Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,94
left wing of the stage. He’s always there, right where he promised to be, and even though I can’t see his face clearly, I feel his support. His strength, his drive, his perseverance and belief radiate into the atmosphere around me, giving me an extra spark for what was already an explosive show. With everything riding on this Farewell Tour, we pulled out all the stops, and by the time we reach the mid-point of the set, the audience is as energized as I am.
“How you all doing tonight?” I call out, scanning the sea of faces in front of me. A loud cheer bursts out, just as the music starts to play under me. “So, I know you’re here to listen to some of your favorite songs, but I hope you don’t mind indulging me for a minute.” I grin as the audience quiets and I cast another long glance at the side of the stage. “You don’t mind if I sing a new song for you, do you?”
The building erupts, and I laugh into the mic on a boom stand. A tech hands me an acoustic guitar that I loop over my shoulder.
“I’ve spent my entire life unsure about who I was. I was so afraid to fail that I was often afraid to live. Anyone else ever feel that way?”
More cheers ring out, and I pull in a deep breath. “But then I met this incredible guy.” I laugh again through a chorus of whistles and catcalls. “You may have heard about him. He’s a very special hockey player who’s been battling through a difficult injury. You know what he taught me? Heroes don’t wear capes. They don’t fight futuristic villains or have crazy origin stories. No, heroes are the people who touch lives. The people who stand in the face of the ugly and find beauty. Oliver taught me to believe in myself when I didn’t. To see beauty when I couldn’t. To fight when I’d given up. To face the tough challenges of life head-on, because sometimes you have to break something to fix it. Sometimes you have to fall to climb.” I pull in a ragged breath, swallowing the emotion rising in my throat. I glance back and see his hand swat at his face, his eyes shining back and wrapping me in unconditional love. I laugh through a sob and wipe my own tears.
“Ollie, this next song is your surprise. You’ve changed my life. I just wanted you to know, you’re not a hockey player. You’re my hero.”
She stares at Someone in the mirror.
She laughs like her
She cries like her
She smiles, lies, and hides like her.
She believes like her.
She breathes like her.
Her heart beats and bleeds like hers
She sees like her
She loves like her
But it’s not her anymore.
You see…
She’s free.
EPILOGUE
GENEVIEVE
The opening show of the Farewell Tour was a huge success. I loved every minute on stage, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t counting the seconds until it wrapped so I could kidnap Oliver back to my house. It’s our last night together before I leave for the two-month tour, so of course we spend it the only way two passionate lovers would: learning to play hockey.
I glare at Oliver as he snickers again at my stance in the open space of the family room.
“Stop laughing! I’m doing what you told me! You said to crouch down and tuck my elbows in.”
“Yes, but not like a rabid chicken,” he snorts, snapping a picture just as I raise the stick at him. “Also, you’re holding the stick backward, all-star.”
“Hey! No pictures. It’s bad enough my security cameras are probably catching this. I don’t need you to have permanent evidence.”
“You kidding? I want photos, video, and sealed archives. You’re doing great,” he lies, stealing one more picture of the silly face I give him before tucking his phone away.
“You just called me a rabid chicken.”
“I said you looked like a rabid chicken. Big difference.”
“Grr. How about you quit making fun of me and show me instead?”
He grins and moves behind me. “Gladly. The hockey gods must be appeased after this violation. Here, so you need to squat, yes, but also keep your back straight. Shoot your butt out. No, not like that. Um, like you’re sitting on the toilet.”
I fire a look at him and giggle at his expression. “Oh my gosh, you’re serious!”
“Of course I’m serious. Yep, like this.” He places his hand on my back, positioning it, then slides to my