His was a story of rags to riches – growing up in poverty in a two room house, a single father left high and dry with a baby when the love of his life took off without a word. If she had left on her own terms or if she'd been abducted or even murdered he had no clue and the cops wouldn't lift a finger to help. According to them, there wasn't a trace that his lover ever existed – no birth certificate, social security number, health records. They'd laughed at his attempts to report her disappearance, telling him they didn't get paid to look for illegals. 

Life in Oklahoma, specifically Tahlequah, Cherokee country, was packed with pain on its own and Tristan had more than his fair share of trauma. He hit rock bottom when his father was diagnosed with cancer and Tristan, unable to afford the treatment, had to watch him waste away before his eyes. 

He was well versed at wearing a mask, at keeping all the hurt, the inner turmoil under wraps and performing <i>functional adult</i> as best he could. 

The day he got scouted by a Hollywood agent, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, he signed his life away and put his performance skills to work. Financial stability was all he'd ever wanted, the ability to provide for his family. 

He reasoned that handing over control of his decision making, his diet, his physical fitness and schedule was worth it if it meant Piper would have the opportunities in life he'd never had. 

Listening to music was his coping mechanism. His tastes were old fashioned, curated mostly from the records his father had collected over the years. There was comfort in the familiar. 

One day, being put through his paces by his personal trainer, a song he'd never heard before came up on the playlist and it hit him straight through the heart; it touched something he'd thought had died. 

"Who is this?" He'd asked. "The one singing the song."

"Oh? Naomi Solace? Have you been living under a rock? She's huge in the alt-country scene."

He hadn't said another word, returning his focus to the work out, carefully tucking the name away. He later purchased her entire catalogue of music, every iteration of her songs he could find. Listening to her playlist was as close to a religious experience as he could get, being an avowed atheist. Her voice, her lyrics, touched on a brilliant hope that came closer to his grasp every time he heard them. 

~*~

"Jane, I'm serious. I haven't had a weekend to myself in months. I do not want to attend a concert. Please!"

Jane was his, well officially his assistant, but in actuality, more like his keeper, his taskmaster. She'd apparently scored him tickets to see Beyoncé with backstage passes and he DID NOT WANT to go. If he was a believer in magic, he would swear the woman was using some sort of mind controlling spell on him. 

She looked at him over the top of her cat-eye glasses, somehow managing to look down at him despite being half a foot shorter. "Naomi Solace is the opening act."

That was all it took. He perked right up and allowed himself to be swept away, primped, preened, dressed, and escorted to the concert hall. 

~*~

Naomi Solace was a bubbly ray of sunshine, a real social butterfly and one of the rare mortals gifted with clear sight. 

She recognized Apollo for who he was straight off the bat. The attraction was instantaneous. She was seventeen years old when she ran away with him on a whirlwind of following her musical dreams and with the god of music at her side, was wildly successful. She gave birth to Will at nineteen and Apollo stayed as long as he could, finally leaving when Will turned one. 

"I want him to have as normal a childhood as possible with his mother. Growing up in my shadow would only stunt him."

She never did let go of her love for Apollo, never thought she'd have to. She considered it a form of honoring him to spread joy and kindness with her music wherever she went. She decided to never settle down, to never have another child. She would carry on singing until the day she died. 

Will reminded her of his father more and more as the years went by. She took him with her when she was on tour, and when she wasn't, she'd take him to see obscure sights. Naomi was interested in everything, a real collector of stories and finding inspiration in oddities and the fascinating people she'd meet along the way.

Texas was their official residence, though they spent more time on the road than they did at home. Will was ten years old when his godly heritage caught up with him and he embraced his new demigod life at Camp Half-Blood.

Sure, it wasn't easy letting go of her child, seeing him move on and grow up in a world she couldn't access, but she made the best of it. She tried to schedule shows in New England every few months to squeeze in a short visit with Will when he was able to get away. 

After the performance

"That was amazing! I'm on fire tonight!" Naomi exclaims as she hands her guitar to her agent and accepts the towel and bottle of water they hand her. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the tall, dark, and handsome piece of eye-candy blocking the door to her dressing room as he argues with a young woman in cat-eye glasses and a power suit. She's got him by the elbow and Naomi can tell he'd rather be anywhere but there. 

