The Player (Chicago Bratva 8)

The crowd fills in, and they seem to enjoy us, which makes my dad happy. At the end of the set, I slide into a chair beside Nadia and munch on her french fries.

“Tiktok is going crazy over you,” she says with a smile.

“Yeah?”

“They love the father-son thing. And seeing you do classic rock. Your fangirls say they’re on their way over to watch it live.”

“Oh shit.” My stomach sinks.

“What?”

How will my dad feel if my fans crash his party? This isn’t going to go well. “I just…I don’t want to steal my dad’s thunder, you know?”

Nadia frowns. “What?”

“I mean, this is his band’s gig. I don’t want to make it about me.”

She only looks further confused. “Flynn, your dad is so happy to have you playing with him. Do you have any idea how proud he is of you?”

I scratch my neck.

“Seriously. Did you hear the way he introduced you? He loves having you play with the band. That’s why he put you on as the frontman.”

“No, it’s just because I’m replacing the guy who sings those songs.”

She shakes her head. “You have this backward, Flynn.” She hesitates. “I think maybe because of your childhood, you and Story are used to playing parents to your parents. I get it–I have an alcoholic dad.”

Eons of grief stored in my cells suddenly dumps into my gut. I’m swamped with emotion. With the weight I carried as a boy of trying to parse, understand and navigate all the emotions and dynamics in our chaotic home. There was lots of love but no stability. Our parents could barely take care of their own dramas to notice ours.

Nadia must see my pain because she reaches out and covers my hand with hers. “Parents want their children to surpass them. Or they should. If they don’t, then that’s their problem.”

Just then my dad invites himself to join us, and Nadia pulls her hand away and grabs a fry. “Are you enjoying the show?” he asks.

“I love it,” Nadia says. “Flynn’s fans are loving seeing him play with his dad. They’re supposedly all rushing down here.”

My dad’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t look upset. More interested. Maybe even pleased. “Who are these fans? Do you have a big following, bud?”

I shove a fry in my face.

Nadia answers for me. “They have a line wrapped around the building for their shows now. They’re definitely on an upswing.”

“It’s thanks to Nadia’s promo efforts,” I say. “She’s been posting videos and live streams of our performances and rehearsals.”

My dad looks at Nadia with fresh appraisal. “That’s brilliant.” He shakes his head. “Social media has changed everything hasn’t it?” He sounds just like the Gen X’er he is. “It’s all about Tiktok, right? Things are so different now–you don’t have to wait to be discovered. You can just make your own fame.”

“Yeah.”

“You guys could just stay indie and control your own futures. The pathways to success are more varied than they used to be.” There’s an enthusiasm in my dad I haven’t seen before.

Something in me relaxes. He isn’t jealous. Our success won’t hurt him. Nadia was right–parents want their kids to surpass them.

Maybe I was the one who didn’t want to surpass him. To make him less of a man or a role model or musician. I wanted to prove how his path of just playing small local gigs was the way to go. That it was enough.

But Nadia is helping me see that while it may be enough, there could be more. I could believe in something bigger. Something huge, even. It terrifies me, but at the same time, it feels possible. There for the taking if I’d just be willing to reach out and grab it.

“Yeah, staying indie would be cool,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve even considered the question of whether I’d actually choose indie or go with a major label if they both were offered. All this time, I had this idea that you had to get “discovered.” Like I had to sit back and wait for someone else to come to me instead of putting myself out there. But what if being indie was an actual choice not a default? It’s an interesting idea.

“You could hire Chelle’s publicity firm to handle your account. I bet she has ideas of how to take your band to the next level.” Nadia reaches out and wipes a smudge of ketchup from the corner of my mouth with her thumb. It’s a simple gesture, yet intimate and caring. I catch her wrist and bring her hand back to kiss the back of her hand.

My dad follows it all with interest. I guess it must be weird to see me with someone I’m so connected to when I’ve never even brought a girl home before.

“Chelle is the one who connected you with the skateboarders?” he asks.