Page 6

Five

Isaac

T he crowd chants the words of the song back to me, and the echo of voices is incredible. Tonight’s show is in an amphitheater, and I think I love this even more than stadiums. The dark night sky covered in stars makes for an amazing backdrop that even the bright lights over the stage can’t dull.

It’s enough to distract me from the fact that I still haven’t written a word in almost two weeks. The muse will come back. It has to.

We always start off the show with a loud banger to get the crowd excited. It’s not my most recently popular song, but it’s familiar enough that major fans know the words and sing along.

As it comes to an end, my band and I play the strongest and loudest, laying hard on the guitars and drums. The crowd cheers for a while before I take to the microphone and address them.

“Hey there, Phoenix. How y’all doin’ tonight?”

They scream in response. As the lights overhead scan out to the crowd and off me, I gaze out into the throng of people, finding eyes in the masses to connect with.

Tonight, my gaze connects with a tall, handsome man near the front. He’s standing in the pit with a short blonde woman at his side.

I smile at him a moment before tearing my eyes away. “What a beautiful night to be together,” I say. “Y’all have no idea how grateful I am to be on this tour and get to spend my nights with lovely people like you and this amazing band of mine.”

The crowd cheers, and I find the man in the front of the crowd again.

Damn, he sure is cute. Tall and handsome and rich-looking.

Jesus, Isaac. Focus.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” I say, pulling my guitar to the front slowly. “I’d like to slow things down for a moment and play you a song that is very near to my heart. It’s something I wrote a long time ago when I was feeling down…”

I strum a few chords on the guitar, and some of the audience picks up on it immediately, clapping with excitement.

“This song is about being really fucking lonely. You know that feeling when you just get in your car and you just start driving, not knowing where you’re going?”

“I love you!” someone shouts from deep within the amphitheater.

“I love you too,” I mumble into the mic, making people laugh.

Then, for some fucking reason, I find that man again.

“This song is called ‘Lonely Pilgrimage.’”

Mr. Tall and Handsome cheers and claps, and we actually stare at each other as he mouths my song back to me. He knows my songs . He’s not just here because of his girlfriend, like I assume a lot of guys are. My demographic is about sixty-forty, women to men.

But this guy…he’s smiling and cheering and seemingly a real fan. Well, fuck if that doesn’t go straight to my dick.

As I play the song, it starts out acoustic. For a while, there’s nowhere for my voice to hide as I sing, closing my eyes and hearing only the metronome and guitar track in my ear. This is one of my least favorite songs to play live because, for one, it’s incredibly personal.

I wasn’t lying to the crowd. I did write it when I was feeling lonely, missing my family. I was in Nashville alone when I got in my car one night and just started driving. I went southwest, not planning to stop until I hit Austin.

About halfway home, it hit me. I was alone. And they weren’t.

Obviously, I had Luke if I needed him, but Luke’s devotion to me was not the same. He stepped up because I needed him. He stepped up because no one else would.

I missed my family . I missed the promise Adam made when I was a kid that they would always have my back.

That night wasn’t the first time I felt resentment for my family. It wasn’t the first time I wanted to curse at them.

But I was the one who left. I disappeared and I left them no choice. And yet, there I was, mad to be alone.

Digging my own grave is a running theme with me, it seems.

So yeah, the lyrics— running from you was like running from myself. Running out of breath and running out of steam but not quite where I want to be —were real.

When I gaze out at the crowd, hearing them sing backup for me, I see the faces of the people who share that pain. I don’t know what they went through, but whatever it was, it leaves similar scars, that’s for sure.

As the song comes to an end, they lose their minds again. Screaming and cheering on their feet.

I smile out into the lights and the dark sky, and I feel fucking grateful.

After the show, the band and I hang out backstage for a while. The record label has some people we need to meet, so after going to the greenroom for a minute to get cleaned up, we’re led to one of the suites that overlooks the stage and the mountains in the distance.

“I need a fucking drink,” I grumble under my breath to Lola as we enter the throng of people.

Everyone cheers as they see me come in. Guys in suits with beautiful women with rhinestones on their arms come to shake my hand. I don’t catch their names or titles as I search the room for some fucking alcohol.

VPs of something, marketing directors, associates, whatever. I don’t fucking care. But I need to keep the record label happy, so I give them all warm smiles and keep them engaged.

Finally, a waiter walks by and asks if I want anything.

“Yes,” I say with too much enthusiasm. “Tequila soda with lime. Make it a double.”

“Easy,” Lola says under her breath.

“Stop mothering me,” I whisper back so no one can hear.