"The main show hasn't started. If the press sees you leaving before Beyoncé performs, she may see it as an insult."

"For crying out loud, Jane. Like Beyoncé gives a flying fuck about a B-list actor. I've seen what I came for and that is enough."

He shakes his arm free, radiating irritation, like he's been holding himself in check and is close to snapping. 

Ahhhh… Tristan McLean. That's why he looks so familiar.

Never a fan of those who bully others, Naomi feels no shame whatsoever butting in. 

"Well, upon my word!" she says, pushing right past the woman, and greeting him with a bright smile. "If it isn't Tristan McLean, star of the silver screen and, if I may confess, I am a huge fan of yours." She clasps his hand in hers, his dark eyes fixing her with a grateful smolder. 

"I … uh," he stammers, then clears his throat. "The pleasure is mine." His jaw muscles twitch, relaxing as he shifts his stance, suddenly looking more like a doe-eyed young boy than an action hero. It's about the most adorable thing Naomi has seen all day. "I'm actually a big fan of yours, too. You were wonderful tonight."

The woman, Jane, stands against the wall, her arms tightly folded across her chest, but Naomi can tell she's wise enough to know not to raise a fuss, and makes a point to deliberately 'not notice' Jane.

"Aren't you just the sweetest. I'm all done for the night. Just gotta grab my purse," she said, pointing at the dressing room door behind him. "You wanna get a drink with me and we can take turns fawning over how much we stan each other? I think that's how the young people say it."

Tristan stifles a laugh, brushing his hand over his lips. "I'd love nothing more. Jane, I'll find my own way home," he says, not taking his eyes off Naomi for a second. He takes the arm Naomi offers and she whisks him away to the car waiting out back.

In the car, his phone rings. He tells Jane he'll see her on Monday and is turning off his phone until then. 

He scrubs his forehead, mussing his carefully styled black spikes so they relax, framing his face. 

Naomi claps him on the knee. 

"You looked like you needed rescuing back there."

He closes his hand over the top of hers, his chuckle only half-disguising a relieved groan. 

"I really did." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "I couldn't have asked for a more perfect hero to come and save me."

They chat on the drive to Naomi's hotel. She talks about her beautiful son, Will, and how much she loves him. "I wish he could have been here tonight, but he does have a life of his own. It's rough to see him growing up and not being able to be there for him as much as I want to be."

"I hear that. My daughter too. It's complicated. She's had some issues with … behavioral difficulties here and there. Jane got her enrolled in a special camp that is supposed to help. I … It is hard. She's growing up so fast. How old is your son?"

"Fourteen. He attends a special camp too. Your daughter?"

"Fifteen."

At the Hotel

When they get to Naomi's room, she invites him to take a seat on the couch.

"What are you drinking? My agent hooked me up with the good suite, mini bar and everything."

They mix some drinks and get cozy, Naomi's head on Tristan's shoulder, his arm wrapped around her back, their empty drink glassses sweating on the coffee table. 

"It's been a long time since I've met a woman like you, Naomi. I don't, uh … well, you know. I kind of hate how packed my schedule gets."

"Why don't you scale back then? I'd recommend giving that assistant of yours the boot. She gives me the heebie jeebies."

He chuckles. "I can't deny the thought hasn't crossed my mind. I guess I just want to make sure I've done all that I can to secure my daughter's future. Staying relevant and taking the jobs that come while they do. I'm always afraid something's going to come along and derail my career. I get so wrapped up in my own head – not exactly relationship goals for most women."

"So? How do you blow off steam, then?" She asks, dragging her fingers across his chest.

"I've got to stay in top form for the action roles. There's a trainer I work with I have an arrangement with. A 'situationship'. We've both been burned by love in the past. It's easier to just keep things physical and infrequent. Not risk "catching feelings", as she puts it."

"That is about the saddest thing I've heard all night."

"Yeah? What's your secret? How do you blow off steam, Naomi?"

She leans in, her lips inches from his. "I'm doing it right now. Are you game?"

"Just physical?" he breathes, his lips trembling.

"No. I want to make love. I'm in town tonight and then it's up to Seattle for the next leg of my tour. Let's make it a whirlwind romance – one night only. Something we can look back on and fondly remember for the rest of our lives."

"That sounds amazing."