Chapter 9: Family Ties
920 Words
The rehearsal space was quiet when Maya arrived the next morning. Adrian had told her to come early, before the band and crew. She expected him alone with his guitar, maybe a coffee half-drunk on the stage.
Instead, she found him standing stiffly near the entrance, arms folded. Opposite him stood an older man, broad shoulders, weathered face, hair peppered grey. His suit looked expensive but worn, like it had been tailored in another life.
The air between them was brittle.
“Maya,” Adrian said, his voice clipped. “This is” He stopped, jaw working. “This is my father.”
The man’s eyes landed on her. They were the same grey-blue as Adrian’s, but colder, sharper. “So this is the shadow,” he said. His accent carried the echo of the north, smoothed by years in boardrooms.
Maya’s pulse jumped. She extended a hand. “Maya Bennett. I’m a journalist with Horizon.”
He didn’t take it. “A journalist,” he said flatly. “Perfect. Just what Adrian needs, another parasite.”
“Dad,” Adrian snapped.
The man’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “Do yourself a favor, Miss Bennett. Walk away before he drags you down with him.”
Maya swallowed, heat creeping up her neck. “I’m not here to hurt him.”
“That’s what they all say.” He finally turned to Adrian. “You think letting her in will fix anything? It won’t. Some things can’t be written into redemption.”
Adrian’s fists clenched. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”
His father gave a dry laugh. “Protective, are we? Interesting. You couldn’t protect Elliot.”
The words landed like a blade. Adrian flinched, as if struck.
“Get out,” he said, voice low but shaking.
His father straightened, lips curling. “Still running. Just like always.” He walked past Maya without another glance and left the room, the echo of the door slamming behind him.
Silence pressed heavy. Adrian stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw locked.
Maya stepped closer. “Adrian”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. Then, softer: “Please. Not now.”
She nodded, heart tight. She gave him space, settling in a chair across the room. He paced once, twice, then dropped heavily onto the couch, elbows on his knees, hands dragging down his face.
“That was brutal,” she whispered.
“That was normal,” he muttered. “For him.”
Maya hesitated, then asked gently, “He mentioned Elliot.”
Adrian’s head snapped up, eyes raw. “Yeah. He does that. Uses him like a weapon. It works every time.”
“I’m sorry.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Don’t be. You didn’t know him.”
“But you did.”
His jaw flexed. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Elliot was the golden one. Smarter. Kinder. The one everyone liked. Dad adored him. And when he…” Adrian stopped, throat tight. “When he died, I became the target. The disappointment. The reminder.”
Maya’s chest ached. She wanted to reach for his hand, but she stayed still, knowing he needed control of the distance.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
His eyes met hers, hard. “Not today.”
The same words as before. A wall, firm but trembling.
“Okay,” she said softly.
He exhaled, shoulders sagging. “You shouldn’t have to see this.”
“I’m here to see all of it,” she said. “Not just the music.”
Something shifted in his gaze. Gratitude, maybe. Or surrender. “That’s dangerous, Maya.”
“I know.”
They sat in silence, the hum of amps filling the edges.
When the band arrived, Adrian slipped back into his mask. Commands, corrections, focus. But Maya caught the cracks: his hands trembling as he adjusted his guitar strap, the way his voice wavered on certain notes.
During break, Liv sat beside Maya. “Rough morning?” she asked, eyes flicking to Adrian.
“You could say that.”
Liv nodded knowingly. “His dad shows up sometimes. Never ends well.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian keeps hoping for something he’s never going to get,” Liv said simply. Then she gave Maya a curious look. “He let you see it?”
Maya hesitated. “Yes.”
“Then he trusts you,” Liv said. “That’s rare.”
After rehearsal, Adrian walked Maya to the lift. His silence was thick, his movements restless.
“Thank you,” he said suddenly.
“For what?”
“For not leaving when he came in.”
She met his eyes. “I wouldn’t leave.”
Something flickered there, pain, hope, fear all tangled. He stepped closer, hand brushing hers. Not a grab. Just a brush, light and deliberate.
“Tomorrow’s off,” he said. “Use it to breathe.”
“What about you?”
He smiled faintly, bitterly. “I don’t remember how.”
The lift doors opened. She stepped in, heart heavy, and watched him until the doors slid shut.
That night, she lay awake again, Elliot’s smile in the photo layered over Adrian’s pain in the stairwell. She thought about his father’s words: You couldn’t protect Elliot.
It wasn’t journalism anymore. It was personal.
She opened her notebook and wrote one line:
Every song is a battle he’s still fighting. And the war started at home.
- Writer
