Page 23 of Fractured Destiny

It’s my most vivid reoccurring memory of my night with Lake.

I’m not sure why I did it. All I remember is, in that moment, my entire world seemed to shift on its axis. I’ve never allowed myself the luxury of contemplating why.

Now, I know.

It was the exact moment he and I made Levi.

Of this, I have no doubt.

I spent years believing love would be dramatic when it finally arrived. I expected confrontation. Boundaries. Tears. Hard conversations. Grand gestures.

Some sort of fractured destiny, I guess.

My mother catches me staring like I’ve seen a ghost. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head.

Nothing.

Everything.

Levi sighs in his sleep. Peaceful at last. Silent tears stream down my face so suddenly, it shakes me to my core.

Four weeks ago Levi didn’t exist in the world. In this moment, I know he was meant to be here and I’m going to do everything in my power to be a better person.

A good mother.

The best mother.

Mom reaches for my hand again. Rubs her thumb once across my knuckles.

For a little while, the world shrinks to this room.

I can do this.

seven

Five Months Later

I know this studio backward and forward.

For the past year or so, when I’m not on tour the studio at Ty and Zoey’s house has become the place I find refuge.

Six overstuffed chairs in the control room. Custom acoustic panels. Racks of gear. A WS 948 Delta SSL Console Ty treats with the same reverence other people reserve for relics and dead saints.

The small chef’s kitchen tucked off to the side has better appliances than any apartment I’ve ever lived in and the Subzero is stocked with enough sparkling water to hydrate a touring army.

None of it phases me anymore.

The first few times Ty let me record here, I moved through the space as if one wrong step would get me tossed back onto the porch. Now my guitar case sits open beside the amp. My lyric notebook is spread across a music stand. Mason’s hoodie is draped over one of the chairs. Evan’s bass leans against the wall.

We’ve made ourselves at home.

I stand in the live room with headphones clamped over my ears, guitar heavy against my ribs. Through the glass, Ty sits at the console, long hair tied back, one hand resting near the faders while he watches me with producer eyes. Linus occupies the chair beside him. Mason sprawls on the couch pretending he isn’t invested. Evan stands near the wall with his arms crossed, gaze locked on my fret hand.

My foster brother, Diego sits in the back corner.

He hasn’t said much all afternoon, but I wouldn’t expect him to. He’s been watching me play since I was thirteen and sleeping three feet away from him in a room that smelled like mildew, old socks, and whatever cheap detergent our foster parents bought in bulk.