Free Lyon's Legacy: Catalyst Chronicles, Book One by Sandra Ulbrich Almazan Page B

Sean’s Roots of Rock album. But the sheer energy they put into it astounded me. Despite their primitive equipment, the sound resonated in my bones. Nothing on HitNet had a tenth of this emotion! I couldn’t tear my gaze from the tiny stage.
    After they finished the song, Sean stepped forward to speak; several of the girls around me sighed. “Good evening, everyone, thanks for coming here tonight. As a special reque st from Susan, we’re going to do ‘Twenty Flight Rock!’” He stepped back to play, jerking the neck of his guitar.
    As the set continued, Sean dominated the other musicians. Although Paul took lead vocals on a couple of songs, Sean put more of himself into hi s lyrics. Every reference to rock, every guitar solo, was a musical come-on directed to every single girl in the audience. They fawned over him like he’d already been anointed as the next rock star, leaning forward in their seats, moaning as if they were going to climax right there. Meanwhile, I sat stiffly, arms crossed over my chest. I’m not a prude, but seeing my ancestor as an object of sexual worship made me uncomfortable. I noticed Paul stare at me, then nudge Sean as if daring him to conquer the last stubborn female in the audience. I grinned. There was no way I was going to swoon over my great-grandfather, no matter how exciting his performance was.
    Sean drained the rest of his drink. “We’re going to slow things down a bit,” he said to the audience. “This next number...it’s not one we play very often, but my cousin’s in the audience tonight, and she made me think of it.” He smiled a challenge in my direction as if he could see me without glasses. “Anyway, it goes a little something like this.”
    Sean se ttled into his arrogant-seeming performance stance, guitar braced high on his chest, head tilted back, and legs slightly apart. But when he sang, his voice was as poignant as a child’s:
     
    You said forever,
    You said you’d stay,
    This boy trusted you,
    Then yo u went away.
     
    My spine turned to ice. Back in my world, I’d seen some of Sean’s handwritten songs, including an early one named “Dad’s Song.” When Sean was in his thirties, he rewrote it and released it as “Father, Farewell.” We had no record of him performing the early version. After hearing the anguish in his voice, I could understand why. Was this what it had felt like to have been abandoned? I remembered the day my dad left my mother, how I’d come home from school to find her slumped over in the kitchen, muttering over and over “What am I going to do?” She didn’t even glance at the perfect score I’d gotten on my spelling test. I felt like I’d lost both of them.
    Sean’s voice rose soulfully for the middle section:
     
    Why did you leave me,
    Won’t you come back home,
    Can’t you forgive me,
    And never more roam?
     
    It wasn’t your fault, I wanted to tell him. It wasn’t your fault that your father was too immature to cope with a baby and the doctors didn’t find your mother’s ovarian cancer in time. But why did I feel I should have done more to protect my own mother?
     
    I feel so guilty,
    Even though I was true,
     
    That was how I felt about my mom.
     
    I wish I could see you,
    And say, “I love you.”
     
    But I couldn’t say that to her anymore.
    I’d spent my lif e up to that point hiding from my deepest emotions behind a wall of anger raised the day my parents split. But Sean had honed his own pain into a knife only his voice could wield, and he sliced through my inner barrier as if it didn’t exist.
    I couldn’t ke ep my tears in any longer; they blended with the sweat on my face. I wiped them off, but I was helpless to stop them.
    Silence filled the White Knight for a minute when the song ended. Applause came slowly, as if no one else could appreciate what Sean had d one. A scowl flashed over his face before he stepped back and gestured to his band. They ripped into a raucous version of “What’d I