27. Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Nate
The knock echoes through me like a drumbeat, and for a moment, I consider running. But Lacey’s watching from the car, and something about her presence gives me strength.
The door opens.
“Nathan...”
My mother’s voice hasn’t changed. Still, that same soft lilt that used to sing Stevie Nicks in our tiny living room back in Florida. But she has changed—silver threading through her dark hair, fine lines around her blue eyes. She’s smaller than I remember, or maybe I’ve just grown.
“Hi, Mom.”
The words feel strange in my mouth, rusty from disuse. I watch emotions flash across her face—shock, joy, fear—before she steps forward and wraps me tightly in her arms.
My mother smells like lavender and something familiar—like old memories I didn’t think I still had. There’s a slight tremor in her touch as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
For a heartbeat, I’m frozen. Then something breaks loose in my chest, and I’m hugging her back, careful not to hold on too tight even though my arms are shaking.
“Oh, my boy.” Her voice cracks. “My beautiful boy.”
Over her shoulder, I see movement inside the house. Richard appears in the doorway, older but still wearing glasses. Only now are they a different kind—wire-rimmed—but still with that kind smile that had once made me think maybe this guy would be different.
“Nate.” He nods, giving us space. “It’s good to see you.”
Mom pulls back, wiping her eyes, but keeps hold of my arms like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. “Come in, please. I just made coffee, and—“ She stops, noticing my glance toward the car. “Is that... is she...?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “That’s Lacey.”
“The movie star?” Her eyes light up. “I saw the engagement announcement. I’ve been following all the articles, and—“ She catches herself, blushing. “I mean... would she like to come in?”
I hesitate, then nod. Because somehow, having Lacey here makes this feel less like drowning.
When I wave Lacey over, she emerges from the car gracefully, and I watch my mother’s expression soften as she approaches, discreetly wiping away her tears.
“Mrs. Henderson?” Lacey’s smile is genuine and warm. “I’m Lacey.”
“Call me Nancy.” Mom’s eyes are wet again. “Come in, both of you. Please.”
The house is warm, filled with the smell of coffee and fresh flowers. Family photos line the walls, and I catch glimpses of myself in them—younger, angrier, but still there. She kept them all.
Richard moves toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the coffee.”
“Cream and sugar?” Mom asks Lacey, but her eyes keep darting back to me like she’s afraid I’m a mirage.
“Black is fine,” Lacey answers softly, her hand finding mine.
We settle in the living room, my mother perching on the edge of her armchair like she’s afraid to get too comfortable. There’s an old record player in the corner, and I spot familiar albums lined up nearby. Some things never change.
“I’ve seen all your shows,” she says suddenly. “Well, the ones that stream online. The band—you’re incredible, Nathan. The way you play...” Her voice catches. “It’s everything you ever dreamed of.”
Richard returns with coffee, and the domestic normalcy of it all makes my chest tight. This could have been my life—Sunday coffees, family dinners, a mother who didn’t have to struggle alone.
“Thank you,” I manage. “For the birthday cards. And Christmas...”
“You never answered.” It’s not an accusation, just a quiet truth.
“I know.” I stare into my coffee. “I couldn’t...”
“I understand.” Her hands twist in her lap. “After what I did—leaving you there—“
“Mom—“
“No, let me say this.” She straightens, and I see a flash of the woman who used to dance in our living room, who worked three jobs to keep us fed. “I was wrong. I thought... I thought I was doing what was best. Richard offered stability, a real home. But I should have seen that you needed something else. You needed to chase your dreams. I should have found a way to support both.”
Lacey’s thumb strokes across my knuckles, grounding me.
“You weren’t that much older, just a teenager yourself when you had me,” I say roughly. “After Dad left...”
“That’s no excuse.” She shakes her head. “I let my fear of being alone drive every decision. I put too much on your shoulders. All those failed relationships made you grow up too fast.” Her eyes meet mine. “But watching you now—seeing the man you’ve become, the success you’ve built, this beautiful woman you’re going to marry—I’m so proud of you, Nathan. So incredibly proud.”
Something hot and painful lodges in my throat. All these years, I’ve carried this anger, this hurt. But sitting here, seeing the pride in her eyes, the genuine warmth in Richard’s smile...
“I missed you,” I whisper, and it feels like a confession.
She’s crying now, silent tears tracking down her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too. Every single day.”
Richard clears his throat. “Nancy, why don’t you show them the albums? All the clippings...”
She brightens, hurrying to pull out a scrapbook. Inside are newspaper articles, magazine covers, concert reviews—every mention of the Wild Band she could find.
“I have digital ones, too,” she admits, blushing. “On my iPad. Richard taught me how to make folders...”
Lacey leans forward, genuinely interested, and soon they’re talking about music, about the band’s success. My mother tells stories I’d forgotten—my first drum set made of pots and pans, the time I sprained my arm trying to recreate Keith Moon’s moves.
As I watch them together, something shifts inside me. The wall I’ve built starts to crack, letting in some light.
When we finally stand to leave, Mom hugs me again, longer this time. “Don’t be a stranger,” she whispers. “Please.”
“I won’t.” And this time, I mean it.
Richard shakes my hand, then surprises me with a quick hug. “You’re always welcome here, Nate. Both of you.”
Outside, the Seattle rain has stopped. Sunlight breaks through the clouds as Lacey and I walk to the car.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly.
