1. Lake
one
Three Years Earlier
Tonight could make or break me.
I’m pacing The Mission’s green room. Eight minutes until stage call. The man across from me hasn’t said a word to appease my nerves.
He won’t. It’s not his job.
Linus O’Donnell doesn’t fill silence. He’s here to assess me. Waiting to hear if I’m worth his time.
I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve played this room before. Twice as a Rainier Foundation kid. The first time, I opened for Less Than Zero. Last summer, I was on a four-band bill.
Tonight is different. My name is on the marquee and I’m headlining a sold-out show. Eight hundred people are waiting for me, not realizing the big Irish guy could change my life if he decides to manage me.
Six years ago at a music showcase in Tacoma, LTZ’s lead singer, Tyson Rainier, was the first person who recognized my talent. I was almost sixteen, playing a guitar my foster brother Diego glued together at the kitchen table the morning after my foster smashed it to bits.
A few Jimi Hendrix songs later, he asked my name. One of the most famous rock stars in the world saw something in me.
A year later, I was on my way to Seattle as one of the inaugural recipients of a grant from his non-profit.
The Rainier Foundation paid for a new guitar, lessons and rent for a year.
Helped me get a job bussing tables and taught me how to book gigs.
Produced three songs for my demo, and a few months ago, he walked me into Linus’s office and said, “Keep your eye on this one.”
Unbeknownst to me, Linus scouted me for months. Industry events. Gigs I didn’t know he was at. Tonight he arranged for me to headline at the biggest club in Seattle, to see how I do in front of a big crowd.
I owe Ty everything. More, if Isis Management signs me.
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.”
“Now.” He turns me toward the crowd. “Go work the room. I’m heading home to my girls. Call me tomorrow.”
Moving through the crowd isn’t my favorite part of the gig, but it’s necessary. Connecting with the people who came to see me. I give enough to keep them interested. Nothing personal. Surface level only.
Twenty minutes later and the adrenaline still hasn’t dropped.
My attention snaps to the far end of the bar. A woman is watching me intently over the rim of her glass and doesn’t look away when I catch her in the act.
Instead, she lifts her glass in a toast.
Without thinking, I return the gesture.
Weird.
I've spent enough nights around beautiful women to know the difference between attraction and curiosity. This isn't either one. Every instinct tells me to walk across the room.
Holding her gaze, I keep my own glass held high. Three seconds. Four.
With a brilliant smile, she nods a half inch in my direction and licks her lips.
My heartbeat does something stupid. I down the last of my whisky, eyes still locked with hers. Her red-tipped fingertip travels up to her mouth and she sucks her finger.
I swear I can feel her mouth wrapped around my cock.
Fuck, she’s exquisite. Expensive. The thousand-dollar drape of designer fabric. A Cartier watch. Perfect makeup. This woman is easily the classiest person in here and, even though I usually hook up with anyone I want, suddenly I don’t feel worthy.
She crosses the floor toward me, unhurried. The crowd parts as though she paid them to give her access to me.
As she closes the distance, lyrics to every song I haven’t written fill my brain. It’s almost like I already know she’s gonna change my life.
Now, she’s in front of me.
Fuck.
Electricity zings from her body into mine in waves of heat and lust.
Red dress is gonna ruin me.
I’m enjoying every last second..