Prologue
Malik
I’m finished.
I eased my violin into its case for what I was completely convinced was the last time.
Everyone in the orchestra was packing up, and a lump formed in my throat. I’d been one of the youngest violin players ever—and I was still young. According to Lionel, our conductor, I hadn’t even hit my stride. I wasn’t yet in my prime. He predicted great things for me.
I saw only drudgery. Doing the same thing over and over again. Certainly, the music would change. We even did some more-progressive pieces. But rarely experimental. Certainly not anything that truly challenged me. I’d been a prodigy and had learned the basics by the age of five. Done my first solo concert at ten. Joined the junior orchestra at twelve.
Now, at twenty-five, I felt all washed up. Disillusioned. Ready for something new.
Charles the cellist approached. “I’m looking forward to next season.”
I smiled, even as my chest squeezed. He’d always been so kind to me. “I, uh, won’t be here.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ve tendered my resignation. Tonight was my final concert.”
“Are you going elsewhere? I considered Stockholm once—all those blond men.” He sighed. “Alas, I’m a Canadian at heart. I was glad to leave Alberta, though. Vancouver is more my speed.”
His words resonated. Parts of Alberta—including where he’d come from—weren’t gay friendly. Vancouver, on the other hand, had a thriving gay community. When I’d turned nineteen, I’d started exploring the clubs. Had enjoyed a few hookups along the way.
Was still looking forthe one.
“Vancouver is great.”My hometown.“But I’m not leaving for another position. I have to—” I swallowed. “I need more. This isn’t enough for me.”
“You need to fly.”
I cocked my head.
He shrugged. “I get it. I really do. For me, that was leaving my small town. Perhaps for you, it’s something different.”
“Yeah. I’ve, uh, been playing around with my old guitar. It’s acoustic, and that’s not really my jam anymore either. I’m thinking about an electric guitar. Maybe…I don’t know…rock’n’roll…?”
“Well, that’s definitely something completely different. I applaud your bravery. Will you—” He rubbed his forehead. “Will you have enough money?”
As he was well-aware, my parents weren’t around anymore. They died four years ago in an automobile crash. At least they’d lived long enough to see my success. In truth, they probably wouldn’t have supported my leaving a great job for something as insane as starting a rock band.
“I’ve landed a job as an assistant at the studio over in East Van. They’re big. Some of the biggest names in town record all their albums and rehearse there. The pay’s not great, but I own my house.” The thing had been paid off when my parents died. “I’m considering renting out the lane house, and I might get a tenant or two to share my place. I’ve got spare bedrooms. I’m thinking students.”
“Ensure you vet them carefully.” Charles frowned.
I smiled. “I will. I promise.”
His frown didn’t lessen. “I’m not going anywhere. I expect regular updates.”
“I promise that as well.” Charles had been like a second father to me—perhaps even more than my own.
My parents had been older when they had me, and I was an only child. Charles, booted by his biological parents when he was fourteen after having been caught with another boy and refusing to renounce being gay, had made his way to Vancouver. Since he was homeless and alone, social services had put him into foster care with the Wonnocks. They were a boisterous family with many siblings—some of blood and some of love—like Charles. Foster children who’d wound up being adopted as he had. Siblings of those kids. Just a riot of people. Many of those kids were now married, so there were almost as many grandchildren as there were children.
I was often invited to their gatherings. I thought I’d be able to disappear, but I could always count on someone speaking to me. The younger kids loved looking at my tattoos, so I always wore shirts without sleeves to show them off.
All the ink was acquired after my parents passed. They wouldn’t have approved.
Charles held his arms open.
