isn't just going through motions for a paycheck.
This is us proving we can make it on our own, that leaving the label wasn't career suicide.
Rex sits at the drums we set up earlier, doing his pre-show routine of twirling sticks and testing the tension on each drum.
He's been surprisingly good on percussion, picking it up faster than any of us expected.
Turns out he's got a natural sense of rhythm he never got to explore while playing bass exclusively.
Jordan and Liam tune their guitars together, their heads bent close as they discuss something about the setlist. They're steady as always, the foundation that holds the rest of us together.
Then I see Micah come backstage, his smile wide and genuine.
He's wearing a loose shirt and well-worn jeans, casual and comfortable like he doesn't care about impressing anyone.
He belongs here, in this world I was terrified to share with him months ago.
My life isn't separate compartments anymore—music and personal life kept carefully divided.
It's all integrated now, messy and complicated and perfect.
I step up to him immediately, needing to kiss him before I go out there. His lips are warm and familiar, grounding me when anxiety threatens to spiral.
"You're going to do fucking amazing," Micah says against my mouth, his hand coming up to rest against my chest. "I've heard you practice. You're ready for this. They're going to love you."
"I hope so." I press my forehead to his. "Everything's riding on this, you know? If we tank, if nobody shows up or they hate what we're doing—"
"They won't." Micah's certainty helps quiet my doubts. "Trust yourself. Trust your band. You're making music you actually care about. That matters more than anything Tom ever manufactured."
He pulls away and I immediately miss his warmth. "I'm going to grab my seat. Front row center, right where I can see you the whole time."
"Show off." But I'm grinning.
"Your show off." Micah winks and heads out into the venue.
The stage manager gives us the five-minute warning. My bandmates gather around, the four of us standing in a circle like we used to before every show in the early days.
"This is it," Jordan says quietly. "New beginning. Everything changes after tonight, one way or another."
"No pressure," Rex adds, but he's smiling.
"We've got this." Liam's confidence is infectious. "We're better now than we ever were under Tom. Freer, happier, making shit we actually believe in. The audience will feel that."
I nod, rolling my shoulders to release tension. "Let's fucking do this."
The lights dim and the crowd noise increases, anticipation building.
We take the stage and the cheering is immediate and overwhelming.
Every seat is filled, people packed in tight and screaming our names.
They showed up. They chose us over Tom's version of the story, chose to give us a chance as something new.
I step up to the microphone, guitar slung across my chest. It feels right in a way drums never quite did, even though I loved playing them. This is me, fully myself, nothing hidden or compromised.
"Thanks for coming out tonight," I say, my voice carrying through the speakers. "We know there's been a lot of noise and drama and bullshit. So we're just going to cut through all of that and play some music. This is Ransom."
The opening chords of our first song ring out, and muscle memory takes over. My fingers find the right positions, my voice comes in on cue, and suddenly we're not four nervous guys trying to prove something. We're just musicians doing what we love.
I glance back at Rex on drums and he grins at me, his rhythm solid and energizing. Jordan and Liam flank me on either side, their playing tight and complementary. We're so much happier than we used to be, and it shows in every note.
Three songs in, I open my eyes fully and look down at the audience.
They're into it, bodies moving and voices singing along to songs they've only heard once from when we released preview tracks online.
The energy feeds back to us, this electric connection between performers and crowd that makes every nerve ending light up.
Then I spot Micah down in the front row, right where he said he'd be. His face is tilted up, watching me with an expression of pure joy and pride. He's not just here because we're dating. He's here because he genuinely loves what we're creating, believes in what we're doing.
The song ends and instead of launching immediately into the next one, I swing my guitar around my back and crouch down at the edge of the stage. Micah realizes what I'm doing and steps closer, his eyes widening.
I kiss him in front of everyone. Not a quick peck for the cameras, but a real kiss that shows exactly how I feel. The crowd goes absolutely wild, screaming and cheering and taking photos. I don't care. Let them document this, share it everywhere. This is real and I want everyone to know it.
I pull back just enough to mouth "I love you" where he can see it clearly.
Micah's smile could power the entire city. He mouths back "I love you too."
Yeah. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.