The suits are all talking, trying to keep my attention, and when the tequila eventually hits my lips, everything calms inside me. I crack jokes with them and get comfortable for a while.

From what I can tell, these men are all like my father. Conservative, haughty, self-indulgent assholes who only care about themselves and their own pockets.

But more importantly, they’re filling mine, so I have to say and do the right things. In the back of my mind is the cruel and nagging reminder that if they knew the truth about me, they might not be so nice.

Then, as I’m taking a drink from my glass, my eyes catch on someone familiar across the room. Mr. Tall and Handsome is here.

Holy shit.

He’s standing by the window with the blonde woman, both of them looking nervous as they watch me. Are they just fans who managed to snag some backstage passes?

He’s clearly straight, so it’s stupid of me to want to talk to him, but I do. I worked hard tonight. I deserve to indulge in a hard drink and a conversation with a hot man.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say politely when the conversation dies down. The men carry on talking without me as I make my way over to the other side of the room. There’s a buffet that I use as an excuse to head in that direction.

I snack on a few chips before making eye contact with him. Even more handsome up close, I see. Dark hair swept to the side with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. I could cut fucking glass with that bone structure.

“Hey there,” I say, picking up a shrimp from around the bowl of ice. “You guys enjoy the show?”

The man clears his throat, and I realize that he looks a little more starstruck than the woman. She’s shy, I can tell, but he can’t take his eyes off me like I’m over here sparkling.

“Absolutely,” he says as he comes closer. “You were incredible out there.”

“It was so good,” the woman chirps quietly at his side. She tries to cling to his arm, but he pulls it away, reaching for a handshake from me.

“I’m Jensen Miles. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Virgil.”

I nearly choke on the shrimp cocktail as I laugh. “Jesus, please don’t call me that. Theo is fine.”

There’s a twinkle of interest in his eyes as I slide my hand into his. He squeezes my palm so firmly that it sends a jolt of excitement down my spine.

Easy, Isaac.

“I’m Gabrielle,” the woman says, and I have to tear myself away from the dark oak-colored eyes of the man to remind myself that she’s standing there.

“Lovely to meet you, Gabrielle. Thanks for coming to the show.”

“I’m so starstruck,” she says with a giggle as she covers her mouth.

“You two from around here?” I ask, wanting to make small talk. I’d rather talk to them and stare at him than go back to the boring suits.

“No, we flew over from Austin for the show.”

I wince at the sound of my hometown. I don’t openly claim Austin as my home, not as Theo, at least. Theo is from all over. A little Nashville. A little New York.

But the idea that this guy resides somewhere in the vicinity of my family makes me feel suddenly uneasy. Does he know my family? Does he recognize me?

Surely not. I’ve done enough digging to know that the only photos of me associated with my father or his church are from when I was very young, with lighter locks, no facial hair, and a bit more pudge on my boyish face.

I look almost nothing like Isaac anymore.

“My record label is actually based out of Austin,” I say because it’s an innocent thing to admit. “I’m there quite often.”

I do not miss the way Jensen’s eyes widen and sparkle with interest at hearing that.

Because he’s interested in my music, of course.

“A friend of mine got these tickets because her dad works for your label, actually,” the girl says, beaming brightly. “But she had something come up, so Jensen was nice enough to step in last minute.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I say as my eyes bounce back and forth between them. Something about the way she said that caught my attention.

I decide to be bold because I’m just straight nosy.

“What a good boyfriend.”

Jensen flinches. It’s not even subtle. I could have seen it from a mile away.

“Oh, we’re not,” he stammers, quickly correcting me while the woman looks mildly offended. “We’re just friends.”

Interesting .

Lola would tell me to walk away. Drop it. Don’t risk it.

My subconscious is not as convincing. Because I don’t want to drop it. I want to keep pushing and flirting, even knowing that he’s probably straight, even if he isn’t dating this woman.

Digging my own grave, per usual.

“You guys want a drink?” I ask, looking directly at Jensen while I ask it.

“Sure,” he says without tearing his eyes away.

We walk to the bar together, and I notice that he’s just a couple of inches taller than me. And I’m six-three. It’s rare that I have to look up when talking to a guy.

“Can I get another tequila soda, please?” I order when we reach the bar.

“I’ll have the same,” Jensen replies.

His friend doesn’t order anything. Instead, she chews on her bottom lip nervously.

As he and I make small talk, talking about random shit like Austin and the album, she sort of hangs back without joining in.

Across the room, I can feel Lola watching me skeptically. I can already hear her in my head telling me to be careful, and I know she’s right. I should be careful.

But I’ve never been careful before, and I don’t intend to start now.