Chapter One
Finley
“Happy New Year!” I hear someone yell, or slur rather, as I lock up the door in the narrow back alley behind Neutral Grounds. Shaking my head, I chuckle to myself. In the short time I’ve lived here, I’ve become accustomed to the liveliness of the city. It’s not just a New Year’s Eve thing, it’s a New Orleans thing.
This city is like a living, breathing creature, more vibrant than any city I’ve ever been in.
And who would’ve thought I’d be here?
On New Year’s Eve, no less?
Not me, that’s for damn sure. I’ve never been one to plan out my life or look too far into the future, taking each day as it comes and rolling with each punch life has given me. But if you would’ve asked me last year on New Year’s Eve where I saw myself in a year, I probably would’ve said right where I was—at a bar in downtown Dallas—living what I thought was my best life.
But that was before Shep planted the seed of starting fresh in New Orleans.
And then Maggie went to live with her sister.
The stars aligned, and here I am.
As I walk past a group of musicians pounding out a rhythmic soundtrack to the evening, I toss a few dollars in the upturned bucket. Being a musician myself, and a street musician at that, I know every little bit helps. It’s impossible for me to pass a bucket or open instrument case and not drop in whatever change is in my pocket. If I didn’t, I’m afraid some bad juju would jump right on me and I don’t need any of that.
“Thanks, man,” one of the guys calls out, giving me a nod of his head as he continues to beat the side of a five-gallon bucket, sounding better than a drummer with a high-dollar set of drums.
Every night here in New Orleans is electric, but tonight is even more so. There’s a very distinct hum, an intense charge, I can feel deep down to my bones as I make my way through the French Quarter.
When CeCe offered to let me stay in the apartment above her coffee shop, I had no idea how perfect the location would be. Honestly, I was just happy to have a clean and safe place to stay. And the super cheap rent was something I couldn’t afford to pass up either.
Once I realized how close I was to the heart of New Orleans, with all of the eclectic people and musicians roaming around, I knew I’d found a place to call home.
That’s exactly what it feels like, too.
Home.
With my saxophone case in hand and equipment bag over my shoulder, I walk quickly toward Lagniappe, a popular restaurant here in the Quarter. I haven’t been yet, but it’s owned by Micah Landry, a friend of Shep and CeCe, and has a reputation for good food, as well as good times, so I’ve been looking forward to this gig for weeks.
In the few months since I moved down here, I’ve quickly made a name for myself as a local musician and I’ve made some great connections, thanks to CeCe, Shep, and their friends. At times, it almost feels too good to be true, especially with the way I’ve been able to fit in with the locals. Back home in Dallas, I had a few trusted people I liked to work with, but I never truly felt like I belonged. It was like I was always trying to prove myself. Don’t get me wrong, I have to prove myself here, too, but it’s with a more creative vibe rather than a competitive one.
I walk into the building and have to admit I’m impressed. At first glance, it definitely lives up to the hype. Hardwood floors, leather seating, and warm lighting give the place a really cool vibe.
“Hey, Finley,” someone calls out, catching my attention.
Turning, I see Micah Landry walking toward me with a huge-ass grin on his face. I’ve only met him once, to set up this gig, but I’m a fairly good judge of character and I know he’s a nice, genuine guy. I’ve had to deal with some shady fuckers in the past so it’s a relief to work with someone with Micah’s reputation and good nature to back it up.
“Hey,” I reply, walking toward him and offering my hand for him to shake. “Thanks, again, for hooking me up with this gig tonight.” It is, after all, New Year’s Eve in New Orleans, and though it’s not the biggest holiday for the city, it’s still a busy, high-demand kind of night and I appreciate the opportunity.
Instead of shaking my hand, he uses it to pull me into a sturdy hug, beating my back for good measure. “Don’t mention it.” Releasing me, he grabs the equipment bag from my shoulder and takes off toward the back corner. “Come on, let’s get you set up. Then, we’ll get you some food and I’ll introduce you to some people.”
“Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” I say, allowing my nose to entertain the amazing aroma filling the restaurant.
Micah laughs. “I’d hope not. My brother basically took over the kitchen and made our family’s New Year’s Eve favorites—jambalaya, fresh oysters, and crème brûlée.”
My mouth is watering at the mere mention of jambalaya. I’ve had it a few times since I’ve been in the city and each time it’s been a little different, but every time it’s been some of the best food I’ve ever put in my mouth.
Before I can even get my amp and stand set up, Micah is pulling me away from the stage and shoving a plate of food in my hands as he walks me around the room, introducing me, not as tonight’s entertainment, but as his friend, Finley Lawson.
It makes me feel like more than the hired help and I try not to let that affect me, but it does.
Once I’ve finished my plate, I excuse myself and head to the stage. Regardless of how at home I feel, I was hired to do a job and it just so happens to be something I love doing. Even though I’m getting paid to be here, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I’m here, in an amazing restaurant in the middle of New Orleans, playing for a group of people who make me feel like I belong.
After my first set, I take a short break and make my way around the room mingling and grabbing a drink as I take in the crowd. Most of the people I’ve been introduced to so far are family members of Micah or are friends or local business acquaintances.
One thing I’ve noticed is the people around here treat each other like family and are very close knit, looking out for one another. It’s different from any other place I’ve ever lived or worked before, and I love it.
Glancing across the room, I spot Shep standing in a corner with his best friend and business partner, Maverick Kensington. Maverick and Shep have always been thick as thieves, the three of us go way back. My grandmother, Maggie, was the housekeeper for Shep’s family. After she took me in, Shep took me under his wing, which was more than most of the people in my life had attempted.
If it weren’t for Maggie and Shep, no telling where I’d be today—probably living on the streets or following in my parents’ footsteps with drugs and violence.
Shep is basically the big brother I never had.
He took a chance on a kid from the wrong side of the tracks and never looked down on me for where I came from. Shit, he bought me my first saxophone, and through the years, has paid for lessons and helped me find gigs, never judging me for my choices in education or employment.
So, sitting in this room tonight, with him and his friends, it feels like the best way to ring in the New Year.
The possibilities feel endless and within reach.