บท 10: Big Gigs, Bigger Problems

A year had passed since Nero's first open mic performance, and although he'd come a long way, the memory of that night still popped into his head—usually whenever Charlie cranked up the TV while Nero was trying to practice.

Since that night, Nero had been performing regularly in small venues—dive bars, cafés, and even that one questionable restaurant where Berta almost started a fight with the waiter over a salad mix-up. With each gig, Nero's confidence grew. He was becoming more comfortable on stage, though Charlie's whistling and overly enthusiastic shouting never failed to make him cringe. But, deep down, Nero appreciated it.

While Nero's music career had taken off in baby steps—he had a regular set at the local bar now—some things hadn't changed, like his dad, Arthur. If phone calls were currency, Arthur's were worth pennies, barely enough to keep the line open. Each call packed with promises so empty you could almost hear the echo. "Soon," Arthur always said, like he was scheduling coffee with a stranger instead of his own son.

Nero tried not to let it bother him—after all, Charlie and Berta had practically adopted him as their own weird family. But every now and then, when he was alone at the piano, the ache of his dad's absence crept back in.

Today was one of those days. Nero sat at the piano in Charlie's living room, absentmindedly playing a slow melody, the music barely registering as his thoughts drifted back to Arthur. It was like an old wound that never fully healed. The piano had become his therapist, and it had been getting a lot of hours lately.

Charlie wandered into the room, beer in one hand, a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other. He flopped onto the couch, barely holding his plate, and let out a grunt. "You're in your feelings again, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Nero's melancholic playing.

Nero didn't look up. "Just thinking," he muttered, his fingers lazily pressing the keys.

Charlie took a sip of beer and squinted at him. "You know, for someone who plays music all day, you sure do a lot of thinking. Music's supposed to be mindless, like drinking." He raised his bottle in a toast to his philosophy.

Nero smirked, though he kept his eyes on the piano. "It's different when it's your feelings, Charlie."

Charlie nodded sagely, though he probably didn't fully understand. "Yeah, feelings… real bummer. That's why I avoid 'em. Too much work. Trust me, life's easier when your biggest decision is which pizza topping to order."

Nero sighed, finally turning toward Charlie. "The gig's coming up."

Charlie's expression shifted from his usual carefree grin to mild interest. "Oh, yeah. You nervous?"

Nero hesitated, then gave a small nod. He'd been practicing non-stop, but there was still a knot in his chest that wouldn't go away.

"A little," Nero admitted.

Charlie gave him a lopsided grin. "Of course you're nervous. If you weren't, I'd be worried. But you've been busting your butt for this. Trust me, you're gonna knock their socks off. And if you don't, well… socks are overrated anyway."

Nero chuckled, but there was something else bothering him—something bigger than stage fright. He hadn't told his dad about the gig. Part of him wanted to, but the other part—the part that had grown used to disappointment—wasn't so sure.

"Has your dad called?" Charlie asked, as if reading his mind.

Nero stiffened, then shook his head. "No. And I'm not expecting him to."

Charlie sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Look, kid, I'm not gonna pretend that doesn't suck. But don't let that mess with your head. This gig is about you, not him. And if he doesn't show up, we'll get Berta to heckle the crowd for you."

Nero snorted, half-amused by the image of Berta shouting insults at anyone not paying attention.

The next few days were a blur of practice sessions. Nero poured everything into perfecting his set. But no matter how much he played, something felt off. His dad hadn't called in weeks, and the longer he stayed silent, the bigger the gap between them felt.

Two nights before the gig, Nero sat in the living room, staring at his phone. He debated calling his dad. Maybe this time Arthur would show up. Maybe he'd actually care. But as Nero's thumb hovered over the dial button, the familiar sense of dread washed over him. What if he heard, "Sorry, son, I'm busy," again? He pressed the button anyway.

The phone rang longer than usual before his dad finally picked up. His voice sounded distracted, like always. "Hey, Nero. What's up?"

Nero swallowed, trying to keep his tone light. "Hey, Dad. I've got this big gig coming up. It's kind of a big deal, and I thought maybe you could—"

Arthur cut him off mid-sentence. "I'm slammed with work right now, Nero. But we'll catch up soon, alright? Maybe next weekend we can do something."

Nero's heart sank, but he forced out a half-hearted, "Yeah, sure. Maybe next weekend."

"Great, great. I'll call you then," his dad said quickly before hanging up.

Nero stared at his phone, wondering why he kept expecting anything different.

Two days before the gig, Nero decided to drop by his dad's house. He hadn't been there in months, mostly because Charlie's place was a lot easier to be around—fewer promises, more pizza. But something in him pushed him to visit.

When he arrived, something felt… off. The house was quiet, dimly lit. A pair of unfamiliar women's shoes sat by the door, next to his dad's. Nero frowned but shrugged it off. Maybe Arthur had a guest over. Still, a gnawing feeling in his gut told him to check.

He moved quietly through the house until he reached his dad's bedroom door, slightly ajar. Inside, he heard voices—his dad's, and a woman's. Nero pushed the door open a crack and saw them, his dad lying in bed with a woman Nero didn't recognize. His heart plummeted.

Nero turned and bolted out of the house, his legs carrying him as far from the scene as possible. He didn't stop running until he reached Charlie's house, where he slumped under the terrace, the tears coming in hot, angry bursts.

He had hoped for so long that his dad would come through, that things would change. But this? This was too much. He buried his face in his hands, letting the disappointment crash over him.

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Author here:

Next Chapter is the breaking point...

After that will be the conclusion with a Timeskip and the Start of TAAHM.

Also would there be interest in a Patreon with access to earlier chapters? Please let me know!