Page 72 of Raise Me Up

When we lock eyes, Beau looks adrift. I think about how Lithos was ripped out from beneath his feet. He looks like how I felt when I stepped foot in my townhouse for the first time and realized I was on my own.No shows to get me through each day. No band manager telling me what to do. No tour dates or city hopping or structure to my life.

Thankfully, I’ve found a new purpose in helping artists. I’m able to wring out every drop of their talent by stripping back all the layers of bullshit keeping them from baring their souls to the world.

What’s it gonna take to give Beau a new purpose?

I haven’t reached the bottom of what’s haunting him in the moments he thinks no one’s looking. I’m assuming it has something to do with the rapid success of his first album. Imposter syndrome snuck in and wrapped ghostly fingers around his neck, tightening until he couldn’t breathe under the pressure.

“Beau. You don’t owe anyone anything. You can take as long as you need to work whatever this is out of your system.”

Without speaking, he comes to some sort of internal decision. Flexing and curling his right hand a couple of times, he reaches for the neck of the guitar and carries it over to perch on the edge of the other couch facing us.

My chest swells with the same warm pride I get when I watch any of the members of Atonement play.

Beau tips his head down and starts to pluck at the strings. It’s a soft tune to start. Nothing more than simple, resonant chords to embrace us.

And then he weaves a beautiful melody with quick, perfectly placed fingers and that deep, raspy tone that wraps around me like a summer breeze.

I’m not sure how to categorize him. Country? Blues? Folk? A little of all three blended together until you can’t tell where one genre ends and the other begins.

Beau has no labels. He redesigns what it means to be an artist.

Shit, he’s redefiningme.

Stasi peeks up at me, and guilt claws at me as I come to understand the fear in her eyes. In a way, I took Hail from her. Held up his chin and showered him with praise. Booked him shows at grungy venues and kept him motivated to grind his way to the top of the charts, dragging Malek and Griff along with us.

And now there’s Beau with this big, promising future stretching wide before him.

I want to tell Stasi I know the key to keeping him here. That I can hold him back. But Ican’t. Not when I’ve committed my life to elevating musical dreamers.

As his final note rings out, a heaviness settles in his bones, slumping his shoulders and weighing down his head.

He looks exhausted.

“That was so pretty, Beau,” Stasi murmurs. “Did you write it?”

“Something I’ve been working on, yeah.” He shrugs, returning the guitar to the wall.

She lets her head fall onto my shoulder. Gauging the way they’re both struggling to keep upright, I call it a night. “Time for both of you to sleep.”

I gather Stas up over a shoulder, pleased when she giggles. Beau looks at me, a smile curling on his face. “Gonna carry me, too, tough guy?”

I charge him, tossing him over my other shoulder. “Smart ass.”

My plans to tuck them in and clean the kitchen go up in flames the second I lay them down together in my bed. I find myself physically unable to pull away. When Beau crawls in to spoon her, I lay down on her other side so she can snuggle against my chest.

Just when I think the two of them have drifted off and I can sneak out, Beau whispers, “Liam?”

“Yeah, trouble?”

He hesitates. “I think I’d like to record something, but if it ends up sucking, we trash it, okay?”

Shutting my eyes, I smirk. “It won’t be trash.”

“But if it is—”

“Beau.”

After another pause, he speaks in a sleepy tone. “It would be nice to leave a piece of me behind that I can be proud of.”