fifteen
Two Months Later
Timessurehavechanged.
Nowadays, I confidently walk into The Mission every Thursday as a VIP, surrounded by my friends.
It’s Hope’s night. Her standing gig’s become the highlight of my week, and many of her fans who missed her. She’s transitioned from the whimsical, unpredictable life of busking to a more established presence here.
Her journey hasn’t been all hearts and flowers. Beyond her music career taking a significant turn for the better, she’s navigating all aspects of her recovery with grace and resilience. Her physical symptoms have all but resolved. She’s addedtherapy sessions to her routine. A necessary step for her to heal from the assault’s lingering shadows.
It’s a testament to her strength, witnessing her tackle these challenges head-on. Hope’s unwavering determination to move forward is an inspiration.
Before she steps onstage, I make my way to her dressing room, eager to steal a kiss before her set. Knocking softly, I enter and find her in a state of focused preparation. She strums her battered guitar, playing a melody I haven’t heard before. “Hi, my love.”
Flipping her dark hair over her shoulder, Hope smiles at me and puts down the instrument. “Hey, baby.”
“Ready?” I sit beside her and tug her close.
She blinks up at me. “Yeah, I’m inspired. I’m writing a song about fate.”
“Oh yeah?” I kiss her temple. “Tell me.”
Hope nestles into my side. Strokes my bicep. “Therapy’s been tough, but it’s making a difference. Do you know, I wouldn’t change anything that’s happened. Lissa was right. Meeting you was predestined. As weird as it sounds, especially given how hard my recovery has been, I really believe we were in the right place at the right time.”
“Well, I’d take the part of you getting hurt away any day.” I squeeze her to me. “I’d have figured out a way to talk to you eventually.”
She laughs. “Oh, you’d probably still be watching me from behind the flower vendors. Tell the truth.”
“Probably.” I chuckle.
“And now you’ve received a promotion and I’m working at Gus and playing here. After tonight, the real work begins. Auditioning my band…” She strokes my cheek. “If the Isis Management thing works out, maybe I’ll be able to record next year.”
Her resilience in the face of adversity and drive to reclaim her narrative is nothing short of remarkable. “You’re the only thing that matters to me.”
“Same.” She smiles. “Same.”
A knock on the door signals it’s time for her to perform. I offer a supportive smile. “I love you. You’re going to be phenomenal. I’ll be in the front row with the guys, cheering you every step of the way.”
“I love you, too. So much,” she whispers and we share a sweet kiss before she steps into the spotlight.
As she heads to the stage, her silhouette is framed by the backstage lights. I can’t help but feel a surge of pride. She’s right. Our journey, marked by its trials and triumphs, has led us here.
She strums the first chord and her music fills the room. “I’m Hope Kristiansen and this song is dedicated to Alek for his birthday.”
“Dude!” Jamie nudges me and I can’t help but beam.
“It’s brand new.” She gazes out into the audience, my angel on earth. “It’s called,Chords of Destiny.”
I recognize pieces of it from the way she builds the opening to the way the rhythm falls into place. She keeps an eye on me during the first verse, not long enough to pull focus from the rest of the room.
I don’t look away.
The chorus hits and the crowd is mesmerized. No one talks over her. The lyrics are about us, I realize. Her attack. The days after when she could barely stand without holding on to something. The slow return of strength, piece by piece. The night everything between us nearly went sideways. All the way to now, when she stopped needing me for everything and started choosing where I fit instead.
I didn’t expect my birthday present to bring tears to my eyes.
It does.
