Page 5 of From Drummer to Gamer

“Hi,” he mumbled, pink spotting his cheeks.

“Are you not joining us?”

He shook his head, his eyes locking on me. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll only be a distraction.”

“Did someone say that?”

“No,” he muttered, casting his eyes downward. “No one says it out loud, but I know.”

“Hey.” I squeezed his shoulder, bringing his gaze back to me. “If no one says it, then they probably don’t think it. Don’t listen to the voice in your head, kid. Look, they’re all waiting for you.”

He blinked, his long eyelashes curving over his bright brown eyes as he slid his hesitant gaze toward the rest. They were all looking at him with excitement twinkling in their eyes.

Mitchell stepped forward, eyeing us. “Aren’t you coming, Luka?”

“See, they want you,” I said in a low tone. “What do you say?”

“Yes, Matty,” he whispered, flashing a sweet smile that softened my heart.

I didn’t love easily, but that boy had a special place in my heart.

Probably because he reminded me of the boy I once was.

The boy who needed saving.

The boy who felt this world was doomed.

The boy who was lost.

I didn’t like to keep favorites where I volunteered, but Luka wormed his way into my heart from the moment I met him.

Anger thundered through my veins, and my heart ached with pain when I heard his story. Barely six and his life was a nightmare before it even started.

For the first five years of his life, Luka had more broken bones than the average adult. All because of the system’s failure. Since birth, Luka was bounced between several foster homes and his last one nearly starved him to death before the CPS found him.

But thankfully, he ended up here.

Unlike the places I used to volunteer back in LA, which were flashy and used my fame for their photo op, St. Mary’s was different. They truly cared about their children and, at first, were even hesitant when I requested to volunteer because they worried my popularity could disrupt the children’s lives.

But I assured them that no harm would come from me, and the press would never get a word of it.

Although they were skeptical, Lucia and Peter, the couple who ran this place, soon warmed up to me after seeing I was genuinely interested in making an effort for the kids rather than for the press.

“Well, come on then,” I said, holding out my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” he said with a cheery grin.

And soon, my strict explanation of how to play the drums dissolved into thin air as they all started smashing it to their own content, giggling. Rather than be an asshole about it like I usually was when it came to respecting the instrument, I let them be because nothing compared to the joy in their tiny faces.

All these children came from different walks of life, some abandoned and some traumatized, and if I could at least bring an ounce of happiness into their lives, it made my day.

I watched as the little minions ran around, stealing other drumsticks and smacking each other’s kits even though they all had their own.

I brought them all their own kits and spoiled them even though Peter and Lucia didn’t want to encourage my kindness. They worried the kids might get used to it, but I wanted them to get used to it because I wasn’t going anywhere.