I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I think I am.”
Because for the first time in years, the rhythm in my chest feels complete. Like a song that finds its missing note. Like a wound inside of me has finally healed.
Back at the hotel, I’m still processing. Everything feels different, as if the world has shifted slightly on its axis. Lacey gives me space, settling into the armchair with her laptop while I pace near the windows.
The city sprawls below, no longer feeling like enemy territory. My phone buzzes—a text from Mom, just her number with a heart emoji. So tentative. So hopeful. I immediately save it.
“The guys are heading over for soundcheck soon,” Lacey reminds me gently.
Right. The show. For the first time in my career, I almost forgot we’re performing tonight.
“You going to tell the band?” she asks.
I run a hand through my hair. “Maybe. After.” The guys know only bits and pieces of my history, but not everything. Not like Lacey does now.
She sets aside her laptop and crosses to me. “Whatever you decide is fine.” Her hands smooth down my chest, grounding me. “But you should know—you’re kind of glowing.”
“Glowing?” I catch her hands, raising an eyebrow.
“Mmhmm. Like some massive weight just lifted off those broad shoulders of yours.”
She’s right. I feel lighter. Clearer. Like, I can finally take a full breath.
“Thank you,” I murmur, pulling her closer. “For pushing me. For being there.”
“Of course.” She rises on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw. “Though I have to say, your mom is absolutely delightful. And the stories she could tell...”
I groan. “Please tell me you didn’t exchange numbers.”
Her grin is wicked. “What kind of future daughter-in-law would I be if I didn’t?”
The words hit differently now. Future daughter-in-law. The concept doesn’t shake me like it used to.
My phone buzzes again—Cass this time, asking where the hell I am. But before I can reply, Lacey’s already gathering her things.
“Come on, drummer boy. Time to make your mama proud.”
And for the first time, that phrase doesn’t sting.
At the venue, everything feels amplified. Each beat, each rhythm pulses with new energy. During soundcheck, I catch myself playing differently—looser, freer, like some internal restraint has finally snapped.
“Dude,” Luke says during a break, “whatever’s got into you, bottle it. This is fire.”
If he only knew.
The crowds start filling in, and I spot Lacey in her usual spot off-stage. But tonight, she’s not alone. My mother and Richard stand beside her, and the sight nearly makes me miss a cue.
“You good?” Cass calls over his shoulder.
I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Because they’re all here—the woman who gave me music, the man who gave me my first real drum set, and the woman who helped me find my way back to them.
As we launch into our set, I pour everything into the drums: every hurt, every fear, every moment of healing. The rhythms build and break, and I feel it all—past and present colliding in perfect time.
When we hit ‘Midnight Confessions,’ I close my eyes, letting the music take over. But instead of the usual darkness behind my lids, I see light, see hope—I see family.
Later, much later, when the crowds have gone and the equipment has been packed away, I find Lacey waiting in the wings. She’s still talking with my mother, and they’re laughing about something.
“Nathan,” Mom calls when she spots me. “You were magnificent.”
The praise washes over me, pure and clean. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Mom?” Cass says in shock, looking at me with wide eyes. “This is your mother?”
“Yes, and my stepdad.”
Sam, Luke, and Vince exchange looks, probably remembering all the times I’ve dodged questions about family and changed the subject when parents came up. But before they can say anything, Lacey introduces them.
“Nancy, Richard, I’d like you to meet the band,” she says smoothly, handling the introductions like the professional she is.
“We’ve watched all your performances,” Richard says, shaking hands with everyone. “The way you boys work together is remarkable.”
My mother can barely take her eyes off me, but she manages to smile at the others. “Nathan would always get lost in his music—in the rhythms. Now I can see that’s what makes him so great.”
There’s a moment of silence as if nobody knows what to say. But Cass, bless him, jumps in. “Well, you raised one hell of a drummer, Nancy. Even if he is a pain in the ass sometimes.”
The tension breaks. Mom laughs, and it’s the same laugh I remember from childhood—bright and unreserved. “He gets that from his father,” she says, then immediately tenses.
“Nah,” I find myself saying, “pretty sure that’s all you, Mom. Remember that time you threw Dad’s guitar out the window?”
Her eyes widen in surprise—both at the memory and at me bringing it up. Then she smiles, really smiles. “It was terribly out of tune. I did that man a favor.”
The guys crack up, and suddenly it’s easy. Natural. Like these two parts of my life were always meant to merge.
Luke claps me on the shoulder and looks at my mother. “You’ll have to come around again. We’d love to hear more stories about Nate as a boy.”
“Absolutely not,” I growl, but there’s no heat in it.
Richard checks his watch. “We should let you boys relax. But Nate...” He hesitates, then pulls something from his pocket. It’s an old photo, creased at the corners. It’s me as a teenager, sitting behind my first real drum set—the one he bought me. “I thought you might want this.”
I take it carefully, something tight squeezing in my chest. “You kept this?”
“We kept everything,” my mother says softly, hugging me again. This time, I don’t hesitate to hug her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are bright. “Dinner tomorrow? Before you leave town?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprising myself with how much I want that. “I’d like that.”
After they leave, Lacey wraps her arms around my waist. “So proud of you,” she murmurs into my chest.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in because I feel proud—not just of the show but of taking this step, of letting people in.
Also, I finally understand that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is forgive, and it’s also the first step toward healing.