Page 5 of The Prodigal Son

She makes a laughing sound as she pulls out of the apartment complex’s parking lot. “You better be careful, Theo.”

It should probably feel stranger to be referred to as Theo by my closest friends, but I’ve had this stage name for so long that it’s honestly what I prefer to be called. I’m not Isaac anymore. It’s just easier to be Theo Virgil. Theo Virgil is the life of the party. Theo Virgil has a song on the Billboard Top Ten and a sold-out tour. Theo Virgil doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet.

“I’m always careful,” I reply haughtily as I kick my cowboy boots up on the dash.

Lola smacks my leg. “I just had it detailed, you prick.”

Laughing, I take my feet down and blow her a kiss. “Sorry, Mommy. Don’t be mad at me.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t fight her smile. “Did you check his phone?”

“Yep. He didn’t take a single picture of us, and he doesn’t even listen to country music.”

“You got lucky,” she mumbles.

“Damn right I did,” I say with a wicked smile and a wink, but she doesn’t laugh. Tilting her head in my direction, she levels me with a sober expression.

“I’m serious, Isaac.”

My smile fades as I turn my gaze forward, my insides souring from her use of my real name. Lola has known me long enough to know my history. My real name. How I ran away at seventeen. How I don’t really keep in touch with my family anymore.

Except for Lucas. And that one night I shared a couple of beers with Caleb.

And a few cryptic letters back and forth with Adam.

I call my mother from time to time, too. I’m not a monster.

But that’s it. I haven’t been in the same room with all of them at once in eleven years, and I don’t really plan to anytime soon. It would feel too weird. I don’t mind being called Isaac every once in a while by those who know me best, but I don’t want tobeIsaac.

I built all this on my own. I created Theo to get away from that life.

“I’m just looking out for you,” Lola adds with concern in her voice. “You should be able to come out on your own time, not when some asshole in a bar leaks a few photos or, God forbid, videos.”

“I know. You’re right, but I’m careful, though. I promise.”

“You better be,” she replies sternly. “You’re a big deal now, dude. People are going to start recognizing you, whether they listen to you or not.”

I love Lola. She’s a badass with a real soft side, and she’s been my bassist since I moved to Nashville, like, six years ago. But I have to admit, it irks me when she tries to mother me.

It’s not her fault. I’m a fucking mess, and most people either jump onto the hot mess express alongside me or do their best to try and fix the course I’m on.

Lola tends to fall into the latter, but she does it out of love.

“Besides, the tour schedule is tight. You can’t be doing these little one-night stands while we’re on the road,” she says as she turns down the road that leads to my apartment in the city.

“Why do you think I’m getting it out of my system now?” I ask, trying to remain calm whenever she brings up the tour.

I can tell she’s doing the same.

“According to the tour manager, we’ll be taking off hours after each show and sleeping on the bus between stops,” she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

“On that big fat sleeper bus with my name on the side,” I add.

“On a sold-out national tour.”

“No big deal,” I reply with a shrug, keeping my cool.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.”

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