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Canaan hadn’t texted him once since he’d left, which was something of a surprise. He’d expected some plea or even just a jokey text. Something to get his attention. But yet again, he hadn’t really given Canaan enough credit. He’d asked Canaan to let him go, so he had. Even if it had hurt him, and Renzo knew it had, even without seeing him up there in Renzo’s shirt. All he had to do was remember the look in Canaan’s eyes as they’d kissed that last time. Stricken. Like Renzo cut his main chute without checking to make sure there was a backup.
But he’d put Renzo and his request first, had swallowed back all the things he’d been trying to say, the things Renzo wasn’t strong enough to hear. That was love right there. Even he wasn’t dumb enough to miss that. Canaan loved him. But he’d let him go. Because Renzo had needed him to.
The band started a driving beat, playing a few minutes before Jules made her appearance, long hair floating around her bare shoulders. Her strapless minidress looked held together with Scotch Tape, and her voice was as transcendent as ever, a haunting, smoky delivery that made each song feel like a movie, an epic story. The roar from the crowd almost drowned out the band at points. Coming back to the area where they’d started, the band clearly had a lot of diehard fans who knew all the lyrics and who swayed and sang along.
“It’s flashback Friday tonight,” Jules said to the audience in a husky laugh, several songs in. “Not only are we doing a lot of our favorites from way back when, we’ve got my bestie Canaan Finley drumming for us again. And this next one is one of his favorites, so be sure to let him hear it.”
The song was “Heavy Lifting,” the one Renzo had used for his workout video to try to impress Canaan all those weeks ago. If Canaan remembered the connection, his stony face didn’t betray his emotions as he rocked out to the song, letting Jules carry the song, but nailing the drum solo like he’d been playing with them without a three-year gap between shows.
He was an utter natural up there on the stage, responding to the band’s whims like when Jules added an extra chorus onto one of their oldies to let the audience sing along or when they let the new guitarist have a solo. This was right where he was supposed to be. How could Renzo even think about taking him from this life? At the same time, though, how could he not help but want this man in his life, his energy, his passion, his drive, his love?
Jules was singing about unconditional love, the kind Renzo’s mom had been harping on earlier in the week, the kind that offered no strings but that took work. Was Renzo being unfair not letting Canaan decide how much work he was willing to do? He’d thought that loving Canaan unconditionally meant letting him go, but what if loving him meant trusting him enough to let him choose his own path forward? Could he be brave enough to love Canaan like that? To let Canaan sacrifice for him, for them? Maybe the question wasn’t even whether he could love Canaan like that, but rather whether he could love himself enough.
One of his favorite Kirby’s Revenge songs was about faith and they closed with it, everyone singing along, the whole band, Canaan included. And Renzo was no singer, but he joined in with the audience, a hundred voices lifted up, singing about trusting your heart. That was his guy up there, making all these people feel his rhythm, and Renzo’s own heart swelled with pride. No matter what happened with Canaan going forward, he was going to have this moment in his memory bank for the rest of his life.
“Trust,” Jules sang, drawing the word out for a long, never-ending final note. Someone jostled Renzo on the way to the exit, people starting to stream out of the venue. The band left the stage, and still Renzo stood there, the word trust echoing in his brain. He still didn’t know much, but he knew he wasn’t leaving quite yet.
* * *
Canaan had forgotten how much work performing was. Sweat clung to his neck and back after the show, and he was pounding the water as he hung out at the merchandise table with the rest of the band, signing autographs and talking to fans. He felt a bit like a fraud, signing shirts and stuff. He wasn’t a part of this life anymore. Sure, it had been a fun night, but if anything it had just underscored how far he’d come in three years.
So close to graduating, from starting the career he’d given up so much for. He didn’t want to give that up to return to an uncertain life on the road. His realization a few nights ago loomed large—he had changed in fundamental ways. First Grandma’s death, then school, then Renzo. He wasn’t the freewheeling guy he’d once been. While music would always be a part of his life, the band felt like revisiting a memory from his past. And he couldn’t deny that the passage of time hadn’t been all kind—he could admit now how much it hurt that the people he’d once loved best in the world hadn’t fought harder to keep him around. But they’d cut him loose, set him on this path, and he no longer wanted to go backward, only forward.
